The commercial of copan [in english and spanish] - poetry
The Mercantile of Copan [480 AD]
Advance: The ballgame at the Honduras court in Copan, the year was 480 AD, Copan's 3rd ruler, Mat Head, whom succeeded Quetzal Macaw, whom was the break down of the city is now the new ruler. Mat Head, was a female, the partner of Quetzal Macaw, and here is where the story begins.
There was a main ballgame ready to start, the clash was awfully high, as usual you might say; that being, if the game was not played the world would end, so they believed, and so rain or shine it was to take place.
The conflicting team had eleven players, all flamboyantly dressed and painted for the competition. They had leather padding about their waists, over their shoulders, about their arms and legs; able to hold up the blows of the solid rubber ball. The credence of the ball was one kilo. The ball was now fearful into the play, and each player knew they could not let it touch the argument or their hands.
Mat Head was examination the game with intensity, conscious her sister was part of a bet of which, if the contra team won, she'd be [she being: her sister] the belongings of a local merchant, a very wealthy merchant, the most wealthy trade in all of the Copan Valley; she would be his property, to do with as he pleased; but if the mercantile lost, he would lose all his properties to the brother-in-law, riches, and be vanished from the city of 27,000-inhabidents, Copan; conceivably to the Yucatan. It was not uncommon for such wagers; it was deadlier than the exhibitions at the Roman Coliseum, in Italy. That being, the rabble of this game would forfeiture their heads.
But the Mercantile of Copan, as I have said, was very rich so much so, he provided flint, lime, and clay to the elite of the city, the whole city and thereabouts. And the Brother-in-Law of Mat Head was married to her sister, the most attractive young woman in Copan.
The Trade of Copan, had watched her at a add up to of preceding games, and could never take his eyes off her beauty, her shape, and lusted after her with eyes like a hawk's. To him, it was worth the attempt to bet on the game, all or nothing; he didn't know how much Mat Head's brother-in-law cared or didn't care for his wife, but he knew he was insatiable, and made the bet nonetheless and he acknowledged it; thus, his instincts were correct; for he could not longer hold out the burning pain he had confidential of him examination her walk among the temples of Copan, and wishing she belonged to him, at any price, and a hungry soul will do most something to encumber that hunger.
-The ballgame had started, as I had by now said, and the ball was in the air; some of the players were kicking their feet, and thrusting their hips, as they knocked the ball back and forth, in the I-shaped field, 25-meters long, 10-meters wide; all the players not imperfect the ball to touch the ground, which would end the game, and eleven-heads would be severed.
All of a rapid the game stopped?a silence took hold of everyone, eyes were being shut by eleven players; oh it was a great thing to die, to be sacrificed for the game, but on the other hand, it would have been change for the better to have to do it at a later date, I'm sure most of the players felt that way.
The addressees took in a deep breath to see who won and lost. Chronicle would not favor the brother-in-law today, disastrous for his wife to be sure. Yes, yes, fate smiled on the Trade of Copan; I'm sure my readers are now broken on this be important but it is as it is what I can say.
Thus, the lucky fella grabbed her like a wild monkey grabbing a banana out of the feeder's hands, and rushed her to his domicile. He threw her on the bed like an being pelt, his eyes sparked with lust and passion, and he melted into her body like heat on ice; if anything, she was hurt clear of all understandings.
'How could he do this?' she moaned as this fat, ugly and rigid man pouncing on her. Yet she told herself, at least he sought after her. He was enthusiastic to give all his money for her; whereas, her partner sold her for a game ticket, and a bet. It was away from her young at heart comprehension.
Several years passed, and the fat old business got fatter and older, but other than being over abandoned over her, he was a good provider, and gave her all she wished for. She became well known as a affair woman, and at his 67-birthday, he died on the bed, as I consider he wished it to be. Consequently, she was now the offspring of the estates he once own, for there were no brood involved.
She then made a deal with her ex-husband, calculating he liked to gamble, and hunted money. She made the same bet, well almost, a comparable kind of bet anyhow with him, as the Business of Copan had done before; she bet all her properties on the next game, that her team would win, and be supposed to he lose, her ex-husband, he'd have to give up his head, like the bringing up the rear team had to. Well, he felt he could win her back be supposed to he lose the bet or win, and thus, took his likelihood and made the bet. But again, life did not favor him, he was not meant to be a gambler for sure, and after bringing up the rear he begged her for his life, to take him back, adage in essence, they both could enjoy the possessions she acquired, and their old arrangement in the kingdom.
Oh gosh, she was such a caretaker, and told him she'd go home and think about it and make up her mind tomorrow. Well, he brain wave that was fine, at least it seemed change for the better than bringing up the rear his head today, and just the fact she was idea about it was adequate to enlighten him, affection he would have the final victory, and that was the one that counted, he'd have her back and the treasures, what more could he ask for.
But as I had told you before, fate was not continually in his pocket, that night the ruler, Mat Head, asked for the head of her Brother-in-law, being he had lost the bet. He begged for her to wait for her sister tomorrow and she'd strengthen it all out, but she said:
"A bet is a bet?and it must be paid. "
Can't bear in mind what else she said but his head was off in a heartbeat.
Upon Mat Head's sister's arrival the subsequent morning, she asked for her ex-husband, and found out by her sister, the Mat Head, she had beheaded him. She cried a tear, a very big tear, and then smiled at Mat Head.
Dedicated to Jorge, 7/3/05
Versión en Español
El Mercader de Copan [480 Después de Cristo]
Avance: Juego de pelota en el patio de Copan en Honduras, el año era 480 después de Cristo, el 3er gobernador de Copan era Mat Head, quien sucedió a Quetzal Macaw, quien fue el fundador de la ciudad ahora el nuevo gobernador. Mat Head, era una mujer, la esposa de Quetzal Macaw, y aquí es donde la historia comienza. Había un juego de pelota principal listo a comenzar, esta competencia era extremadamente interesante, como siempre podrías decir; esto es, si el juego no era llevado a cabo, el mundo se terminaría, o eso era lo que ellos pensaban, y entonces lloviera o soleara éste debía jugarse. El equipo contrario tenía once jugadores, todos adornadamente vestidos y pintados listos para la competencia. Ellos usaban algo acolchado hecho de cuero alrededor de sus cinturas, sus hombros, sus brazos y piernas; que les permitiría soportar los golpes de la pelota de caucho sólido. La pelota pesaba un kilo. La pelota ahora fue lanzada en el juego, y cada jugador sabía que no podían dejar que ésta tocara tierra o sus manos.
Mat Head miraba el juego con intensidad, sabiendo que su hermana era parte de una apuesta en el cual si el equipo contrario ganaba, ella (su hermana) pasaría a ser propiedad de un comerciante local, un comerciante muy rico, el comerciante más rico en todo el Valle de Copan; ella pertenecería a él para hacer lo que a él le antojara. Pero si el equipo contrario perdía el comerciante perdería todas sus propiedades, que pasarían a manos de su cuñado, sus riquezas, y sería expulsado de la ciudad de 27,000 habitantes, Copan; quizás a Yucatán. Esto no era raro en esta clase de apuestas; esto era más mortal que las exposiciones en el Coliseo romano, en Italia. Esto era, los perdedores de este juego perderían sus cabezas. Pero el Comerciante de Copan, como ya lo había dicho, era muy rico tanto que él proporcionó sílex, cal, y cerámica a la elite de la ciudad, a la ciudad entera y sus alrededores. Y el cuñado de Mat Head estaba casado con su hermana, la joven más hermosa en Copan. El Comerciante de Copan, la había mirado en un número de juegos anteriores, y nunca podía sacar sus ojos de su belleza, su forma, y lujuriaba detrás de ella con ojos como de halcones. Para él, era valiosa la posibilidad de apostar en el juego, todo o nada; él no sabía cuánto el Cuñado de Mat Head se preocupaba o no se preocupaba por su esposa, pero él sabía que él era insaciable, e hizo la apuesta sin ban y él la aceptó; así, sus instintos eran correctos; por que él no podía soportar más el dolor ardiente que sentía dentro de si mismo al mirarla caminar entre los templos de Copan, y deseando que ella le perteneciera, a cualquier precio, y un alma hambrienta hará algo más para impedir aquella hambre. -- El juego de pelota había comenzado, como ya lo dije, y la pelota estaba en el aire; algunos jugadores estaban pateando, y empujando sus caderas, mientras ellos golpeaban la pelota hacia adelante y hacia atrás, en el campo de forma de "I", de 25 metros de largo, 10 metros de ancho; todos los jugadores queriendo que la pelota no tocara el suelo, el cual terminaría éste, y once cabezas serían cortadas. De repente el juego se detuvo?un silencio se apoderó de cada uno, los once jugadores cerraban sus ojos; ah! era una gran cosa morir, ser sacrificado por el juego, pero por otra parte, habría sido mejor tener que morir más adelante, la mayoría de los jugadores sintieron de esta forma, estoy seguro.
Los espectadores respiraron profundamente para ver quién ganó y quién perdió. La historia no favorecería al cuñado hoy, lamentablemente para su esposa por seguro. Sí, sí, la fortuna sonrió al Comerciante de Copan; estoy seguro que mis lectores están ahora oprimidos sobre esta materia pero esto es como es, que puedo decir. Así, el muchacho afortunado la agarró como un mono salvaje agarrando un plátano de las manos del alimentador, y apresuradamente la llevó a su domicilio. Él la lanzó sobre la cama como una piel de animal, sus ojos brillaban con lujuria y pasión, y él se derritió en su cuerpo como el calor sobre el hielo; si algo, ella fuera herida más allá de todo entendimiento. '¿Cómo podría él hacer esto?' Ella gimió, mientras este hombre gordo, feo y rígido se le echaba encima. Sin ban ella se dijo que al menos él la quería. Él estaba dispuesto a dar todo su dinero por ella; mientras que su marido la vendió por un boleto de juego, y una apuesta. Esto estaba fuera de su joven entendimiento.
Varios años pasaron, y el viejo comerciante se volvió más gordo y más viejo, pero aparte de ser lascivo sobre ella, él era un buen proveedor, y le dio todo lo que ella deseaba. Ella se hizo conocida como una mujer de negocio, y en su 67 cumpleaños, él murió sobre la cama, como supongo él deseó que esto fuera así. Consiguientemente, ella era ahora la heredera de las propiedades que él una vez tenía, porque no habían hijos implicados.
Entonces ella hizo un trato con su ex-marido, sabiendo que a él le gustaba jugar, y que quería el dinero. Ella hizo la misma apuesta, bien casi la misma, una clase alike de apuesta con él de todos modos, como el Comerciante de Copan había hecho antes; ella apostó todas sus propiedades sobre el siguiente juego, que su equipo ganaría, y si él perdía, su ex-marido, él tendría que ser decapitado, así como el equipo vencido. Bien, él sintió que él podría reconquistarla así perdiera o ganara la apuesta, y así él acepto la apuesta. Pero otra vez, la vida no lo favorecería, él no fue hecho para ser un jugador, por seguro, y después de perder él la rogaba perdonara su vida, que lo aceptara de nuevo, diciendo en esencia, que ambos podrían disfrutar de la riqueza que ella había adquirido, y su vieja posición en el reino.
Ah ¡mi Dios!, ella era tan cuidadosa, que le dijo que iría a su casa y que pensaría en esto y lo decidiría al día siguiente. Bien, él pensó que esto estaba bien, al menos eso le pareció mejor que perder su cabeza hoy, y solamente el hecho de que ella lo pensaría era bastante para iluminarlo, sintiendo que él tendría la victoria final, y que era él quien contaba, él la tendría de vuelta y los tesoros, que más podría él pedir. Pero como ya lo había dicho antes, el destino no siempre estaba en su bolsillo, esa noche el gobernador, Mat Head, pidió la cabeza de su cuñado, como que él había perdido la apuesta. Él pidió que ella esperara por su hermana hasta el día siguiente y que ella lo arreglaría todo, pero ella dijo: "Una apuesta es una apuesta?y ésta deber ser pagada". No puedo recordar que más dijo ella, pero su cabeza fue cortada en un segundo. Cuando la hermana de Mat Head volvió a la mañana siguiente, preguntó por su ex-marido, y descubrió por su hermana, Mat Head, que ella lo había decapitado. Ella gritó un rasgón, una lágrima muy grande, y luego sonrió a Mat Head.
Dennis Siluk, you can see his most contemporary book "Spell of the Andes," at most of your internet sites, like http://www. abe. com; it will be featured in the Huancayo, Peru Correo, newspaper, July 9, a assess of the book, and on the internet for those interested; http://www. Correo. com - It will free at the Ricardo Palma House, in Lima in October, by Luis Guillermo Guedes, Director. Dennis lives both in Lima, and Minnesota part of each year and is running on a further book called, "Curse of the Abyss Worm. "
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Poet Franny Choi reads a poem from her new book Soft Science and describes how poets of color are supporting each other. AUDIE CORNISH, HOST:.
Just Us: These Black Poets Use the Power of Their Words to Highlight Injustice The Root
Editor's note: This week, for National Poetry Month, we're featuring 37 up-and-coming black poetsâincluding one today who is much more well-known but in a ...
Poet Karla Huston brings 'a sparkling enthusiasm' to arts leadership Appleton Post Crescent
This feature is part of a seven-day series featuring the 2019 honorees of Celebrating Volunteers, a collaborative effort between The Post-Crescent and the ...
On Poetry And Hearing Hartford Courant
Genie Johnson hit the jackpot this year when she was named a Connecticut Student Poet by the Connecticut Poetry Circuit. Johnson is a student at Quinebaug ...
Japanese Day of Exile remembered in art and poetry Vashon-Maury Island Beachcomber
Mukai Farm & Garden will install âNisei Trilogy,â a commemorative work of art, at its Day of Exile open house, from 2 to 4 p.m. Sunday, May 19, at Mukai Farm ...
'Poetry saved my life': Indiana poets are healing and connecting with their communities - Indianapolis Star
'Poetry saved my life': Indiana poets are healing and connecting with their communities Indianapolis Star
April is National Poetry Month. Poets in Indiana say poetry is vital and can help people change their lives.
Fafnirâs heart: A legend from Norse mythology inspires an anthology of poetry from across the world - Scroll.in
Fafnirâs heart: A legend from Norse mythology inspires an anthology of poetry from across the world Scroll.in
Fafnir the Dragon lives in Norse mythology. Like all dragons he breathes fire and guards treasure; he is greedy. But he holds a secret. A taste of his large heart ...
Nazis silenced him, but his poetry lives on in new opera coming to SF - The Jewish News of Northern California
Nazis silenced him, but his poetry lives on in new opera coming to SF The Jewish News of Northern California
The Hungarian poet MiklÃ³s RadnÃ³ti didn't think of himself as a Jew. He'd changed his family name from Glatter and even converted to Catholicism. But all the ...
Zion Williamson's High School Teacher: 'He's a Hell of a Poet' Sports Illustrated
Williamson developed a love for poetry during a daily creative writing class at Spartanburg Day School.
'Voices of Poetryâ holds readings in cafes. Now, they read poetry in a Paterson boxing gym - NorthJersey.com
'Voices of Poetryâ holds readings in cafes. Now, they read poetry in a Paterson boxing gym NorthJersey.com
Voices of Poetry typically holds readings in libraries, cafes and bookstores. Now, they held one in a boxing ring.
Poetry Foundation Names Beloved San Antonio Poet, Author and Educator Naomi Shihab Nye Young Peopleâs Poet Laureate - San Antonio Current
Poetry Foundation Names Beloved San Antonio Poet, Author and Educator Naomi Shihab Nye Young Peopleâs Poet Laureate San Antonio Current
Many Texans â myself included â were fortunate enough to become familiar with esteemed Palestinian-American poet, author and educator Naomi Shihab ...
âIron Moonâ: A beautiful portrait of Chinaâs working-class poets SupChina
Is there room for poetry in contemporary society? Iron Moon, an award-winning documentary that splices together the working-class life of its subjects with their ...
Jamila Woods: Legacy! Legacy! review â poetry in motion The Guardian
She might be an up-and-coming soul singer, but US poet and activist Jamila Woods is a team player. Her second album is also a showcase for other people's ...
Washington poet laureate to use $100000 award to bring poetry to Columbia River The Columbian
Washington poet laureate Claudia Castro Luna, who visited Vancouver earlier this month to give a reading at the downtown community library, has won a ...
Origami Doll by Shirley McClure: poetry as life force The Irish Times
I felt her loss keenly while working with her poems. There were so many questions I wanted to ask her.
Katie Porter receives the gift of poetry for Mother's Day Roll Call
These days, moms are lucky to get a text from their own offspring wishing them a âHappy Mother's Day!â If they're really lucky, they'll get a post on Instagram (that ...
Review: Miho Dohi turns scrap materials into sculptural poetry Los Angeles Times
Small-scale sculptures by Miho Dohi are like handmade driftwood, a kind of cultural debris that has been carefully shaped into poetic forms by unseen forces.
CT Poetsâ Corner: Jamaican poet Rayon Lennon writes so God can âtweak the worldâ - Hartford Courant
CT Poetsâ Corner: Jamaican poet Rayon Lennon writes so God can âtweak the worldâ Hartford Courant
Connecticut Poets' Corner is a monthly feature highlighting the poetry of Connecticut authors. Poets are selected by Ginny Lowe Connors, former poet laureate ...
Beyond the Springs: Poetry and food Colorado Springs Gazette
Celebrate the joy of reading and writing at the Literary Arts Festival from Friday through Sunday in Telluride. The event features poetry performances, author ...
Young Hamilton poets drop words Louder Than a Bomb CBC.ca
Dennis Scherle came very close to flunking high school before he was introduced to poetry. His Grade 12 philosophy teacher offered him the chance to write a ...
APRIL YOUTH POETRY FOLIO Hyphen Magazine
This April, in honor of National Poetry Month, the poetry section is featuring the work of 10 extraordinary Asian American high school writers. Their poems ...
Maria Carillo sophomore wins top prize in statewide poetry contest Santa Rosa Press Democrat
Zoya Ahmed, a sophomore at Maria Carrillo High, was awarded the top prize for a poem blending sound and spice.
Pitts: Regional poetry festival set this week for downtown Fayetteville venues - The Fayetteville Observer
Pitts: Regional poetry festival set this week for downtown Fayetteville venues The Fayetteville Observer
Don't tell LeJuane Bowens, more popularly known by his stage name, El'Ja Bowens, that there is no arts scene in Fayetteville. He knows differently. This former ...
Seven Poems for National Poetry Month Orion Magazine
In honor of National Poetry Month (and Earth Day!), I've selected a poetry sampler that captures the range and push into the horizon of what I hope to bring to ...
It's never too late to start writing poems - The Poetry Programme RTE.ie
In the Poetry Programme on Sunday 19th May at 7:30 pm on RTÃ Radio 1, Ron Carey tells presenter Olivia O'Leary that it's never too late to start writing poetry, ...
I Hate The Wait (Weight)
I get up in the morningAnd want to stay in bedOh, so nice and warmLike fresh from the oven bread.My day is oh so busyI wish that I could stayIn the quiet of my houseIf only I could play.
How to Write Bad Poetry
"All bad poetry springs from authentic feeling."--Oscar WildePeople write poetry for a overabundance of reasons, but this commentary has a sharpened arrowhead aimed absolutely at the fingertips of amateur poets who wish to be available yet junk to learn the attributes of a well-crafted poem.
Way of Life: Rhymes of the Inca [four poems: see in Spanish and English NOW!]
Way of Life: Rhymes of the IncaPizarro (Spanish conquistador ((1525))The blind be a consequence the blind The dumb be a consequence the fool But the cleaver, like 'Pizarro,' (who could not read or write) Followed human-nature? And ruled the Inca world!Thus, Atahualpa was Beheaded out of pride and Indolence-: one might say, And ignorance ruled? .Note: don Francisco Pizarro #689 5/27/05Cepeda the Sly [Lima, Perú-l546 AD]Cepeda the Sly-, judge With two sides; one false, One pride-both mixed with lies.
now is not the time to open open that great door again not the time to be more tolerant not the time to play to winnow is not the time for justice evolution mercy choices not the time to pet the puppies yipping with pathetic voicesnow is not the time for kindness not the time for compromise not the time for loving blindness not the time to close my eyesnow for one too many people not that i have gained no good heart has sown but flesh is reaping tears to mind and atrophied bloodnow my inner wolf seeks equals only those whose chords can howl deadly whether lone or social defending young or on the prowltell me not that you would die upon the spines of my displeasure live for me and for you will i cherish each cell as if a treasureput me not classified a cage but roam with me by means of snow and sun be by my side or breathe my dust for i shall bleed again for noneNiki Lasher Artist, Writer, and Webmatron http://www.kthulah.
Breathing-in, Minnesota [a poem: now in Spanish and English]
In early fall, in Minnesota, the rain falls, falls, In buckets, buckets and more buckets-: drops Likened to music from its many streams-land Of ten-thousand lakes; moistened gravel, gravel Everywhere?Grandpa sits on the porch-daydreaming of, of Something, i don't know chill about the corner-; As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes? Leaves will soon vanish, dark will come earlyMaybe he's idea about summer: miles and miles And miles and miles of cornfields; his childhood now Long gone, he hums a hymn, a song; looking at the Metal-piped fence, he made, with three poles, on the Embankment, important up the steps to the porch; It's worn-out like him.The winds in Minnesota smell fresh, fresh from all The foliage, there's a lot of it.
Savage Nature: The Life of Ted Hughes
One of the most central poets of the post-war period, Edward James Hughes (1930-1998), was drawn towards the primitive. He was enthralled by the beauty of the biological world, often portraying its cruel and savage character in his work as a consideration of his own not public distress and magical beliefs - committed that contemporary man had lost touch with the ancient side of his nature.
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast [Summer of 2002]?wind was blowing at high speed It never left for a instant Bursts of fury I found it arduous to keep My feet placed, thus, I clung to my knees For one enjoyable minute I could not now disguise it From in my opinion Some crafty atmosphere Manifested itself Then the in progress drew Sharply away from me With her mystery-Back out into the open sea Yet-, still it roared back at me! It was an articulated delivery It made my head swim I noticed it kept-step With my exultation!?#761 7/14/2005Notes: There are mysteries to the sea, at times it seems as to have its own mind, its own character; as if character was plugged into all that exist. Earth itself being an being with its own lively soul.
My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother)
She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.She loved me like no one else has ever loved me in my life.
Three Poems: The Monkey Man of Lima, Plus Two More
What Hides after the Minute?What hides after the minute? It seems, no one especially knows; How many times will we wakeup, To count the log gone?The rose was dead when I arrived; The sword, was rusty and dull; The dialogue box curtain was open, And there was music in the hall.Oh lovely minute, where art thou? One, is not like the other-: Whirling in an human orbit, As the infinite world discovers.
Give Me a Lily Pad & The Continuum [two Poems]
What can I do to keep this world in its orbital spin? I gave up demanding to win the hearts of the many-. Throw the meat-balls adjacent to the wall, stop, stop!! Trying to make them spin, like God did in the heavens!Sexual longings-a lane to anger and rage- Turn the page to the cheap hotels, turn the page Give it a lane to run, tell your friends, they've won.
No one ought to have to beg or crawl ahead of humanity. No one be supposed to have to conspire to buy philanthropy.
Burning Autumn Trees [a poem in Spanish and English]
Burning Autumn Leaves [1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]My long steel incisive rake punctured And twisted all the way through tons of autumn leaves (back in the '50s); And there's a hill yet, I didn't rake, I see Behind it, two embankments Leaves I didn't rake a day ago; The essence of fall sleeps on the ground.
Because of You
You are to me my lifeline my security. That scares me.
Im Sorry Mom! A Mothers Day Poem
Mother's Day Poetry,I'm Sorry Mom!I'm sorry for the troubles And the qualms I brought you. I'm sorry for my mistakes, I didn't mean to make you blue.
"I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to disagree.
Beautiful Dreamer, Stephen Foster, Americas First Folk Song Writer
"Beautiful Dreamer" was in print by Stephen Cultivate just beforehand his death in 1864 at age 37. The song became one of his most famed and most popular.
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (English version)In what draw back art hid?-Where declining mountains groan In shadow and amongThe white water of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footpath of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, beautifully low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
In the Mountans of Haiti [A Poem: in English and Spanish]
In the Mountains of Haiti(In the City)-July is a hot month-sweating Poverty out on every street (In Port de Prince); mixingMemory with aspiration causes stirring. Not much rain in Haiti (in 1986); Summer kept us busy, building A health clinic, in the mountains?.
Two Poems, with Emblematic Language
Says Mr. Dennis Siluk, when asked to appraise his poetry somewhat, for he hesitates all the time when I ask him to so; I can tell you.
Stone Beds [A Poem and an Advance]
Stone Beds [Pompeii's surge]Advance: after the great outbreak of Pompeii's close volcano, Vesuvius, some two-thousand years ago in the halcyon days of the Roman Empire, what was left of the city were commonly ashes of stone from an unleashing furnace; it is hard to assume what the associates went all through (none, not one anyone survived). I can only guess from the looks of the city today, and in its early excavations, its citizens were baked alive or asleep, like pottery.
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