Two poems in black and white for the duration of recovery - poetry
Since my wife and I are moving, or preparing to move, we've been going all the way through our effects as most ancestors must, to coach for the new location, and in doing so, I found two poems, ones I wrote in 1990, now 15-years old, never published, and so I'd like to advertise them today. I was a heavy drinker up to 1984 (some twenty years drinking), when I quite, and so these poems must have a touch to do with it, a affront consideration perhaps. They were never numbered, as I have done in the past to most of my poems, but I affect they would be about #125 and #126, or so, out of #760. I did not have a name for also of them, so I shall name them accordingly?now:
1) Hell's Taverns
Do not die Not now, not yet- Your evil eye will not be blessed
And in hell you'll wake
To wild beast's; thus, Do not die Not yet
Only to wake to a
Icy and burning sweat;
Wait my friend-
Tell me you won't die To Taverns of booze
Only to wake and find
You are dead, dead Laying flat in hell's Taverns!?
2) Ballade of a Getting your strength back Drunk
Peace of mind in a world of huntsman and foe- Is not possible That rots like clay-. Wisdom-is inscription a book, For Philosopher and God And not analysis it?
Dennis Siluk web site http://dennissiluk. tripod. com
Ocean Heal Me
Ocean Heal MeOcean heal my wounds Let your waves curl and foam on my body Wash away blood, heal scarsOcean renew me with your power As constantly you roll Giving dilution that's been drainedOcean keep me warm Wrap me in your brine Caress me with your tidesOcean diffuse my tears As they flow in you I clean my soulOcean let me grow in your depths Color me bright blue, coral, green Clear = revitalizedOcean your spray anoints me Cool and refreshed My spiritual renewalOcean be my friend Hold me flowing in your currents Ever moving, ever changingOcean, heal me.© 1983 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is a researcher, biographer and teacher.
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [a Poem]
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [Summer of 2005]Daybreak by Lake Superior Rising out of the woods like: A swamp mist I'm behind you for breakfast(at the B&B) I pace the grounds The scent of green shrubbery: Trees, flora, flowers-rain Intoxicates me- Branches like big brown arms Descend? The embankment, to the right Blue eyed, like mine-reflect From the creek beneath me (my wife says 'be careful' she went to get the camera) The greens and blues touch My face and blue jeans- Reflections mirrored like Musical notes of a symphony (I'll see them later in pictures) For now, it's daybreak In Minnesota.#813 8/26/2005Note: the author, Dennis Siluk, took his wife Rosa [me: on my birthday] to Lake Superior, this summer, and I highly thought of the largest lake in the world.
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Write Your Way to Fame
Have you ever brain wave about how nice it would be to see your poem discussed in the New York Times? Think you have what it takes to develop into a celebrated poet? Well the fateful truth is that no one has what it takes to be a celebrated poet. Here's a diminutive exercise: Name the most celebrated contemporary poet you can think of.
Whats A Prisoner to Do?
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The Plane from Iquitos [1959-Part One]
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An Old Wood Pile [a poem with notes]
Old skin, once held tight Against her skeleton- Rose no more, just draped Loosely over unpadded flesh; Un-tightened muscles, and tissue, Lost its courage, no-fortitude-, Gone are the days and years That stood alongside the Indomitable elements; The skeleton, now a landmark Hidden under flesh and blood Guts and moral fiber, backbone? Collapsed from drudgery Time, time: cascading inside-. Bones now goodbye impressions Accepting fate Like discolored silver!.
The Dead God of Copan (in English and Spanish)
English VersionAnd the Death God said: "Let it rise to its glory in the Rio Valley-for a season; then let it be gone, we shall call it Copan?"Prologue: Empires come and go, liken to cosmic events, or the storms about the world: Atlantis, Mu, Greece, Persia, Rome, the Inca Nation, and even the great Maya heroic times of Copan, in Essential America. All came and all left, one way or another; now just dust and artifacts in the spiral of time.
Sleep, Dreams, and a Poem
The Incubus' Flash-lightHe looked confidential my head And found a dreamHe didn't like-;As I looked back at him, I found an incubus Shinning a light(and stole this poem from him-last night).Thoughts: Dreams and Poetry: in dreams we let go of our inhibitions; in poetry we write them back out.
The Treasure of Catalina Huanca (In English and Spanish)
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Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King]
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Two Poems and an Breakdown ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']
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Thank You To Our Soldiers And A Compliment To Old Glory And A Prayer For Peace
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