The lull of evening [over mantaro valley] in english and spanish - poetry
Twilight, was now beginning. As for
the sun, it was down-down over
(then I noticed)
?the color of charcoal blended into earth
and sky-; ebbing connecting this was the
'Tis a time unto itself-between calm and
caution, silent forgetfulness and night; even
'Tis the flash of sunset, when light
is thin and narrow, and shadows
The peeping of birds, the crackle of trees,
children readying for sleep-; an complete
Notes by the author: "For me, nightfall seems to lure and lull the soul into a illusory confidence; yet it ashes an enticement, bait for the most part, that attracts most active effects into a glowing sensation; maybe God's way of deadening us for a moment, while the earth orbits about the sun, and the moon about the earth, all pulling army on us small human beings-perchance, it is desirable for a moments quietness on the soul. "
La Calma del Crepúsculo
El crepúsculo, ahora estaba comenzando.
(Luego yo noté)
El color del carbón vegetal mezclado entre tierra
misterio del crepúsculo (la partida del día, para
Junta un tiempo consigo mismo entre la calma y
a mente con sus grúas terrosas por un momento?
Junta el momento de la puesta de sol, cuando la luz
El cantar de los pajaritos, el crujido de los árboles,
Notas por el autor: "Para mi, el Crepúsculo parece atraer y calmar El alma dentro de una confidencia engañosa; todavía permanece una tentación, Cebo por así decirlo, que atrae mas cosas vivientes dentro de una sensación Encendida; talvez el camino de Dios entumeciéndonos por un momento, Mientras la tierra orbita alrededor del sol, y la luna alrededor de la tierra todas Las fuerzas jalando sobre nosotros pequeños humanos seres- posiblemente, Esto es necesario para momentos calmados sobre el alma".
Dennis Siluk is the creator of many books, his most hot being, "Spell of the Andes," and is operational on two more. A creative writer, he lives in Lima, Peru and Minnesota. His site is http://dennissiluk. tripod. com you can see his book as http://www. amazon. com
So many looked to you for inspiration,Unlikely hero for the wheelchair nation.Proudly you fought and conceitedly you believed,Everyone loved you Christopher Reeve.
Since Youve Been Gone...
My life has changedin so so many waysIt seems to at all times bein a state of disarray..
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 appeal causes stirring. Not much rain in Haiti (in 1986); Summer kept us busy, building A checkup clinic, in the mountains?.
"I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to disagree.
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,As I cluster down, exclusive my coat,a rail user clone, just before you for a train.Insidious rain, just raining down,through weak light of creeping dawn,Paper sandwich bags and old auburn cups,blowing past, look so forlorn.
You cannot make a big cheese love you. All you can do is be a big cheese who can be loved.
Ballade of an Inca King
Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and landSays the Inca King?; In Spain, they leave the busy streets, For sail to Peruvian shores;The hum of the gold is sweet,It glows and glistens like the sun A mountain of gold, or the grave Awaits the human, Inca-god?!Spaniards sing their songs of victoryWhere breaks the green Peruvian sea; Who now, worships the Inca King (?) Guarded at the back of prisons doors-?They babble about his fair ringsThey watch the winds cross the shores? They count the days that idle by, For gold they worship and will die.Envoy.
Two Poems on the Traditions of Peru [in English and Spanish]
Atahualpa's Game [Peruvian]Sometimes, it's not wise To share your wisdom ---as did, Atahualpa (The Inca King) in the Game of chess; thereafter, He was condemned to death.6/6/05 #713Note: Atahualpa, was the most eminent of the Inca Kings, in the 16th century of Peru, I do relieve, and was held for money by the Spaniards.
Welcome to the Town of Feeling
Happy, Sad, Mad and Glad, Moved in down the streetCautious watched them, from her window, Wondering, which one be supposed to I meet?Confused came in with overwhelmed and said, "The Panics have come to town"Then Hopeful called the carefulls, And said that Happy was a clown.Anxious came in with the news, Confident had called a town meetingTo take a vote for Mayor, And to Appreciated the new neighbors to Feeling.
The Spirits de Copan
Part oneI see them in the skies I hear them in their hells They hint and they moanAnd never are alone- The Spirits and the Ghouls? The Spirits de Copan!They are darkness in my world Echoes in my dreams A mystery and a force To a cosmic happening! The Spirits and the Ghouls? The Spirits de Copan!..
You can do and you can be whatever you want. You have the power, and the right, to make the changes.
Like a cat I slumber, wonderfully unencumbered, Through eighty per cent of my chosen span, Occasionally awoken, when balk is spoken, And I conceive a further cunning five year plan, Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned, So I on loan from the French and Robespierre, Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth and claw, And let my all equal Citizens appear, Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime, For there is a different choice looming, I have to arrive sincere, for part of this appearance year, And comfort all and sundry that all is booming, Never mind austere quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters, And told them which party let them stay, Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed each of note, You never know what might crop up on the day.So to be on the safe side, I swallow all my pride, And allow my ancestors to hear my deified voice, And roll out the charade, put on the facade, And even make have faith in they have a choice, Next time about the crown, will be firmed underground, House of Lords and Lord Chancellor history, With the other Chancellor gone, I alone will soldier on, Yes, then there will only ever be me, Ill hold elections for you, as all dictators do, And fill positions with those that fat my palm, As for civil unrest, there is constantly house arrest, Or cloak-and-dagger custody for those that mean me harm.
Write Your Way to Fame
Have you ever accepted wisdom about how nice it would be to see your poem discussed in the New York Times? Think you have what it takes to be converted into a famed poet? Well the disastrous truth is that no one has what it takes to be a celebrated poet. Here's a barely exercise: Name the most eminent contemporary poet you can think of.
A Ship to Remember
Lima, City with the Stretched out Wings [In English and Spanish]
Lima, City with the Stretched out WingsIt's an ink-black night: no stars: a moon in sightJust dots of: red, green and white-white lightsAs the plane descends, descends, slides down On the long-drawn-out-spun-out long drawn out city of illumination Uneven as a crumbled cake, lit up like a Christmas tree-The without sleeping city, with its stretched out wingsStretching from the mountains to the sea- Winding all through the valley's, forests, and streams Stretches, stretches its naked wings-endlesslyAs,I'm descending, down, over and about the city (descending, descending, and sliding to the ground)The city with stretched out wings-and endless lights Down, behind, around, the ground, it's immune to me I'm just part of its evening, a induction in its inky seaInvisible people: cats, dogs, birds, and rats-infiniteUncountable: dots; streams of lit dots, dot-lights; People: walking, talking, sleeping, intake by the dots People: waiting, killing, robbing, praying, by the dotsFor tomorrow, tomorrow and a new tomorrowThey say-:you are ruthless, and I know this to be trueAnd they tell me you have thieves and murders-And this, I dare say-but shall-is also true, very true But show me a city to the awkward of eight-million-? I shake my fist and say: '?show me! But no one does'So alive, so brave, with brawny and hungry hearts;I say, show me one that sings in poverty and smiles Prove me one that celebrates year-round of its heroes Show me painters that are as good-that sell on streets-As good as: Picasso, Dali, Rembrandt, and Yang YangAnd that welcomes the world with stretched out arms-Show me all this, or some of this, and I will say no moreWith this,I descend to its streets, its crowed winding streetsAs well as, to its neighborhoods with dust and mucky air, And hear the laughs of the children; the dogs on roofs Sights of the shoe-shiners: men and boys, in the parksAnd the many food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, layer all-My Lima, Peru with its established Cathedral:Golden fair with gigantic crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its crumpled aged men, lovely women,They all stand tall and bow to its Inca history, its glory- Its world that once ruled all, like the Roman Empire,Like the American Dream, they were the noble, the kingsAnd now, from chore and toil, sweat and strive, all, all Grinding, grinding away, each and everyday, lover of the, King of Kings: Jesus Christ-this is the Lima I know today; a mighty ship that has previously sailed the seven seas, now resting!?Spanish VersionLima, La ciudad con las alas extendidas Translated by Rosa PeñalozaEsta es una noche oscura: no estrellas, ni luna a la vistaSolo puntos: rojo, verde y blanco-luces blancasMientras que el avión desciende, desciende, bajando A la larga-extendida-plana persistente ciudad de luces Plana como un panqueque, encendida como un árbol de navidad-La despierta ciudad, con sus alas extendidasExtendidas desde las montañas hacia el océano Zigzagueante a través de los valles, bosques y riachuelos Estirando, estirando sus alas desnudas-interminablesMientras,Voy descendiendo, abajo, por encima y alrededor de la ciudad (Descendiendo, descendiendo, y deslizándose a la tierra)La ciudad con las alas extendidas-y luces interminables Abajo, Abajo, detrás, alrededor, la tierra, es inmune a mí Sólo soy parte de esta noche, un bautizado en su oscuro océanoInvisible: gente, gatos, perros, pájaros, y ratas, infinidadIncontables: puntos, riachuelos de luz, puntos de luz; Gente: caminando, conversando, durmiendo, comiendo bajo los puntos de luz Gente: esperando, matando, robando, rezando bajo los puntos de luzPor mañana, mañana y otro mañanaEllos dicen--:Tu eres implacable, y yo se que esto es verdadY ellos me dicen tú tienes ladrones, y muertes-Y esto, me atrevo a decir, que esto también es cierto, muy ciertoPero muéstrame una ciudad de ocho millones contraria --? Sacudo mis puños y digo: "?muéstrame," pero nadie lo haceTan viva, tan valerosa, con corazones fuertes y hambrientos:Digo, muéstrame una que canta en pobreza, y sonríe Pruébame una como esa, que celebra alrededor del año a sus héroes Muéstrame pintores tan buenos-que venden en las calles-Tan buenos como: Picasso, Dali, Rembrant y Yang YangY que recibe al mundo con extendidos brazosMuéstrame todo esto, o algo de esto, y no diré masCon esto,Desciendo a sus calles, atiborrada, zigzagueantes callesAsí como su raro vecindario con polvo en el aire Y oigo la risa de los niños, los perros en los techos Vista de los lustrabotas, hombres y muchachos, en los parquesY los numerosos carros de comida, músicos y vendedores de periódicosY con su desnuda y desplumadas alas, cubriendo todo-Mi Lima, Perú, con su renombrada catedral:Amarilla dorada con su coronadas torres, yDentro de su plaza cuadrada, una celebrada piletaBajo su piel, con sus arrugados ancianos, tiernas mujeres,Todos ellos parados altos, y reverenciando a su historia inca, sugloria- Su mundo que una vez gobernó todo, como el Imperio RomanoComo el sueño de América, ellos fueron los nobles, los reyesY ahora de pesadez, y esfuerzo, sudor, lucha, todos, todos extenuados, fatigados, este y cada día, amantes del Rey de los Reyes: Jesucristo-esta es la Lima que conozco, hoy; un poderoso barco que ya navegó los siete mares, ahora descansando?Author/Poet Dennis Siluk, web site: http://dennissiluk.
Anne Bradstreet, To My Dear and Loving Husband, A Discussion
"To My Dear and Loving Husband" was on paper by America's first female poet, the Puritan, Anne Bradstreet. In fact, Anne Bradstreet is one of only a handful of female American poets at some point in the first 200 years of America's history.
Poetry "Reborn" Emerges In Adventure movie Mystery Novel
Since Mohamed Ali-then Cassius Clay-announced that he had in black and white "The world's straight poem," I have known that I would be a poet. "ME? WHEE!" His dominant announcement evoking shivers inside my bothered teenaged identity, for I reasoned in rhyme.
Never Ever More
Once upon a midnight dreary, coffee cold and ability to see bleary, all night sat there journalism COBOL, coding apply athwart the bed sheets, changing language rules for the mainframe, having checkered my final line, I took the floppy from the drive.Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command, but there below my effectuation, appeared the cryptic communication, "Abort, Retry, Ignore" and nonentity more.
Opposites Do Catch the attention of Quite Well
When I am climbing up, you are stepping down. When I wear a smile, you wear a frown.
Two Poems and a Short Story
1)dying in the bar [sluggishly]yet, I would crawl too upto the bar, it was everything, the dampness the impressed wood the zoned-out-ness in my head dreaming; it was advance than death? then I took a new drink?so many I never moved much, like dead fish. my head split like an ass it was numb and, naught else numbness was my homeacross the street, dancing on the patio the moon was out.
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