Burning autumn foliage [a poem in spanish and english] - poetry
Burning Autumn Leaves
My long steel barbed rake punctured
But every leaf that now appears, in autumn
This fatigue of mine will never go away, I fear
Hojas ardientes de otoño (Los años de 1950 en St. Paúl. Minnesota)
Mi rastrillo de acero largo y puntiagudo pinchó
Pero cada hoja que ahora aparece, en otoño
para rastrillar esas colinas;
Este cansancio mío no se irá jamás, yo temo
Poet Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk. tripod. com
Walt Whitman, Romance With a Stranger
The conception of brief encounters, even romantic encounters, with a stranger recurs often in the verses of Walt Whitman.Take, for example, these lines from one of the inscriptions that Whitman wrote to his 1860 journal of Plants of Grass.
Azra, Azra, Wake up Azra. Wake up Azra, It is time to go.
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 minion else has ever loved me in my life.
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 contained by a cage but roam with me because 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.
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.
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 wakeful city, with its stretched out wingsStretching from the mountains to the sea- Winding all the way 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 debut in its inky seaInvisible people: cats, dogs, birds, and rats-infiniteUncountable: dots; streams of lit dots, dot-lights; People: walking, talking, sleeping, ingestion 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 converse of eight-million-? I shake my fist and say: '?show me! But no one does'So alive, so brave, with bright 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 grubby 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 distinguished Cathedral:Golden blonde with gigantic crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its craggy 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 grind 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 by now 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.
The Plane from Iquitos [1959-Part One]
Iquitos & the Amazon Part OneIt was December 2, l959, I was meeting on a small prop-plane departure Iquitos, Peru for a trip down the Amazon en route for the opening, the mouth of the mighty Amazon,--to Manaus. As we flew low one could see the waters of the Amazon, the city all the time impressed me, but more from this birds-eye view, you could see the mighty river in its squid like form, with all it tentacles [contributories: waters between to the river].
I Saw the Universe
I can see the navy blue of the skiesOr the cerulean of the nightI can see the stars wink, the grin of the moonDuring the changes of it's monthly face**I am in awe**I see the sun on it's once a year trekAlternately development the life in the earthAnd then desertion away to allow it to sleepUntil the next spring**I am told the Universe is "out there"Beyond those stars, moon and sun,Yet the power of what I can seeIs a fathoming ahead of my comprehension**I am in awe**"Out there" no time, no seasons passNo sense of age, hatred or loss existOnly the infinity0f the Universe**What IS "out there"?What IS the Universe that has no end?What IS the power that creates all this?I want to see it too**And then I remember..
"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 Care for just ahead of his death in 1864 at age 37. The song became one of his most celebrated and most popular.
Blind Designs [a Poem] and a Note by Rosa on The Other Door
Blind DesignsBorn today, gone tomorrow Like a butterfly with no stomach Born n the morning, dead by night Oh-let me whisper Oh-let me cry What man has not learned? What man will not learn! In his pomposity, his expression With his abstract concepts With his intellect With his creativeness He has be converted into enslaved By-them? By them all, he will fall. Ah! Yes-abstract concepts Bombast and oratory His intellect His cleverness This he grass behind To his decedents!.
The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins
Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your mistakes, and you cant clear up time, you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self portion crime, to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed, when its completely pomposity and posing, all about airs and greed, to acquire a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years, is the amount of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears, when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you, leave relatives after who see, that nonentity you said was true, there is no belief now for those, whose come to you dont count, they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount, no accepted wisdom of resignation, no assurance to those left behind, just on with the ego, fast ahead from those times, as if nobody ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok, as if now is what to focus on, and then was a further day, lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen, not an disrespect to the living, not impeachable and obscene, you may want to move on now, and dispense with your past infamy, but you ought to be tried for treason, and caged for blasphemy.
Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English]
1.Night in Jamaica [Peruvianism: 1810]It was a rainy night they say When don Simon Bolivar Slept in the arms of beautiful -Luisa Crober (of Jamaica); thus an Assassin missed his mark When he stabbed Major Amestoy Sleeping in the dark In Bolivar's hammock!.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: A Debate of How Do I Love Thee?
"How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning was in black and white in 1845 while she was being courted by the English poet, Robert Browning. The poem is also aristocratic Elegy XLIII from Sonnets From the Portuguese.
AFRICA (to africans in diaspora)africa here i come, africa africa of the black soul the soul of an antediluvian civilization the background of your timid tribes.its your voice i hear africa your voice of the discussion drums your beaded drums and the royal trumpeter the metal gong of your town crieri have come to see your music dance i have heard of your perpetual minstrels have i not heard of your fluctuation hips! i have heard adequate and have come to watch wouldn't you dance for me africaafrica here i come africa would you not show me to your tribes the timid tribes of your sickly tongues the different tongues of your good menafrica, black soul africa tell me about your gods your gods of the sky and of the protect earth your gods of the hills and of the rivers aboundshow me to your kings africa your kings of the antique dynasty the antediluvian family of rusted spear and shield africa, here i come africaHEAVENLY GUESTheavenly guest heralding thunderously in its own awake pelting on men as well, the gods gathering itself drop by drop.
Rules for Inscription Poetry
You've been journalism poetry since that first assignment in your high drill characters class. You know the rules about inscription poetry, right? Are there rules? Well, if you go to regularly the poetry forums crossways the Internet as much as I do, you'd find that there are a lot of amateur poets who obdurately announce that there are no rules for copy poetry and if a big shot even suggests conception poetry or books on poetry, many of the amateur poets will throw up a defending front.
The Ballad of: Brawling Mad-dog Sergeant Rook [Now in: SPANISH and English]
English VersionA bunch of us guys in the hutIn ?Nam Were in concert cards, singing songs; In a solo-room, back of the hut Lay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;And scrutiny from a distance Was his sidekick, Bodily Cook.When out of the night, he wantedTo fight This bully of six-foot-two Dog-drunk, smelling like a skunkI sought to fight him too.
Since Youve Been Gone...
My life has changedin so so many waysIt seems to continually bein a state of disarray..
Become A Poet In Ten Minutes
Have you ever sat there staring at the paper, ready to write, but unsure where to begin? Want a elucidation that will overcome even the worst writer's block? A person can start journalism poetry today using a few austere techniques.One, two, .
Its What She Didnt Say
When I hear your voice contained by my head it makes me think of you every free day as I fight back tears of desolation and astonishment if you're okayMy life is empty not including you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my clean hopes seem in vainI accomplish how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and anticipate you not to hateI don't deserve a back up ability to show you how much I care when you looked-for me the most I know I disastrous to be thereNow your trust in me is gone evermore and I will never have the attempt to say I actually hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every dayI would give just about everything in life if I could go back to that day and erase the whole lot I said and did to make your distress go awayWhat hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the deficiency of these words haunt me each and every day..
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