Breathing-in, minnesota [a poem: now in spanish and english] - poetry
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 coldness about the corner-; As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes? Leaves will soon vanish, dark will come early
Maybe he's assessment 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. The eighty-three Year old man looks about, on his screened in Porch -fetches his pipe, light it up, sucks in a Drag, pushes out some smoke: it drifts and drifts In the corners of the house
"Ah!" he says-proud of his life events-I say to Myself (I'm but ten): "No doubt He's by now lived this?"
There are many stories he wants to tell, but first he Wants to smell the fresh air, the burning of autumn Leaves-He, never anticipated to have lived this long of A life, I believe, the old bear, came from Russia in 1916; He acknowledged life-adjusted to it
He hears the sparrows, their down flapping, faintly Soiled feathers, flapping, cover every inch of their Bodies- He notices frost on the adjacent tree. It seems to Him, the sun is full of life off of the ground, he gets bits And pieces of it on his face, it warms it, somehow, Thaws it out?
He's breathing in, frail like,-like appraisal Faulkner, gradually Does it, a ting uneasy. He never left Minnesota once, once He at home back home from WWI (1918), "?no need to," he Says-he's happy? The fields are clean, animals in the barns; in the city, People in receipt of haircuts-everything conclusion down. Winter is now-it came last night, a Minnesota winter Is like no other. He just woke up, his bones chilled. The Wind blows, now it whistles, no flora to stop its echoes.
"There are only a few left like me," he murmurs. The Flavor of chill he likes; warm biscuits, hot coffee, a Smoke from a pipe or cigar. Black kindling that were Green a few months ago-: it's 10-below zero.
He sees the beauty of Minnesota in a glance here and There-It makes his brain swim with life; it is character at its Finest!. . .
For Kathy [#800 8/14/05]
In Spanish Translated by: Nancy Penaloza
Respirando en, Minnesota [un poema]
Al comienzo del Otoño, en Minnesota, la lluvia cae, cae, En cubos, cubos Y más cubos-: gotas Comparadas con la música de sus muchos arroyuelos de Diez mil lagos; grava humedecida, grava por todas partes?
El abuelo se sienta sobre el pórtico, soñando despierto, de Algo, quizás el invierno rondando la esquina-; mientras las moscas desaparecen, con los mosquitos?Las hojas in half a shake desaparecerán, las sombras vendrán temprano
Tal vez él esta pensando en el verano: millas y millas y millas y millas de maizales; Su niñez ahora, hace mucho tiempo ida, él tararea un himno, una canción; mirando
La valla metálica-entubada, que él hizo, con tres postes, sobre el Terraplén, Conduciendo los pasos hacia el pórtico; Esto esta desgastado como él.
Los vientos en Minnesota huelen fresco, mural por todo el follaje, hay Mucho de ello. El anciano de ochenta y tres años mira alrededor, sobre su protección En el Doorway - trayendo su pipa, encendiéndolo, aspiran una Rastra, eliminando el humo: esto va a la deriva y llega las esquinas de la casa
¡" Ah!" Él dice - orgulloso de los acontecimientos de su vida- me digo a mi mismo (pero yo sólo de diez): Sin duda "¿Él ya vivió esto?"
Hay muchas historias que él quiere contar, pero primero, él quiere oler el aire fresco, la burning de Hojas de otoño - Él, nunca tuvo la intención de haber vivido esto a lo largo de una vida, Yo creo, el viejo oso, vino de Rusia en 1916; Él aceptó la vida- adaptado a ello.
Él oye los gorriones, su batir de plumas, plumas apenas Manchadas, batir, cubriendo cada pulgada de sus Cuerpos - Él nota la helada sobre el árbol cercano. Le parece, el sol esta saltando en el campo, él consigue añicos y pedazos de ello sobre su cara, esto calienta, de algún modo, Lo deshiela hacia fuera?
Él esta respirando, frágil como, - como leyendo Faulkner, despacio hace esto, un tintineo difícil. Él nunca dejó Minnesota alguna vez, una vez que Él llegó a casa de WWI (1918), "?ninguna necesidad", él dice - que el es feliz?. los campos son limpios, los animales en los graneros; en la ciudad, la gente que consigue cortes de pelo - todo cerrando abajo. El invierno esta ahora - llegó anoche, un invierno del Minnesota no Se parece a ningún otro. Justo cuando el se despertó, sus huesos enfriados. El Viento sopla, ahora esto silba, ningún follaje para parar sus ecos.
"Hay sólo unos pocos dejados como yo " murmura él. El Sabor del invierno le gusta; bizcochos calientes, café caliente, fumar de una pipa o cigarro. Las ramas negras que eran Verdes hace unos meses-: esto es 10 bajo cero.
Él ve la belleza de Minnesota en un vistazo aquí y Allí - Esto hace a su cerebro nadar con la vida; ¡esto es la naturaleza en su fineza!. . .
Para Kathy [*800 8/14/05]
You can see Dennis Siluk's many books at http://www. bn. com or http://www. amazon. com
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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!.
Man Unbowed [A poem]
Man UnbowedUnbowed by sin, the world of man, stands Upon his feet he gapes into the sky, The lack of concern of centuries inside his eyes, And in his heart the curse of the old world. Who made him dead to love and God? A thing that breathes only for wants and needs, With a lack of emotion, a brother to the fox? Who tightened and hard-pressed up his serrated brow? (To make him look so grand, so proud-so tall.
Live For Today...
Isn't that what they say?But what does that mean?There's no characterization that mayanswer that question..
The Art of Getting Poetic Critique
You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your diminutive copy fingers to use in an crack to refine your craft. What does it especially mean when a celebrity who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great.
Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King]
The Fast-moving water of HellHell's furnace- Likened to a chimney Vomits her torrents Of flames- Into the air Through earths crust And the earth's trembles-!Agitated, she projects A thick curtain of smoke To heat the feet of those Who provoke her every wish. Like molten iron She waits for the soul(the moment) Then molds, into her enclosure Human serpents? Out of savage flesh!No storm, no struggle No eruption, no typhoon, Just a terrible phenomenon, Hell is adept of producing; And upon death, Back into the Abyss They melt!.
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 because of 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, drinking by the dots People: waiting, killing, robbing, praying, by the dotsFor tomorrow, tomorrow and a further 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 beefy 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 frequent food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, cover all-My Lima, Peru with its distinguished Cathedral:Golden fair-haired with high 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 hard work 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 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 allocation crime, to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed, when its decently pomposity and posing, all about conceit and greed, to assured a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years, is the coverage of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears, when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you, leave relatives at the back who see, that nobody you said was true, there is no brain wave now for those, whose add up to you dont count, they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount, no brain wave of resignation, no confession to those left behind, just on with the ego, fast advance from those times, as if naught ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok, as if now is what to focus on, and then was an added 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 disregard your past infamy, but you ought to be tried for treason, and caged for blasphemy.
Ed Gallagher Dec. 11, 1907 - Sept.
Three Poems: Dona Leonors Revenge; The Old Moon; Customary Sides [All in Spanish/all in English]
1) Doña Leonor's Revenge [1627 AD]Rafael Ortiz's fate Was on the plate Of Doña Leonor'sWhen she arrived In Lima, Peru; To taste revengeFor the beheading Of her husband. And so the plot?was now played out (in an alleyway) As she devastated her trout!In SpanishTranslated by Nancy PenalozaLa leyenda de: La venganza de doña Leonor (1627 después de cristo)El destino de Rafael Ortiz Estaba sobre el plato De doña Leonor.
Top 20 Poetry Quotations
Explore the connotation of poetry and the motivation of poets with this exceptional assortment of redolent quotations..
Two Poems with Triggers [and a commentary]
So Many Einstein'sThe crack of dawn mist, insists there is a God. The earth corpse faithful to its orbit.
You make me smile like I've seldom done before You give me a reason to want more and more..
The Last King of Mars [A Poetic Mytho]
[As Told by the Last] King: it was in the year 23,700 BC that one of the two moons of earth was hit by a meteor that of which, a great part of the moon broke off and hit earth's become known with a devastating impact. Thus the solar arrangement absorbed a deluge in beyond belief proportions, from Jupiter to Mars; knocking Earth out of its 100,000-year Ice Age.
How wonderfully sweet to be a dweller dwelling on the road of goodbye. Bittersweet tears fall as I think of all the sitting room I'll never see, all the faces I'll never know, all the joys I'll never share, as I head for the unknown.
How to Write Bad Poetry
"All bad poetry springs from actual feeling."--Oscar WildePeople write poetry for a overabundance of reasons, but this condition has a sharpened arrowhead aimed candidly at the fingertips of amateur poets who wish to be in print yet garbage to learn the attributes of a well-crafted poem.
A Death in Cajamarca, Peru (Atahualpa, in Cajamarca ((in English and Spanish))
The Epic Poem:A Death in Cajamarca, Peru [Atahualpa, in Cajamarca]Advance: This is a version, not a paraphrase of any kind, on the captivity and death of Atahualpa the Inca King of the Inca Empire, in the 16th century (Peru).Atahualpa, lasting in Cajamarca Greeted by De Soto, his free alone from Spain! "Be Calm! These times will be tolerant to you.
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast [Summer of 2002]?wind was blowing angrily It never left for a flash Bursts of fury I found it awkward to keep My feet placed, thus, I clung to my knees For one delightful flash I could not now disguise it From for myself Some delicate air Manifested itself Then the existing drew Sharply away from me With her mystery-Back out into the open sea Yet-, still it roared back at me! It was an spoken announcement 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 body with its own lively soul.
I Saw the Universe
I can see the azure 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 twelve-monthly trekAlternately initiation 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 afar 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..
Take some time to stop and look at nature. Pick up a rock or two and think about where it might have in progress out and what it might have gone by means of to end up where you found it.
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 adjacent to 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 departure impressions Accepting fate Like flawed silver!.
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