Uamaks sea [suspense: now in spanish and english] - poetry
Delicately, my mind was selecting a barely audible tune, out of the dead dark empty space surrounding me?
I saw a shape on a rock, not sure who it was; I had a sensitivity though, a air call it, or second-sight; I've heard that before, not sure if I want to put a lot of belief into it, but so be it, the sensitivity and lack of feeling was there. I didn't' sense any chance in the moment, in the moonlit figure, meeting on the rocks, lurking, looking out into the deep. I did get an awareness of cramps in my stomach though, like centipedes nibbling at it-from all corners-at the pink and red flesh of my home organs, cruel their ill-intentioned a small amount fangs into them.
I stumbled about in the thick foliage, lost in its scratchy overrun wild plants and mud, and god knows what else; in corollary, I came to the edge near the sea, over looking the aquatic, edge of the cliff, it was many years ago since I had been here. I zigzagged all through the last of the bushes, cautiously now, it was the rim of the cliff, and then got I into a clearer opening. I could only hear the noises of shifting waters now-the waters below me, as clattering waves hit, and streaked aligned with the overhang-the sea cliffs, candidly in front of me. It was but a few seconds after dark, after twilight, yes indeed, it had disappeared, swallowed up by an distressed night.
Inscrutability continually appears to bring with it a inexhaustible sum of threat, does it not? A rhetorical ask at best, sure it does, and that amount on the ?the tide was apt more calm, the rocks were mammoth, and overlooking the sea, serrated and with fangs. The wind gentle over head, not like a few log ago, I mean it just unexpectedly evaporated. As I was about to say, the shape, figure on the huge rock, is still looking into the sea; it is like he is sheltered into a trance, or that I am but a worm to him, and too insufficient for him to pay any interest to me. He seems to be chatting to himself, or perchance some sea monster, just kidding-but he's discussion to someone, something, and his head is cutting downward, down, down about the sea. Save for the fact I am not in an illusion.
A fishing boat, no, no just a vessel of some kind, not sure why I said fishing boat, how do I know, it has lit, a light on its deck, I assume it's a deck, it is far off in the distance. I walked now, pointless I think, can't see much in front of me, lest I end up in the sea on top of that damn monster I can't see, only to find out it is real. Oh well, some dark just left the moon a bit more exposed, but it gave me a diminutive light. In September it is aloof here, I swear that eminence has amazing to do with this baffling evening. Here off the coast of ? my bones are chilled.
If you were to ask me: '?what are you doing out here?' I couldn't tell you, I'd not have the answer, 'doing out here,' what? Maybe that be included on the rock knows-he must be but a hundred yards from me now; by chance I'll find out soon enough, and so will you. I mean it is night, but not all that late. Conceivably I was drawn out here. I was visiting a friend, you could say, but only after I arrived. So what provoked me to take this a small amount trip (again)-your guess is as good as mine. I have been to sitting room about the world that seems to draw on a people soul, advocate his pulse to the point he has to or he goes into-and ends up at, where he does-in this case here.
"Aye, good Master," I heard (a mumble) "?take the lot as it is?" this is what echoed back to me, the wind, yes the wind hard-pressed it back into my ears from the spot where that unfamiliar being is, that assume on the huge rock looking, just looking into the-what I assume, the sea, a black hole in the sea, yes indeed, that is what he is doing, looking into a black hole into the sea, for some odd reason, I can see that now, or could, it just faded away, as fast as it came. Evidently, a little else was, or I be supposed to say, is thriving.
-The form was looked proud with a ting of arrogance. I asked myself, now being but a number of yards away: 'does he have an hunch of my presence?' Who concentrates so hard, I mean look, he is asking the water of the sea something? I don't know someone; I get the air he has lost something, and wants to bargain for it back-death brings out many needs in man and beast: and he looks to be both. Or is he development something; he is huge, awfully massive. I'll take a few more steps, a yard now, he be supposed to turn about I'd think. I'm sure he can feel my heart beating, I mean hear it beating, I can hear it myself.
Again and again I say be supposed to he turn about towards me he'd see me, then what? Now he heard me hesitant my thoughts, he early some incantations as well. A lane to what I asked myself-, now what, I'm right after him, three feet:
"I'm Uámak, and below me, is the Minister of Doom, and there are many and various, ways to die, he has on a bone-skull plate, fixed into it, seventy-two ways to die. He brings one plate at a time to me, shows them to me. I am artificial to look as he mocks me. Doom has a funny sense of humor. He will I fear, play with me for ages. He says I must choice one, and knows I can't. He gathers my voice and echoes it down to whoever is under the crust of the earth-as they laugh at me. Which way has been select me, I know you have back sight?"
I was mortified, he bowed about and I more or less lost be in charge of of my physical functions (he was: gloom incarnate; a demigod, or so he looked), and well, lets not get into it. Anyhow, he knew I knew and he hunted me to tell him what has been select for his death bed. So that's why I was brought here, didn't know, and the fingers of doom as well as the City of Death would not tell him, perchance for a long, long time and this would be his death until he begged hell and Doom itself to tell him; I was his messenger. I stared into the blackness where he had been focused, where he was looking into or at, and I couldn't see what he saw, but what I did see was his death?his death,
"What do you see?" asked the demigod.
"A being with wings, putting rocks over your body. You are in a desert, chained to the earth under you, and the rocks over you, you cannot move. "
"What death is this," he asked me.
"The alive death," I chokingly said.
"Will I be conscious," he asked.
"Always!. . . "
Note: In black and white 8/12/05/revised 8/19/05 (by Dennis L. Siluk)
In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza
Uámak ' s Acuática
Con delicadeza, mi mente seleccionaba una melodía sorda, fuera del espacio muerto oscuro vacío rodeándome?
Yo vi una forma sobre una roca, no seguro de quién era; yo tenía un pensamiento sensitivo llámalo un sentimiento, que siente ello, o la segunda oportunidad; había oído eso antes, no seguro de si quiero poner mucho crédito en ello, pero así sea, la sensibilidad y el entumecimiento estaban allí. No sentí ningún peligro en el momento, en la figura iluminada por la luna, sentada sobre las rocas, estando al acecho, buscando en la profundidad. Realmente conseguí una conciencia de calambres en mi estómago pienso, como ciempiés que mordisquean en ello - de todas las esquinas - en la carne rosada y roja de mis órganos internos, picando sus pequeños colmillos venenosos en ellos.
Tropecé sobre el follaje espeso, perdido en sus plantas espinosas crecidas demasiado salvajes y el fango, y Dios sabe que más; en el corolario, vine al borde cerca del mar, mirando sobre la acuática, al borde de la roca, hacía muchos años ya, que yo había estado aquí. Yo zigzagueaba a través del último de los arbustos, cuidadosamente ahora, esto era el borde de la roca, y entonces consigo yo en una apertura más clara. Yo podía solamente oír los ruidos del cambio de las aguas ahora - las aguas debajo de mí, como el golpe de olas que hace ruido, y salpicando contra las rocas sobresalientes del mar, directamente delante de mí. Pero esto era unos segundos antes de la noche, detrás del crepúsculo, sí de verdad, esto había desaparecido, tragado por una noche inquieta.
La impenetrabilidad siempre parece traer con ello una cantidad ilimitada de amenaza, ¿verdad? Una pregunta retórica a lo mejor, seguro esto es, y aquella figura sobre la marea? se tornaba mas calmada, y las rocas eran el mamut, pasando por alta mar, dentado y con colmillos. El viento apacible sobre la cabeza, no como hace unos minutos, pienso esto, justo de improviso se evaporó. Como estuve a punto de decir, la forma, la silueta sobre la enorme roca, todavía esta examinando el mar; es como si él esta bloqueado en un trance, o que yo soy sólo un gusano para él, y demasiado insuficiente para él para prestarme cualquier atención. Él parece estar hablando con el mismo, o quizás algún monstruo de mar, solo bromeando - pero él se dirige a alguien, algo, y su cabeza dirigida hacia abajo, abajo, abajo hacia el mar. Salvo el hecho no estoy en una ilusión. Un barco de pesca, no, no solamente un navío de alguna clase, no estoy seguro por qué dije el barco de pesca, como lo conozco, esto ha encendido, una luz sobre su cubierta, supongo esto es una cubierta, está muy lejos en la distancia. Anduve ahora, sin objeto pienso, no puedo ver mucho delante de mí, no sea que yo termine en el mar encima de aquel monstruo maldito que no puedo ver, sólo averiguar si es verdadero. Ah bien, justo algunas sombras dejaron la luna un poco más expuesta, pero esto me dio un poco de luz. En septiembre es frío aquí, juro que la estatura tiene algo que ver con esta tarde misteriosa. Aquí fuera de la costa? mis huesos están enfriados. Si usted me preguntara: ¿Que esta haciendo Usted aquí? Yo no podía decirle, yo no tendría la respuesta, haciendo afuera ¿qué? Tal vez aquella figura sobre la roca sabe - él debe estar sólo a cien yardas de mí ahora; esta posibilidad lo averiguaré muy pronto, y usted también. Pienso que ya es de noche, pero que no todo tan tarde. Evidentemente fui dibujado aquí fuera. Yo visitaba a un amigo, usted podría decir, pero sólo después de que llegué. Entonces que fue lo que me provocó tomar este pequeño viaje (otra vez) - su conjetura es tan buena como la mía. He estado en sitios en el mundo entero que parecen utilizar el alma de personas, agitar su pulso hasta el punto en que él tiene o él entra - y termina en, en cualquier parte donde lo haga - en este caso aquí. " Siempre, buen Maestro", oí ( un murmullo) "?Toma la parte de como es esto ?" esto es lo que resonó a mis espaldas, el viento, sí el viento lo empujó atrás en mis oídos del punto donde aquella facade desconocida esta, aquella figura sobre el enorme roca mirando, solamente examinando dentro del - lo que yo asumo, el mar, un agujero negro en el mar, sí de verdad, es lo que él hace, examinando un agujero negro en el mar, por alguna razón extraña, puedo ver que ahora, o podía, esto justo se desvaneció, tan rápido como vino. Evidentemente, era algo más, o yo debería decir, es prospero. - la forma estuvo mirando orgullosa con un tintineo de arrogancia. Me pregunté, ahora estando a varias yardas de distancia lejos: "¿Tiene él una indicación de mi presencia?" ¿"Quién se concentra tan fuerte?, pienso mirando, él esta preguntando al agua del mar algo Quizás alguien; consigo el sentimiento que él ha perdido algo, y quiere negociar para que ello regrese- la muerte entrega muchos deseos en el hombre y la bestia: y él mira para ambos seres. O él esta planeando algo; él es enorme, terriblemente masivo. Daré unos pasos más, una yarda ahora, él debería girar, yo podría pensar. Estoy seguro que él puede sentir el latido de mi corazón, pienso oyendo el latido, puedo oírlo yo mismo. - - ¿Una y otra vez digo que debería él girar hacia mí me vería, entonces qué? Ahora él me oyó mascullando mis pensamientos, comenzando algunos conjuros también. Un sendero que yo, me pregunté-, ¿ahora que?, estoy a la derecha detrás de él, tres pies: - "Soy Uámak, y debajo de mí, esta el Ministro de Destino, y hay muchos y varios, modos de morir, él tiene sobre una placa de hueso de cráneo, tallado en ello, setenta y dos modos de morir. Él me trae una placa a la vez, me los muestra. Me fuerzan a mirar mientras él se burla de mí. El destino tiene un sentido gracioso de humor. El me hará temerlo, el jugó conmigo desde hace siglos. Él dice que debo seleccionar uno, y sé que no puedo. Él une mi voz y lo repite abajo a quienquiera que esta debajo de la corteza de la tierra, como ellos se ríen de mí. ¿Qué camino ha sido escogido para mí, sé que usted tiene la segunda oportunidad? - "Estuve mortificado, él giró y casi perdí el charge de mis funciones físicas (él fue la penumbra encarnada; un semidiós, o así el se veía) y bien, no entremos en detalles. De todos modos, él sabía que yo, sabía y él quiso que yo le dijera lo que habíamos escogido para su lecho de muerte. Esto es entonces por lo que fui traído hasta aquí, no conocía, y los dedos de destino así como la Ciudad de la muerte no le dirían, quizás por un largo, muy largo tiempo y esto sería su muerte hasta que él pidiera al infierno y al Destino mismos para decirle; yo fui su mensajero. ¿Miré fijamente en la oscuridad dónde él había estado concentrado, o donde él examinaba, y yo no podía ver lo que él vio, pero lo que yo realmente vi era su muerte ?su muerte, - "¿Que ve usted? " preguntó el semidiós. - "Un ser con alas, poniendo rocas sobre tu cuerpo. Usted está en un desierto, encadenado a la tierra bajo usted, y las rocas sobre usted, usted no puede moverse". - "¿Que muerte es esta?", él me preguntó. - "El infierno, " ahogándome dije. - "¿Voy a yo estar consciente?", preguntó él. - "¡Siempre! . . . "
See Mr. Dennis Siluk's books and travels at his website: http://dennissiluk. tripod. com
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Alice Oswald has won the race to be Oxford's latest professor of poetry. She will be the first woman to serve in the position, established more than 300 years ago.
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A special poetry contest for youths and teens 18 years and younger will see the winning piece earn a special role in the Olympic Theatre Arts Children's Theatre ...
Pittsburgh Poetry Stalwart Marks First Release On A Major Press 90.5 WESA
Poet Michael Wurster organized his career around his passion. Wurster grew up mostly in Iowa, loving poetry, and earned an English degree at Dickinson.
Paul Simon, Alice Quinn honored by Poetry Society of America Fox News
Paul Simon doesn't care much for requests, but he might ask you to sing along. The singer-songwriter's latest honor came from the Poetry Society of America, ...
Poetry helps tech grad cope with illness Deccan Herald
An IIIT-B graduate, Reijul developed juvenile diabetes at the age of 6, and in 2015, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia, because of which he had to ...
Prize-winning poets to read at Lewes library July 24 CapeGazette.com
JosÃ© Padua, winner of the Miller Williams Poetry Award, and his wife Heather Lynne Davis, winner of the Hayden Carruth Poetry Prize at Syracuse University, ...
Meet Joy Harjo, The First Native American U.S. Poet Laureate NPR
NPR's Noel King talks to Joy Harjo, who is a member of the Muscogee Creek Nation. She grew up in Oklahoma and has been writing poetry since the 1970s.
Wanted: Talented applicant for next state poet laureate Toledo Blade
What does one do as the Ohio poet laureate? Well, he drives, for one. Dave Lucas offered in a good-natured conversation via cell phone somewhere between ...
Dacre Montgomery Has A Podcast & Itâs A Total 180 From Stranger Thingsâ Billy Refinery29
Actor Dacre Montgomery is nothing like his "Stranger Things" character, Billy Hargrove â and he has a soothing, sensitive poetry podcast to prove it.
Rhyme in a box: Are you a poet? Let people know it! Chinook Observer
SURFSIDE â Tony Pfannenstiel wants to brighten lives on the Long Beach Peninsula with poetry.
Father Amde Is the Writing Seer of Watts ~ Poetry Corner lataco.com
He is wise. He is righteous. He is a Watts Prophet. Anthony âAmdeâ Hamilton better known as Father Amde stands with the Watts community through poetry that ...
âBless the Poetsâ: First Native US Poet Laureate Calls Us All to a Different Future - Nonprofit Quarterly
âBless the Poetsâ: First Native US Poet Laureate Calls Us All to a Different Future Nonprofit Quarterly
Joy Harjo is the first Native American US Poet Laureate. She was appointed this week by Librarian of Congress Carla Hayden, who said that Harjo's work ...
Meet the man behind the Tube poetry brightening Londonersâ days MyLondon
The hero we didn't know we needed to get us through our commute.
Marathon of Poetry at Mulford East Hampton Star
Sunday is the day, 5:30 is the time, the Mulford Farm on James Lane in East Hampton Village is the place, and poetry is the name of the game. Specifically, it's ...
Poetry event focuses on criminal justice San Marcos Daily Record
Poetry: Awakening Adirondack Almanack
Awakening. Mottled beams of sunlight. Filter down through dense canopies, To feed the whispering, wooded forest. Stirred breezes and shadows move like ...
2 local poets: 'The spirit of activism has always been in LA poetry' kcrw.com
Southern California may not get the credit it deserves for its strong literary community and a great spoken word scene. However, poets Shonda Buchanan and ...
Enjoy some poetry from J-Lyn's soul Germiston City News
J-Lyn Matjila explores her passion for writing and has released an emotional poetry book.
Large visual poetry collection moves into UI Special Collections UI The Daily Iowan
While poetry is often thought of as ink on paper, the work of concrete poets blurs the lines between written work and visual art. The University of Iowa Libraries ...
A Conversation With Joy Harjo, The First Native American Poet Laureate WBUR
The new poet laureate of the United States is also the first Native American appointed to the post. We'll talk with Joy Harjo.
Ifeanyi Menkiti, Wellesley professor who rescued the Grolier Poetry Book Shop, dies at 78 - The Boston Globe
Ifeanyi Menkiti, Wellesley professor who rescued the Grolier Poetry Book Shop, dies at 78 The Boston Globe
Ifeanyi Menkiti, 78, of Somerville, was a longtime Wellesley College philosophy professor and poet who purchased the Grolier Poetry Book Shop in 2006, ...
Keizer's poetry a collection of 'aha' moments Brattleboro Reformer
Garret Keizer's poetry has been in major magazines such as The New Yorker and Ploughshares, in small, curated literary journals like the Alaska Quarterly ...
Poetry Jam returning to Creston BCLocalNews
Local writers and poets are invited to celebrate a night of literature at an open mic night in Creston.
Poetry Mobile keeps Museum on a roll Sentinel & Enterprise
FITCHBURG â Conceived by city artist and Revolving Museum Founder Jerry Beck, the Poetry Mobile is a collaborative public art project featuring poetry ...
Daily Life, Divorce, Race In New Collection By Massachusetts Poet New England Public Radio
The poet January Gill O'Neil writes a lot about life after her divorce. That includes what she calls the ordinary, boring stuff. But her poems about a trip.
Poetry Pick: Amanda Gorman at MOCA L.A. Weekly
Gorman has recently become a paragon of poetry, acquitting herself admirably as the first Youth Poet Laureate of the United States (in 2017) and the Youth Poet ...
Greta Bellamacina On Battling Sexism At Cannes And The Poetry Of Valentino's AW19 Collection - Vogue.co.uk
Greta Bellamacina On Battling Sexism At Cannes And The Poetry Of Valentino's AW19 Collection Vogue.co.uk
Greta Bellamacina on working with Valentino's Pierpaolo Piccioli, her debut feature Hurt by Paradise, and being turned away on the red carpet at Cannes 2019.
Hungering: a Poetry Jukebox for Dublinâs Docklands The Irish Times
'We asked for poems about hunger now, and the memory of past hunger that lingers in the gut'
This debut collection of poetry maps a geography of anguish in its lines and images Scroll.in
An assured collection, Saima Afreen's poems in 'Sin of Semantics' navigate pain as well as places with passion, though they are a little too lush sometimes.
In a Small State of Poetry: No simple choices when it comes to pregnancy The Providence Journal
Guest writer Sussy Santana explores the complex and shifting emotions she experienced in each of her pregnancies, underscoring the deeply personal ...
"Can poetry save us?": An Interview with Bifo E-Flux
In the English-language edition of Le Monde Diplomatique, Mike Huguenor interviews Franco âBifoâ Berardi about his recent book Breathing: Chaos and Poetry, ...
Proprietors of iconic Main Street diner open their doors to Poetry Street RiverheadLOCAL
Poetry Street has found a new home. The popular five-year-old, open-mic venue for poetry readings will take up residence at Sunny's diner on East Main Street ...
Publishing Your Poetry
If you are considerable about since your work available by honest publishers, there are a few points you ought to consider. At the outset and most obviously, you need to ascertain if you have poetry worth publishing.
House of the Hobgoblin [Part Two of Three/with notes]
House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three]Here is where, where the air is stillAnd the mountains darkness disappear! Here is where, unmarked spirits dwellWhere harp and recall expire?Where the rainbow-leaps, from itsStoreroom-keep, and cries; And the sands along the lot coastEcho then die?as in sleep?;And where attraction turns into ghouls!..
Chan Chan and The Gorriones (Two Poems in English and Spanish)
The subsequent two poems, one in English, the other in English and Spanish were done all through this ongoing trip in Peru, while in Lima, even if the poem concerning: Chan Chan was oriinally happening last year,while at the antique site in Northern Peru, it was just buffed recently.The Gorriones of LimaIt is fall all about me-The Gorriones are swimming in the air Underneath the Lima skyAs if-, if fish could fly?Summer has gone its wayIt is fall again I say! The birds-, they just walk on byLooking, as if, if on parade-AndThe world keeps spinning;They just do not see it Until the hour comes?When the sun goes down!?When,Things get a diminutive dim;Yet the Gorriones keep on swimming Gracefully, swimming, in the wind-Under the Lima sky? .
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 coming up 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 established the largest lake in the world.
Growing hurts sometimes; saying goodbye to friends, to equipment you've known and done to belongings you sought after to do. Growing heals sometimes the devastated dreams and hopes of a life you once knew leading you to a new acquaintance of yourself.
Hindu Poet - Kamalakanta
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th Century. From an early age he spoken an appeal in religious studies and later in life Kamalakanta acknowledged admission into Tantric Yoga from a Tantric yogi named Kenaram Bhattacharya.
Three Poems: Ghost of the Rocks; Lady from Lima & Bell Ringer of de Copan
Phantom of the Rocks[Huancayo, Peru]Night falls deepUpon the traveler!Low, over the AndesBy Huancayo-;They know a legend,Not of this earth,Where evil lurks(Over Palla-Huarcuan!..
Poetry and Common Culture
Is poetry too dense for the be in the region of reader? Is it too cryptic, scholarly? If you ask a large group of be an average of associates what they like or don't like about poetry, you'll get a few another answers, but there is an devastatingly conventional grouping of responses.One of the main reasons that colonize say they aren't addicted to contemporary poetry is that they feel it is too cryptic.
Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait]
the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of their child growing up devoid of it is part of the phenomenon! (the array of the day). fanaticism,-- with a authoritative ideology are seeds for suicide! murder: giving reasons to rage!.
The Poets Area [Three Poems with a review]
The Poet's Corner [Three poem/ see assess of poetry under the poems]The Poets CondorThe condor fly's Amongst the hillsIn open skies Of San Jerrónimo, Near Huancayo?Forbidding any To near his path-Lest he dare To risk a attack, Near Huancayo!..
A Case of The Fears
Chicken Soup is good for a coldSleep is good for the FluWhen I get a case of the FearsWhat is a being to do?It is not bacteriaAlthough it can eat away my soulIt is not a virusYet, it can keep me from affection wholeI know what will do the trick,What will put me back on top,A great big bowl of Ice CreamWill exceedingly hit the spotThat was great and now I am doneOne bowl just won't doIf one is good, then more is greatAnd now I have eaten two.Bowls three, four, five and sixCame and then they wentI think my case of the fears are fixedLook at how my time was spentI am receiving sleepyIt is time to go to bedMy fears are no longer in my stomachNow they are in my headI close my eyes and I can be furious Fears I want to killI will do, anything it takesTo keep the monsters still.
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 illustrious of the Inca Kings, in the 16th century of Peru, I do relieve, and was held for deliver by the Spaniards.
You make me smile like I've seldom done before You give me a reason to want more and more..
You can do and you can be whatever you want. You have the power, and the right, to make the changes.
The Game of Life
When your life becomes unbearable And the light of assurance ceases to glow, When all your dreams and aspirations Lie inactive on ambition's death row.When you feel that all is hopeless, Life troubles just seem to abound.
Uamaks Marine [suspense: now in Spanish and English]
Delicately, my mind was selecting a barely audible tune, out of the dead dark empty space surrounding me?I saw a shape on a rock, not sure who it was; I had a sensitivity though, a affection call it, or second-sight; I've heard that before, not sure if I want to put a lot of confidence into it, but so be it, the sensitivity and lack of feeling was there. I didn't' sense any chance in the moment, in the moonlit figure, session on the rocks, lurking, looking out into the deep.
A Happiness Poem
If a happiness poem could bring forth a smile, Then my face would all the time dress in style.If my ears could hear my cpu screen, From one to another, they, too, would grin.
In Poetry: Connotation of Words [And ...Rocket-belt]
In Poetry: Denotation of WordsWhen I write poetry, I check out the connotation of words for too often they sound the same, but once written, and if spelled wrong, in consequence, give a accomplish another consequence of what I had intended; this I call a flash of destruction control. If my rhyme is flat, and my accent is off, so what, I can survive, as long as the gist of my words are not; and are as I meant them to be.
A World That Doesnt Care
War bombs may explode demolishing man and land. Hurricanes may devastate and leave us exclusively bare.
There are many times I set up barriers and walls, invisible except you come too close, And then you hit them.You astonishment what happened.
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