Infected ideologies [a poetic portrait] - poetry
the disease of extremism
Notes by Rosa Peñaloza: the biographer has not in black and white to be political, fairly psychological as his mind works-both in poetry and i don't know with all his writings. He writes as he sees things, be it close up, or from a distance. And he sees evidently terrorism more in an ideological frame than others do. Right or wrong, he looks at the character, the soul of the phenomenon. When he wrote the book, "Islam, In explore of Satan's Rib," many brain wave of the book being anti this and that. When in essence, he was looking at the God's you might say; again, not political, per se, rather, psychological, if not theological, and not annoying to change somebody's mind a person to any a few religion. He acknowledged a correspondence of credit from Arial Sharon, and a conjure up signed by him, as a compliment. This poem seems to consider some of that old implication he tried to write in the book.
See Mr. Dennis Siluk's book at http://www. bn. com or http://www. abe. com
Ed Gallagher Dec. 11, 1907 - Sept.
Ode, to the Mighty Midget Omac [In English and Spanish]
Part One Midget HistoryI am thirty-six inches tall, that is all-Honest to god I am My hair is green, my eyes red, and IHave a very thick neckMy eyebrows are thin, and my beardHas three hairs? And I bore abuse, when I was youngYes! It happened to be; day by day??folks laugh at me, my appearanceYou see?I make them appalled. .
Ode To Quetzalcoatal [Now in Spanish and English]
Ode to QuetzalcóatlQuetzalcóatl the GreatNo one knew his true name, so they Called him Quetzalcóatl-feather Serpent He and his crew of nineteen: faces Strange faces, metaphors of a prince, a lord: King of the Yucatan in the year 986 ADHe was a tall man; long cloths, sandals; White as day, with a long beard, black hair. Some say red: some don't say? But they called him priest, Lord, king Amongst many things: god!.
A Happiness Poem
If a happiness poem could bring forth a smile, Then my face would continually dress in style.If my ears could hear my cpu screen, From one to another, they, too, would grin.
Welcome to the Town of Feeling
Happy, Sad, Mad and Glad, Moved in down the streetCautious watched them, from her window, Wondering, which one ought 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.
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 enduring 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 by means 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 induction in its inky seaInvisible people: cats, dogs, birds, and rats-infiniteUncountable: dots; streams of lit dots, dot-lights; People: walking, talking, sleeping, consumption 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 different 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 copious food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, jacket all-My Lima, Peru with its famous Cathedral:Golden fair-haired with high crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its furrowed 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 labor 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.
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!..
I Shall Wait...
I Shall Wait..
Do you ever stare at the paper, coming up for poetic inspiration? Well, you can stop coming up and start using systematic techniques for creating poetry. If it seems too mechanical or false at first, don't worry.
A Dose of Laughter
I'm not well. Can't you tell? Kinda low, so, give me a dose of laughter.
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!.
Spell of the Andes: (in English and Spanish)
Note: in print 4-15-05, while energetic all the way through the Andes of Peru, from Huancayo to Lima. I sensed I was but an ant, among the mass of stone, earth and plant life of this enchanting, and long-term landscape.
Ceasar Vallejo: Black Roses [In English and Spanish]
Cesar Vallejo: Black RosesBow down your head ol' poet- To face God's grace ahead There are no more trenchesTo dig today? In the reforest of your head,So-: Bow down, bow down,Ol' barbaric poet! Death rides the horse ahead I hear the crackling of a whip See the crazy eyes of death.He command you to his den- The devil and his wind,So-: Bow down, bow down Your blood discolored brows He will take you to the edge.
Im Sorry Mom! A Mothers Day Poem
Mother's Day Poetry,I'm Sorry Mom!I'm sorry for the troubles And the fears I brought you. I'm sorry for my mistakes, I didn't mean to make you blue.
How I astonishment what he's doing as I sit alone at night. How I awe who he's seeing How I astonishment if I'm right.
Arizona Blue--Gunfighter: The Wolves Nest [Chapter One of Seven: The North]
[Episode Five]Arizona Blue-GunfighterThe Wolves Nest-in the North[Episode Five]Northern Minnesota Area-Winter of 1877Chapter One of Seven: The NorthThe area was known as Pigs Eye [St. Paul, Minnesota]; Northfield was a hardly more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st Countrywide Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West.
Writing Innovative Poetry
Writing innovative poetry, the kind of poetry that decent literary journals publish, entails conscious faithfully what each word of a poem does to the reader. A good poem must be evocative, skillful, and cohesive, but beforehand attempting to hone these attributes, a aptitude poet must be erudite of the a range of forms and attributes of contemporary poetry.
Two Poems: Boyhood, and Old Age [with a note on style]
BoyhoodOh me! Thy glorious days have flown! I mealy noticed, now they're gone, How briefly agreed the flowers! Time does not stop youth's bells; It was like I was in a spell, And my face now shows the hours!Ah yes! My young at heart past days, Still lively in my fair age, When all was quick and new Now wrapped in movies and books, And contacts and category were all I knew And love was shown by open looks!#741 6/26/05Old AgeThey stop by to see me now To find what's old and new, They peer into my-everything, And assess my views; They tell me what I must like, And that I ought to be grieved-These are my fragile associates That takes the strongest liberties?I mean to take the signal off; And put the phone beyond the door; In vain I speak to tell them why -I shan't live here anymore!#742 6/26/05A note on Style: some ancestors ask, "What style of poetry to you like the best?" I can never fulfil that question; it is open-ended to me. If I feel like contravention free from tradition as in the poem of: "Old Age," so be it; and if I feel established verse, a stricter conventional configuration be supposed to be used, as in "Boyhood," and can add abundantly to the poem, so it is.
Tale of the: Old Huntsman and the Blonde Hare [In SPANISH and English now]
There once lived an old man and his goodwife On the edge of the thick of the woods; They lived in an old run-down shack For forty-years and some. The old man hunted for his living, And his wife sewed on her lap.
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 rendition of any kind, on the imprisonment and death of Atahualpa the Inca King of the Inca Empire, in the 16th century (Peru).Atahualpa, long-term in Cajamarca Greeted by De Soto, his free ally from Spain! "Be Calm! These times will be tolerant to you.
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