Blind designs [a poem] and a note by rosa on the other door - poetry
Born today, gone tomorrow
(he has not educated he
has detached himself
A note by Rosa Peņaloza-Siluk, "The very first book Dennis wrote, "The Other Door: Poetic Exhortations", appears now on Ebay and Abe, and Alibis books, and away as a keepsake. It was 25-years ago he wrote the dangerous praised book, in classical poetry. Since then it has befit a sought-after title for the author, with few circulating copies left. There was only 750-copies made, and 400 of them signed, a short classic in his genre. It is vintage Siluk, poetry-about ancestors who love and get hurt, and travel, just about the whole gamut of life. He has been idea of republishing the book with a new inauguration by his wife [me], as also his books on drugs and alcohol, "A Path to Sobriety?,"has proven that it will outlive him and myself, with all admiration anticipated for my husband. Rosa
Poet Dennis Siluk, lives in Minnesota and Peru, and has just complete a new book,on Peruvian poems, and is running on "The Curse of the Abyass Worm," which he hopes to get out by March, 2006. You can see his travels and books at his website: http://dennissiluk. tripod. com
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 alongside 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 leave-taking impressions Accepting fate Like discolored silver!.
Key Largo - Frater Albertus
Key Largo:The fans turn indolently in front of the doorThey open wide viewing mangroves galoreAn egret in the everglades stalks its preyHaltingly it walks along its wayOn a further clear and sunny dayA woman's floppy hat shades her beauty not so brittleThe shiny scarf that holds the hat flutters just a littleShe pauses in the threshold of the doorSurveying what she's looking forShe is looking as the crow flies at meHer beauty flaunted all to see.'Where are you from?' while noticing I had a frownOn the other couch she in a classy manner sits downIn the small hotel lobby bar'A city north and very far.
I am not the one I was already yesterday.I cannot go back.
Stone Beds [A Poem and an Advance]
Stone Beds [Pompeii's surge]Advance: after the great outbreak of Pompeii's adjacent volcano, Vesuvius, some two-thousand years ago in the peak of the Roman Empire, what was left of the city were customarily ashes of stone from an unleashing furnace; it is hard to assume what the colonize went by means of (none, not one character survived). I can only guess from the looks of the city today, and in its early excavations, its ancestors were baked alive or asleep, like pottery.
Im Sorry Mom! A Mothers Day Poem
Mother's Day Poetry,I'm Sorry Mom!I'm sorry for the troubles And the reservations I brought you. I'm sorry for my mistakes, I didn't mean to make you blue.
Two Poems with Triggers [and a commentary]
So Many Einstein'sThe cock-crow mist, insists there is a God. The earth corpse faithful to its orbit.
Memoirs of a Wastelands Rim [a Poem: now in Spanish and English]
Memoirs of a Wasteland's RimIt still was light when she paused at the wasteland's rim- Over, the rim rest like a sleeping brute, a stiff frame Adjacent to the blue where early stars hung like oil lamps Hanging from old beams and shade?the inexpressive frame Her foothold fixed the beams, as she had fallen onto it Alone, she watched the forenoon, climbing about her A rolling stone woman, apparent by life, and aslant dreams With development of hurt and molded muscle on her face Her amount impressed adjacent to the inexpressive frame, She tried to jump, and lost her balance, lynching like a bird Now sipping the gloom in the ledge and devastated hopes She yielded ahead of the slow development of sunset Blood dripped, with her dying darkness And a pink moon hurled a flame across The dim clouds, burning all through the sky The littered sky above her?Crossing the valley's floor her eye absorbed it Rocky images, peak points Thrusting herself up bravely from to the ledge The painted crack of dawn blushed over the rim Her brows and nose, face anti the building material stone Massive injuries was captivating form, Her figure on the brink so languorously crossways the sun It was too great a task-to die alone?she wished now She had not jumped?a thousand feet below, yet to go. Too much for any woman in a lost world Out of the weak wood her mind had peace; She knew soon it would all be over-alas Mute and protesting adjacent to life's uselessness A narrow path lay below her little body Between death and attainment, a careless foot The rocks beneath her weakening, she plunged Plunged to her death, in the figure hands of the valley Thinking of it, as she fell, belief with a smiled, Saying, looking up-dead ahead of her echoes: 'Time is short?time is short?time is short!' When they found her, her face was bold of falling.
The Lull of Sundown [Over Mantaro Valley] In English and Spanish
Twilight, was now beginning. As forthe sun, it was down-down over the Mantaro Valley of Peru.
Rules for Inscription Poetry
You've been characters poetry since that first assignment in your high instruct copy class. You know the rules about inscription poetry, right? Are there rules? Well, if you go to regularly the poetry forums athwart the Internet as much as I do, you'd find that there are a lot of amateur poets who inflexibly proclaim that there are no rules for journalism poetry and if a big name even suggests appraisal poetry or books on poetry, many of the amateur poets will throw up a distrustful front.
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 classification absorbed a debacle in indescribable proportions, from Jupiter to Mars; knocking Earth out of its 100,000-year Ice Age.
The Crusader: A Hunt for the Desirable quality Confidential (an piece of an Epic Poem)
On all through the darkness she searches the bones Seeking the hand of her love; Deep in the stillness, the maid searches on, Petitioning help from above. Onward she gropes by means of the flesh and the blood Of the warriors blemished and maimed; She carries no hope for the life of her love - For zilch but his body she came.
House of the Gnome [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, without a number spirits dwellWhere harp and recollection expire?Where the rainbow-leaps, from itsStoreroom-keep, and cries; And the sands along the lot coastEcho then die?as in sleep?;And where charm turns into ghouls!..
Farewell to Lester Graybill
I never met a man, who could shake my hand, and make my heart feel like a fireside afire.I never met a man, who could smile so easy, real honest.
How I astonishment what he's doing as I sit alone at night. How I admiration who he's seeing How I admiration if I'm right.
Wars, Air of Ambiguity [for: Lt. Laura Walker] in SPANISH and English
Wars, air of AmbiguityDedicated to 1st. Lt.
Two Poems, with Emblematic Language
Says Mr. Dennis Siluk, when asked to assess his poetry somewhat, for he hesitates all the time when I ask him to so; I can tell you.
A Poem - By Lorraine KemberIt was a day like any other and mother, father, sister, brother, were shipping out the customs of their land. When all of a sudden lacking warning, Look after Description came calling, shook the earth and stole the ocean from the sand.
Kafka lands resurrected in Crewe deposited by a shiny alien craft, And at the same time as he is wondering what to do He is asked to show his pass Or pay an immediate one off fine At a cash point of his choice And they are read-through all the time On his irises face and voice.And of classes they find that he is not, They ascertain he just cannot be there, Although he seems as if he is visible, And has hands and toes and hair, If he is not on the Great Data Bank, He plainly and austerely cannot be, He is not programmed and he is not ranked He is clearly not like you and me.
Ambiguity and Abstraction in Bob Dylan's Lyrics
To many associates contemporary poetry is a turn-off. The argue for this is that the adult years of these poems are boring.
You make me smile like I've seldom done before You give me a reason to want more and more..
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