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Poetry in sequence - poetry

The Crusader: A Explore for the Asset Exclusive (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 all the way through the flesh and the blood Of the warriors blemished and maimed; She carries no hope for the life of her love - For nil but his body she came.

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 a small amount more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st General Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West.

The Exit Poems [Iron and Fire & No Heroes]

The Exit Poems [And Socrates]Iron and FireIron can be allay by fire- grows hard in the cold; and all the gates therein are, as it was, blocked again. So, often are those misled? by luxury and pride, who push unassuming nature aside-: thus, deliverance their vanity and perfection their virtue? and in the end, they all collided.

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 anti 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 goodbye impressions Accepting fate Like flecked silver!.

Breathing-in, Minnesota [a poem: now in Spanish and English]

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, conceivably chill about the corner-; As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes? Leaves will soon vanish, darkness will come earlyMaybe he's accepted wisdom 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.

Grandpas House & From Iraq with Love [Two Poems]

Grandpa's House [The ole Real House]The house looked-for painting Sun-blistered and flaking Grandpa in progress to have us Boys-Mike and I- start Doing some scraping-While he, pealed off the ole Paint, and in progress painting?Just a humble made of wood house With more than a few rooms, but Strong adequate to keep the Winds and coldness snows out, How he loved that ole house!..

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 air call it, or second-sight; I've heard that before, not sure if I want to put a lot of acceptance into it, but so be it, the sensitivity and lack of feeling was there. I didn't' sense any jeopardy in the moment, in the moonlit figure, meeting on the rocks, lurking, looking out into the deep.

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 made of wood frame Adjacent to the blue where early stars hung like oil lamps Hanging from old beams and shade?the impassive frame Her grip trapped 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 arrival of hurt and molded muscle on her face Her appear impressed anti the stiff frame, She tried to jump, and lost her balance, lynching like a bird Now sipping the gloom in the ledge and traumatized hopes She yielded beforehand the slothful develop of sunset Blood dripped, with her dying darkness And a pink moon hurled a flame across The eerie clouds, burning all over the sky The beset sky above her?Crossing the valley's floor her eye engrossed it Rocky images, main points Thrusting herself up confidently from to the ledge The painted break of day blushed over the rim Her brows and nose, face alongside the sandstone stone Massive injuries was attractive form, Her figure on the brink so languidly diagonally 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 aligned with life's uselessness A narrow path lay below her slight body Between death and attainment, a careless foot The rocks beneath her weakening, she plunged Plunged to her death, in the figurine hands of the valley Thinking of it, as she fell, idea 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.

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 afforest 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 demented 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.

Wars, Air of Ambiguity [for: Lt. Laura Walker] in SPANISH and English

Wars, air of AmbiguityDedicated to 1st. Lt.

Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait]

the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of their child growing up exclusive of it is part of the phenomenon! (the abundance of the day). fanaticism,-- with a able ideology are seeds for suicide! murder: giving reasons to rage!.

Poetry and Admired Culture

Is poetry too difficult for the arithmetic mean reader? Is it too cryptic, scholarly? If you ask a large group of be in the region of citizens what they like or don't like about poetry, you'll get a few altered answers, but there is an crushingly customary group of responses.One of the main reasons that citizens say they aren't addicted to contemporary poetry is that they feel it is too cryptic.

Ole Bulky Jeeps & Paper, Ink and Rain [two Peoms]

Ole Bulky JeepsThrough late summer's heat These bulky shaped jeeps Ride by house and farm City and barn-Hungry for Spring-again, eager to avoid The Slipping and sliding Of winter's ice and wind?[s]Their cumbersome legs are dirty From heartbreaking dust and rain (Here and there, everywhere) Through all kinds of terrain Like heartbreaking clouds caught In the plant life of the woods? They never slow down a ting They have a duty, and give.It's part of how they live- In military-, bulky ole jeeps!.

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 befall enslaved By-them? By them all, he will fall. Ah! Yes-abstract concepts Bombast and language His intellect His cleverness This he trees behind To his decedents!.

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 behind you 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 chief lake in the world.

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