Poetry in rank - poetry
Have you ever skilled love with a big cheese you know is not a good match for you? Or how about an attractive association that roots itself deep in your memory..
Little Girl from Huancayo [a poem/in English and Spanish]
Little girl from HuancayoDo you really, actually know? Just how fast those feet will grow,On the streets of Huancayo.Little girl with jumping jacksOn the street, looking back; Back to see whose scrutiny her,A hardly boy with a bird.
Lamenting Poetic Moods [six Poems]
Advance: in Mr. Siluk's poetry one finds symbolist values, affective impressions; verbal magic and even childish jingles; at times the common 8-syllable verse (ballad metre).
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 find an answer time, you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self portion crime, to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed, when its completely pomposity and posing, all about arrogance and greed, to assure a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years, is the area of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears, when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you, leave relatives after who see, that naught you said was true, there is no accepted wisdom now for those, whose add up to you dont count, they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount, no belief of resignation, no confession to those left behind, just on with the ego, fast ahead from those times, as if nobody ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok, as if now is what to focus on, and then was a further day, lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen, not an cause offense to the living, not impeachable and obscene, you may want to move on now, and disregard your past infamy, but you must be tried for treason, and captive for blasphemy.
Three Poems: The Monkey Man of Lima, Plus Two More
What Hides at the back the Minute?What hides at the back the minute? It seems, no one especially knows; How many times will we wakeup, To count the log gone?The rose was dead when I arrived; The sword, was rusty and dull; The chance curtain was open, And there was music in the hall.Oh lovely minute, where art thou? One, is not like the other-: Whirling in an human orbit, As the endless world discovers.
Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet]
Let's admire the poet to his Hell and heaven! Count his Ghosts and dilemma's?Reach out to touch his Stretched-out skies; let's follow The poet to see where he lays.Let's be a consequence the poet to his end; To see if he can?whatever He wants to do, do over again?.
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 lasting city of light 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 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 new 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 defiant of eight-million-? I shake my fist and say: '?show me! But no one does'So alive, so brave, with bright 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, cover all-My Lima, Peru with its established Cathedral:Golden blonde with gigantic 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 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 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.
Three Sweet Poems, and Two Not So Sweet [now in: SPANISH and English]
1) End PoemWherever you are today- Is where you were meant to be; It's where God, dotted the 'i' and the 't'?!2) God's AngelsGod asked his angels: "Why do you look so sad?" Responded one angel: "Sir, we can't find the shade."3) An Empty SpaceOut of wisdom one will wait, travel far for love; the thirst will not kill them.
Two Poems and a Short Story
1)dying in the bar [sluggishly]yet, I would crawl too upto the bar, it was everything, the dampness the engraved wood the zoned-out-ness in my head dreaming; it was change for the better than death? then I took a new drink?so many I never moved much, like dead fish. my head split like an ass it was numb and, nobody else numbness was my homeacross the street, dancing on the patio the moon was out.
The Poets Back into a corner [Three Poems with a review]
The Poet's Corner [Three poem/ see analysis 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!..
Here And There
My eyes opened. I am still alive; Living on globe earth.
The Plane from Iquitos [1959-Part One]
Iquitos & the Amazon Part OneIt was December 2, l959, I was session on a small prop-plane exit Iquitos, Peru for a trip down the Amazon en route for the opening, the mouth of the mighty Amazon,--to Manaus. As we flew low one could see the waters of the Amazon, the city continually impressed me, but more from this birds-eye view, you could see the mighty river in its squid like form, with all it tentacles [contributories: waters connecting to the river].
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Writer and Poet.Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev.
Expressing an Emotion - The Art of Journalism Poetry
Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, conclusion connotation in few words. A song of passion flowing out onto the pages, words that flow into each other and yet definite the inner most belief and feelings of those who read the words.
Way of Life: Rhymes of the Inca [four poems: see in Spanish and English NOW!]
Way of Life: Rhymes of the IncaPizarro (Spanish conquistador ((1525))The blind abide by the blind The dumb admire the fool But the cleaver, like 'Pizarro,' (who could not read or write) Followed human-nature? And ruled the Inca world!Thus, Atahualpa was Beheaded out of pride and Indolence-: one might say, And ignorance ruled? .Note: don Francisco Pizarro #689 5/27/05Cepeda the Sly [Lima, Perú-l546 AD]Cepeda the Sly-, judge With two sides; one false, One pride-both mixed with lies.
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Have you ever practiced fascination with a celebrity you know is not a good match for you? Or how about an attractive connection that roots itself deep in your memory..
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 General Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West.
Burning Autumn Foliage [a poem in Spanish and English]
Burning Autumn Leaves [1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]My long steel cutting rake punctured And twisted all through tons of autumn leaves (back in the '50s); And there's a hill yet, I didn't rake, I see Behind it, two embankments Leaves I didn't rake a day ago; The essence of fall sleeps on the ground.
The King and Delka & Moiromma: the Cold World [Parts 25 and 26]
#25The King and Delka [Split Mawkishness-on Moiromma /Part V]Sickly SentimentalityI have hunted out friends Only to find rawness Of their passion; And the equivalence Of their vision.Who out there can know My brainy verve?(Only the long dead)By King Moir I[Of Moiromma]Ah! the purposeless outer space come back to his mind as he stands on his circle looking up into he eerie dark.
Passion and Poetry, and Life
Ironically, the passion that can deactivate the loathing for difficulties depends on the crack to overcome these difficulties. The irony resides in the circularity of this code - which applies to all areas of activity, counting poetry: One must make the energy to overcome difficulties to attain achievement and feel capable, and one needs this achievement and affection to have a passion for construction this effort.
Antidotes for an Alibi
Amy King's first full-length collection, Antidotes for an Alibi, insists that we assay the illusory clarity of our procedures and the goals that motivate us. How does one in fact get from "A" to "B"-and is there ever actually a "B"? What color is the white space concerning "A" and "B"? Upon more rapidly inspection, apparent realities bring to light themselves to be absorbent and fragile, coated with textures and grains that lead the eye on unreliable pathways.
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 all through to end up where you found it.
Tale of the: Old Seeker 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.
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 distraught eyes of death.He writ you to his den- The devil and his wind,So-: Bow down, bow down Your blood blemished brows He will take you to the edge.
The Assassinate of Lima and Footsteps to Mantaro Valley (Two Poems)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (Peru; in English and Spanish)In what draw back art hid?-Where lessening mountains groan In shadow and amongThe fast-moving water of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footsteps of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, beautifully low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
Ambiguity and Abstraction in Bob Dylan's Lyrics
To many colonize contemporary poetry is a turn-off. The basis for this is that the adult years of these poems are boring.
Lord Byrons She Walks in Beauty
Lord Byron's break ode to "She Walks In Beauty" is among the most memorable and most quoted lines in romantic poetry. The aperture lines are effortless, graceful, and beautiful, a appropriate match for his poem about a woman who possesses unforced grace and beauty.
Man Unbowed [A poem]
Man UnbowedUnbowed by sin, the world of man, stands Upon his feet he gapes into the sky, The apathy of centuries contained by 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 short of up his rough brow? (To make him look so grand, so proud-so tall.
I never belief I would have to say GOODBYE to my best friend? But that's what I had to do today I had to let go of her everlastingly -There was no other way For me to face realism Or pretend to be okay I had no idea -Of how hard it would be To in point of fact let go Of this huge part of me? Not tomorrow or ever -Will my life be the same Devoid of my Grannio here Life seems to be a game - Of attempt and questions?Questions that never end And have no answers That can begin to mend The wide hole confidential of meNor come close to curative My heart and soul that Seem to be atmosphere Lost, numb and empty-Completely hollow? Like I have nonentity left To exceedingly adhere to - All the way through life with respectShe was so much more Than my Grandmother I knew that already She left this earthAnd I told her so More than once or twice For the reason that she had to know Just how very exclusive -And truly blessed I felt to have her as my associate She was the best Devoid of a doubt -My Grannio gave me More than anyone Will ever exceedingly see? It was an silent -Kind of love That came with no environment And went far above The conventional caringAnd be an average of aid For a grandchild - Or ancestors of any sort She gave more of herselfTo me than a person In my life ever will Insignificant person could have done What she did for meWith so much devotion, Definite honesty And true emotion? Her allegiance was -Sincerely ceaseless I accomplish so much Now that I'm crying - And wishing thatI had just one more day To spend property her hand And difficult to take away Her fears and her pain -That took over her Body and her mind Like never before? In our lives -I would have earnestly Given 20 years of my life To have her simply Be here tomorrow -I cannot clarify The way I feel today Or how much I pain Is confidential of me -That will never go away No affair how much time passes I know this ache will stay With me forever?Just as her distinctive touch Will all the time be with me And mean so very much - To me and my son?Jakob Thomas Her "BabyDoll" And I assurance To never not recall -What she would have done If she was still here For him - her only one Great-grandchild?Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www.
Shakespeares Elegy XVIII, Shall I Equate Thee to a Summers Day?
Shakespeare's sonnets command time and endeavor to appreciate. Agreement the copious meanings of the lines, the crisply made references, the brilliancy of the images, and the difficulty of the sound, rhythm and assembly of the verse anxiety consideration and experience.
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, similes 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!.
I Saw the Universe
I can see the cobalt blue of the skiesOr the cobalt 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 yearly trekAlternately arousing the life in the earthAnd then departure 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 clear of 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..
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,As I cluster down, contained by my coat,a rail user clone, just ahead of you for a train.Insidious rain, just showery down,through weak light of creeping dawn,Paper sandwich bags and old chocolate cups,blowing past, look so forlorn.
Savage Nature: The Life of Ted Hughes
One of the most crucial poets of the post-war period, Edward James Hughes (1930-1998), was drawn towards the primitive. He was charmed by the beauty of the biological world, often portraying its cruel and savage makeup in his work as a evidence of his own individual distress and magic beliefs - committed that contemporary man had lost touch with the elemental side of his nature.
New Poetic Work By Ethiopian Refugee Promotes Respect, Courage And Cultural Sensitivity
McLean, VA - "The Curative Conscious" tells the story of an Ethiopian colonist boy on his fascinating journey to America and adulthood. Biographer Kifle Bantayehu, a 23 year-old second-generation Ethiopian immigrant, recounts this affecting tale in poetic format.