The Dead God of Copan (in English and Spanish)
And the Death God said: "Let it rise to its glory in the Rio Valley-for a season; then let it be gone, we shall call it Copan?"
Prologue: Empires come and go, liken to cosmic events, or the storms around the world: Atlantis, Mu, Greece, Persia, Rome, the Inca Nation, and even the great Maya heroic times of Copan, in Central America. All came and all left, one way or another; now just dust and artifacts in the spiral of time. But I shall pick out one, just one king, Smoke-Imix [-God K], for he was the last of the great warriors, or so I believe.
[The Saga begins]
Before there was 'new light,' the 8th Lord of Night ruled in the Valley of Copan?-then light broke out [3114 BC] over the Copan Valley-and women and men walked hand in hand to create a new civilization-but where there is peace, there is blood in the sands?and this is where it all began?.
#467/Feb, 2005; dedicated to Clark A. Smith, Poet,
Versión en Español
El Dios de la Muerte de Copan
Por Dennis L. Siluk
Traducido por Nancy Peñaloza
Y el Dios de la Muerte dijo: "Déjelo levantarse de su gloria en el Valle del Río-por una estación; después déjalo que se vaya, nosotros lo llamaremos Copan?"
Prologo: Imperios viene y van, comparados como acontecimientos cósmicos, o tormentas alrededor del mundo. Atlántica, Mu, Grecia, Persia, Roma, la Nación Inca, e incluso el gran Tiempo Heroico Maya de Copan, en América Central. Todo viene y va, de una forma u otra; justo ahora como polvo y artefactos en la espiral del tiempo. Pero escogeré uno, solo un rey, Smoke-Imix [-God K], por que el fue del ultimo de los guerreros, o eso es lo que pienso.
[Así comienza la leyenda]
Antes de que hubiera la 'luz nueva,' el octavo Señor de la Noche gobernó en el Valle de Copan? -después la luz se esparció [3114 BC] sobre el Valle de Copan-y mujeres y hombres caminaron tomados de la mano para crear una civilización nueva-pero donde hay paz, hay sangre en las arenas...y esto es donde todo empezó?.
#467/Feb, 2005; dedicado a Clark A. Smith, Poeta, quien creía que Copan estaba relacionado con Atlántica.
Note: Spanish Version completed 4-20-2005.
Author and Poet Dennis L. Siluk is presently in Honduras, in San Pedro de Sula, about an hour drive to the Copan site, which he will be at tomorrow, and has just finished the Spanish Version of the poem... Rosa Peñaloza
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World Poetry Day 2018: Video of Stephen Hawking reading 'Relativity' by Sarah Howe - The Independent
Poems have different cores, or so I believe, and can only be structured well for certain figurative language-heart beats; like all counselors are not made for all clients, so all poems are not made for the same person, or purpose; when we read we all have our likes and dislikes; I do not necessarily know what poetry is per se, but I do know what the greatness of poetry has, and great poetry is close to an illusion?it carries an echo I do believe-figurative yes, at best, and questionable yes, by far. Here are five poems I've recently wrote, all with a different core, focus and style.
You Lost Your Last Gamble and Me
I will never think twice nor will I roll the dice When it comes to my life I will take my Grannio's adviceYou play the hand you're dealt when it comes to who will be your Dad - But if you bluff about a card's face value for too many years you forget you had - No Aces or King of Hearts in your original deck - But rather a worthless Joker-So Wild and Mad..
Shakespeares Sonnet XVIII, Shall I Compare Thee to a Summers Day?
Shakespeare's sonnets require time and effort to appreciate. Understanding the numerous meanings of the lines, the crisply made references, the brilliance of the images, and the complexity of the sound, rhythm and structure of the verse demands attention and experience.
As I picked up some of the polished gemstones in the rock store I began to think about what the stones looked like before they were polished. The store had several rocks on display showing the before and after and I realized that unless you knew what you were looking for, you could easily pass by a valuable gemstone.
Passion and Poetry, and Life
Ironically, the passion that can neutralize the repulsion for difficulties depends on the effort to overcome these difficulties. The irony resides in the circularity of this principle - which applies to all areas of activity, including poetry: One must make the effort to overcome difficulties to achieve success and feel capable, and one needs this achievement and feeling to have a passion for making this effort.
Three Poems (While in Transition/English and Spanish)
Here are three more poems by the author, Dennis Siluk, while traveling througout Central and South America.Three Poems While in Transition (In Spanish and English)Poem OneEnglish VersionOrange Timid MoonO´er the Copan skyan arch of shadows weave their webswith low-lights, as the moon rises.
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 carved wood the zoned-out-ness in my head dreaming; it was better than death? then I took another drink?so many I never moved much, like dead fish. my head split like an ass it was numb and, nothing else numbness was my homeacross the street, dancing on the patio the moon was out.
Three Poems: Liberty, Death, and a Frog [with Commentary on Liberty]
Frog SummerSummer grows hot, for the New-blooded frogs; The bugs are thin, yet the Frogs stay fat, young and sassy. In these palsy times-they Only listen, as we wither away.
Lifes Too Short
Time goes by to quickly to hold your feelings inside Especially when their so strong even if they don't abide..
Whats A Prisoner to Do?
What's a prisoner to do when justice fails and the innocent is escorted off to jail?What's a prisoner to do once stigmatized, caged and abandoned and ostracized?What's a prisoner to do there's no one to trust; the system fails and the outcome unjust?What's a prisoner to do when family decide the punishment is warranted and justified?What's a prisoner to do while confined in a cell; the perpetrator's free and faring quite well?What's a prisoner to do once his reputation is dead and his life has been ruined because of what someone said?What's a prisoner to do when he's not believed, though he's telling the truth, he's thought to deceive?What's a prisoner to do as he sits all alone, no one seems to care; former friends all gone?What's a prisoner to do sitting lost and idle and most of one's thoughts become suicidal?What's a prisoner to do when freedom's taken away and the will to live diminishes each day?What's a prisoner to do when hedged in by strife; with no escape possible; no chance for a new life?What's a prisoner to do when he can no longer see the beauty of the sky or the waves of the sea?What's a prisoner to do when the sun he can't feel, nor the breeze of spring because his fate is sealed?What's a prisoner to do when doomed to despair but still praying to escape the electric chair?Tell me, what's a prisoner to do?Rev. Saundra L.
I Hate The Wait (Weight)
I get up in the morningAnd want to stay in bedOh, so nice and warmLike fresh from the oven bread.My day is oh so busyI wish that I could stayIn the quiet of my houseIf only I could play.
How to Write Bad Poetry
"All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling."--Oscar WildePeople write poetry for a plethora of reasons, but this article has a sharpened arrowhead aimed directly at the fingertips of amateur poets who wish to be published yet refuse to learn the attributes of a well-crafted poem.
Since Youve Been Gone...
My life has changedin so so many waysIt seems to always bein a state of disarray..
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 waiting 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 adored the biggest lake in the world.
Life is a Fantasy
LIFE IS A FANTASY!A pink-eyed rabbit, fuzzy whiteHops in bedrooms filled with frightA child of six with much to knowHer father's basest feelings showShe knows of LOVE, only through himHe satisfies his every whimHe leaves, she wipes himfrom her chin!Her mother NEEDS to see the bestHe answered her God requestTo have a roof to comfort bringA yard where all the birdies singTell me how she could really knowWhat source for learning could she go?Her mother regularly beaten if not worseThe cycle of violence - a woman's curseConflicting visions, dependenciesOne can endure many idiosyncrasiesShe could not make him defendant beDenial, avoidance? she disbelievesThe rabbit hides beneath tall trees.At thirteen a step-grandfatha'Finds a well-trained girl that oughta'Do what powerful men requestNever knowing what is bestAnd run away she does at lastFreedom can be such a 'blast'A rabbit's foot upon a chainThe FANTASY her 'safe' domainHow long in life must it remain?To protect her from these menWho always for her lips, do 'yen'A state trooper in Tennessee Like every other man does see Her lips so full and luscious red Through the bars, not in a bed.
"I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to disagree.
now is not the time to open open that great door again not the time to be more tolerant not the time to play to winnow is not the time for justice evolution mercy choices not the time to pet the puppies yipping with pathetic voicesnow is not the time for kindness not the time for compromise not the time for loving blindness not the time to close my eyesnow for one too many people not that i have gained no good heart has sown but flesh is reaping tears to mind and wasted bloodnow my inner wolf seeks equals only those whose chords can howl deadly whether lone or social defending young or on the prowltell me not that you would die upon the spines of my displeasure live for me and for you will i cherish each cell as if a treasureput me not inside a cage but roam with me through snow and sun be by my side or breathe my dust for i shall bleed again for noneNiki Lasher Artist, Writer, and Webmatron http://www.kthulah.
JOINEDHeart beat of man pounding - yet unheard joined becomes the beat of a nation.Words of man written - yet unread joined becomes a proclamation.
Learn About Love From Poet Rumi
Learn about love by reading poetry by a long dead poet named Rumi. No need to look for ancient texts hidden in caves.
There are many times I set up barriers and walls, invisible unless you come too close, And then you hit them.You wonder what happened.
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