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.
Orange Timid Moon
O´er the Copan sky
an arch of shadows
orange and timid-
of the Maya gods
Note: written while at the Copan Ruines, in Honduras, April, 2005.
Versión en Español
Luna Tímida Anaranjada
Sobre el cielo de Copan
un arco de sombras teje sus telas
anaranjada y tímida -
más que pasa ...
de los Maya dioses
Nota: escrito mientras estaba en las Ruinas de Copan, en Honduras, Abril de 2005.
Cyclye of the Buterfly
First they were an egg
Then the new cycle begins
But who was first?
Note: written while at the Butterfly Conservatory, in Copan, Honduras, 4-24-2005.
The Simple Things
I was trying to think of great things to write
The humming of the plane
What greater gift has God given, than
How often do we meet kings?
It is the simple things you see!
And so I shall close my eyes
(flying from Panama to Lima)
...sitting in this damn plane
Note: While flying from Panama to Lima, Peru, the author wrote this poem, waiting to get home to his casa in Lima, 4-26-05.
Poet and Author Dennis Siluk, is presently in Lima, Peru finishing some poetry he has written while in the Andes, and Honduras, and Peru in General. Waiting to go to Colombia.
Web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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'Everything is lost': A poet in conflict-torn Kashmir laments the destruction of his life's work - Washington Post
The Time Has Come and Buzzing
Most of my poems are written late at night, often, as this one was, after I have turned out the lights to go to sleep. It seems that is the time when I am most creative.
Ambiguity and Abstraction in Bob Dylan's Lyrics
To many people contemporary poetry is a turn-off. The reason for this is that the majority of these poems are boring.
Here And There
My eyes opened. I am still alive; Living on planet earth.
Two Poems on the Traditions of Peru [in English and Spanish]
Atahualpa's Game [Peruvian]Sometimes, it's not wise To share your wisdom ---as did, Atahualpa (The Inca King) in the Game of chess; thereafter, He was condemned to death.6/6/05 #713Note: Atahualpa, was the most famous of the Inca Kings, in the 16th century of Peru, I do relieve, and was held for ransom by the Spaniards.
You cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved.
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.
Never Ever More
Once upon a midnight dreary, coffee cold and vision bleary, all night sat there writing COBOL, coding spread across the bed sheets, changing syntax for the mainframe, having checked my final line, I took the floppy from the drive.Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command, but there below my effectuation, appeared the cryptic communication, "Abort, Retry, Ignore" and nothing more.
Two Poems with Triggers [and a commentary]
So Many Einstein'sThe morning mist, insists there is a God. The earth remains faithful to its orbit.
Azra, Azra, Wake up Azra. Wake up Azra, It is time to go.
Tale of the Brick Maker, of San Jeronimo, Peru [In English and Spanish]
Tale of the Brick Maker, Of San Jerónimo, Peru [A Cup of Sorrow]-1In the Andean mountains, within theMantaro Valley region of Peru, Isolated, secluded, tranquil, is the littlevillage of San Jerónimo. Near the village, here lay the fertile valleywith bent-grass, and huge Mountains stretching northbound,And heading towards the ocean's coast.
Thank You To Our Soldiers And A Tribute To Old Glory And A Prayer For Peace
Thank youDedicated to soldiers and their loved onesFor those who have laid in fox holes,carried guns,marched for hours.For those who have had cold sleepless nights,endless days of discomfort.
I WANTED TO SAY IT WITH A BUNCH OF FLOWERS A CARD WOULD HAVE SUFFICED.I WANTED TO SAY IT WITH A PACK OF SWEETS A' HI' WOULD HAVE SUFFICED.
Do you ever stare at the paper, waiting for poetic inspiration? Well, you can stop waiting and start using systematic techniques for creating poetry. If it seems too mechanical or artificial at first, don't worry.
Take some time to stop and look at nature. Pick up a rock or two and think about where it might have started out and what it might have gone through to end up where you found it.
Lifes Too Short
Time goes by to quickly to hold your feelings inside Especially when their so strong even if they don't abide..
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,As I huddle down, inside my coat,a commuter clone, just waiting for a train.Insidious rain, just drizzling down,through weak light of creeping dawn,Paper sandwich bags and old coffee cups,blowing past, look so forlorn.
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.
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.
Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King]
The Torrents 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 capable of producing; And upon death, Back into the Abyss They melt!.
Four Poems: Two for the Devil, Two for Peru
Here is some witty poetry (not sure if that is the proper word: witty, but it will do): one poem on the Aztec year 2012, a year that has been in the public's eye quite a lot; one on cloning, and the biblical end time events--which, if I may add seems ripe for the monster events that are said to take place; and two poems dealing with some tradtions of Peru; one imparticular, on vacationing, where not to go; all the makings for some thought.Aztec BabyOn December 25, 2012 AD The Devil had an idea- He'd clone himself In the form of a baby; Called the Antichrist.
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