The Poets Corner [Three Poems with a review]
The Poet's Corner [Three poem/ see review of poetry under the poems]
The Poets Condor
The condor fly's Amongst the hills
In open skies Of San Jerrónimo, Near Huancayo?
Forbidding any To near his path-
Lest he dare To risk a attack, Near Huancayo!...
Fate of a Poet
Poets have an abundance of Consonants A few vowels (for transparency) And no money
They have days and days Of moldy cloths Some displayed In windows?;
In essence, the Poet Has a courtship With the Gordian Knot-; And raw rice for the devil!...
Without legends The poet would never have
Been born; The written language would
Not have been invented; And no one would have been Immortalized? .
Review [this review is on the poet and his three poems, he calls, "The Poet's Corner"]: By Rosa Penaloza: the Ref: the poet Dennis Siluk, a quick look at the poet looking at the poet, as he writes about the poet with poetry, as he informs the reader, poets are needed in the world; had they not been, we'd not have a language to write. The author adds the guts of language to inform the reader: see, we have vowels and consonants; although he doesn't say it, vowels are the food the poets drink with, and the consonants are the food poets chew with, for it is the vowels we do not use our teeth with to make sounds, rather consonants, is that not so [?]In any case, the poet adds his first poem to be the '...Condor,'out of the three, for good reason, the vowels are echoing: o's and y's and e's; in such a short poem you can't miss them. He also uses the S's in the first stanza [three of them] to move the poem quickly through and to create a window for the reader.
The Author lives in Lima, Peru and St. Paul, Minnesota, and has been on TV and in many newspapers concerning his writings. http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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â€śHygienic Egg 2018: a focus on the Poetry of Deathâ€ť brings dance, song and poetry to New London - theday.com
Give Me a Lily Pad & The Continuum [two Poems]
What can I do to keep this world in its orbital spin? I gave up trying to win the hearts of the many-. Throw the meat-balls against the wall, stop, stop!! Trying to make them spin, like God did in the heavens!Sexual longings-a pathway to anger and rage- Turn the page to the cheap hotels, turn the page Give it a pathway to run, tell your friends, they've won.
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 unravel time, you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self serving crime, to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed, when its purely posturing and posing, all about vanity and greed, to secure a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years, is the extent of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears, when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you, leave relatives behind who see, that nothing you said was true, there is no thought now for those, whose number you dont count, they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount, no thought of resignation, no apology to those left behind, just onward with the ego, fast forward from those times, as if nothing ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok, as if now is what to focus on, and then was another day, lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen, not an affront to the living, not impeachable and obscene, you may want to move on now, and ignore your past infamy, but you should be tried for treason, and jailed for blasphemy.
Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait]
the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of their child growing up without it is part of the phenomenon! (the choice of the day). fanaticism,-- with a powerful ideology are seeds for suicide! murder: giving reasons to rage!.
Truth is stranger than fiction according to many people who have seen what happens around me and to them, on many occasions. Sometimes I have had others affect me in the same way.
The Spirits de Copan
Part oneI see them in the skies I hear them in their hells They whisper and they moanAnd never are alone- The Spirits and the Ghouls? The Spirits de Copan!They are shadows in my world Echoes in my dreams A mystery and a force To a cosmic happening! The Spirits and the Ghouls? The Spirits de Copan!..
How I wonder what he's doing as I sit alone at night. How I wonder who he's seeing How I wonder if I'm right.
Stone Beds [A Poem and an Advance]
Stone Beds [Pompeii's surge]Advance: after the great eruption of Pompeii's nearby volcano, Vesuvius, some two-thousand years ago in the heyday of the Roman Empire, what was left of the city were mostly ashes of stone from an unleashing furnace; it is hard to imagine what the people went through (none, not one person survived). I can only guess from the looks of the city today, and in its early excavations, its people were baked alive or asleep, like pottery.
A World That Doesnt Care
War bombs may explode demolishing man and land. Hurricanes may devastate and leave us entirely bare.
Chan Chan and The Gorriones (Two Poems in English and Spanish)
The following two poems, one in English, the other in English and Spanish were done during this ongoing trip in Peru, while in Lima, although the poem concerning: Chan Chan was oriinally started last year,while at the ancient site in Northern Peru, it was just finished recently.The Gorriones of LimaIt is fall all around me-The Gorriones are swimming in the air Underneath the Lima skyAs if-, if fish could fly?Summer has gone its wayIt is fall again I say! The birds-, they just walk on byLooking, as if, if on parade-AndThe world keeps spinning;They just do not see it Until the hour comes?When the sun goes down!?When,Things get a little dim;Yet the Gorriones keep on swimming Gracefully, swimming, in the wind-Under the Lima sky? .
Welcome to the Town of Feeling
Happy, Sad, Mad and Glad, Moved in down the streetCautious watched them, from her window, Wondering, which one should I meet?Confused came in with overwhelmed and said, "The Panics have come to town"Then Hopeful called the carefulls, And said that Happy was a clown.Anxious came in with the news, Confident had called a town meetingTo take a vote for Mayor, And to Welcome the new neighbors to Feeling.
Poetry and Popular Culture
Is poetry too complicated for the average reader? Is it too cryptic, scholarly? If you ask a large group of average people what they like or don't like about poetry, you'll get a few different answers, but there is an overwhelmingly common category of responses.One of the main reasons that people say they aren't addicted to contemporary poetry is that they feel it is too cryptic.
The Butcher of Lima and Footprints to Mantaro Valley (Two Poems)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (Peru; in English and Spanish)In what retreat art hid?-Where falling mountains groan In shadow and amongThe rapids of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footprints of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, divinely low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
Looking Out the Rear Window
The funeral rite concluded With the pastor shaking hands, Offering words of comfort I didn't quite understand.The undertakers came forth And summoned pallbearers' four.
Black Blood, in Jeremiahs Vines - A Poem and an Article
Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines [A Dream Poem]And I heard the crackling of wood, and I noticed the Lord God had made men of wood, and fire came from his mouth.Then the wind poured its grief upon us-over our sins; and I heard the words for the seventh time, "Go to the mountains!"Foolish people of this land pray and understand-for He cometh! Thereof, toss yourself to thy knees, for the roar of rebellious men will bleed: black blood, through the vines of Jeremiah.
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.
Mother, I Dont Mind The Pain
I am among those who know that one never recovers from the loss of one deeply loved. We come to accept the death and adjust our lives - rather begrudingly, but we do not recover, we survive.
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..
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.
Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet]
Let's follow 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 follow the poet to his end; To see if he can?whatever He wants to do, do over again?.
Feelings, O How Glorious!
Sometimes we feel hard-pressed, Our backs against the wall; Sometimes we feel lightheaded, As if we are going to fall.Sometimes we feel fierce anger At those who misuse guns; Sometimes we feel ashamed Of how we treat God's little ones.
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