Uamaks Aquatic [suspense: now in Spanish and English]
Delicately, my mind was selecting a muffled 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 feeling call it, or second-sight; I've heard that before, not sure if I want to put a lot of credence into it, but so be it, the sensitivity and numbness was there. I didn't' sense any danger in the moment, in the moonlit figure, sitting on the rocks, lurking, looking out into the deep. I did get an awareness of cramps in my stomach though, like centipedes nibbling at it-from all corners-at the pink and red flesh of my internal organs, stinging their poisonous little fangs into them.
I stumbled about in the thick foliage, lost in its prickly overgrown wild plants and mud, and god knows what else; in corollary, I came to the edge near the sea, over looking the aquatic, edge of the cliff, it was many years ago since I had been here. I zigzagged through the last of the bushes, carefully now, it was the rim of the cliff, and then got I into a clearer opening. I could only hear the noises of shifting waters now-the waters below me, as clattering waves hit, and splashed against the overhang-the sea cliffs, directly in front of me. It was but a few seconds after dark, behind twilight, yes indeed, it had disappeared, swallowed up by an agitated night.
Inscrutability always appears to bring with it a limitless amount of threat, does it not? A rhetorical question at best, sure it does, and that figure on the ?the tide was becoming more calm, the rocks were mammoth, and overlooking the sea, jagged and with fangs. The wind gentle over head, not like a few minutes ago, I mean it just unexpectedly evaporated. As I was about to say, the shape, silhouette on the huge rock, is still looking into the sea; it is like he is locked into a trance, or that I am but a worm to him, and too insufficient for him to pay any attention to me. He seems to be talking to himself, or perhaps some sea monster, just kidding-but he's talking to someone, something, and his head is pointed downward, down, down toward the sea. Save for the fact I am not in an illusion.
A fishing boat, no, no just a vessel of some kind, not sure why I said fishing boat, how do I know, it has lit, a light on its deck, I suppose it's a deck, it is far off in the distance. I walked now, aimless I think, can't see much in front of me, lest I end up in the sea on top of that damn monster I can't see, only to find out it is real. Oh well, some shadows just left the moon a bit more exposed, but it gave me a little light. In September it is chilly here, I swear that stature has something to do with this mysterious evening. Here off the coast of ? my bones are chilled.
If you were to ask me: '?what are you doing out here?' I couldn't tell you, I'd not have the answer, 'doing out here,' what? Maybe that figure on the rock knows-he must be but a hundred yards from me now; perchance I'll find out soon enough, and so will you. I mean it is night, but not all that late. Conceivably I was drawn out here. I was visiting a friend, you could say, but only after I arrived. So what provoked me to take this little trip (again)-your guess is as good as mine. I have been to places around the world that seems to draw on a persons soul, agitate his pulse to the point he has to or he goes into-and ends up at, wherever he does-in this case here.
"Aye, good Master," I heard (a mumble) "?take the lot as it is?" this is what echoed back to me, the wind, yes the wind pushed it back into my ears from the spot where that unfamiliar person is, that figure on the huge rock looking, just looking into the-what I assume, the sea, a black hole in the sea, yes indeed, that is what he is doing, looking into a black hole into the sea, for some odd reason, I can see that now, or could, it just faded away, as fast as it came. Evidently, something else was, or I should say, is thriving.
-The form was looked proud with a ting of arrogance. I asked myself, now being but several yards away: 'does he have an inkling of my presence?' Who concentrates so hard, I mean look, he is asking the water of the sea something? Perhaps someone; I get the feeling he has lost something, and wants to bargain for it back-death brings out many wishes in man and beast: and he looks to be both. Or is he planning something; he is huge, awfully massive. I'll take a few more steps, a yard now, he should turn around I'd think. I'm sure he can feel my heart beating, I mean hear it beating, I can hear it myself.
Again and again I say should he turn around towards me he'd see me, then what? Now he heard me mumbling my thoughts, he starting some incantations as well. A pathway to what I asked myself-, now what, I'm right behind him, three feet:
"I'm Uámak, and below me, is the Minister of Doom, and there are many and various, ways to die, he has on a bone-skull plate, carved into it, seventy-two ways to die. He brings one plate at a time to me, shows them to me. I am forced to look as he mocks me. Doom has a funny sense of humor. He will I fear, play with me for ages. He says I must select one, and knows I can't. He gathers my voice and echoes it down to whoever is under the crust of the earth-as they laugh at me. Which way has been chosen me, I know you have second sight?"
I was mortified, he turned around and I almost lost control of my physical functions (he was: gloom incarnate; a demigod, or so he looked), and well, lets not get into it. Anyhow, he knew I knew and he wanted me to tell him what has been chosen for his death bed. So that's why I was brought here, didn't know, and the fingers of doom as well as the City of Death would not tell him, perhaps for a long, long time and this would be his death until he begged hell and Doom itself to tell him; I was his messenger. I stared into the blackness where he had been focused, where he was looking into or at, and I couldn't see what he saw, but what I did see was his death?his death,
"What do you see?" asked the demigod.
"A being with wings, putting rocks over your body. You are in a desert, chained to the earth under you, and the rocks over you, you cannot move."
"What death is this," he asked me.
"The living death," I chokingly said.
"Will I be conscious," he asked.
Note: Written 8/12/05/revised 8/19/05 (by Dennis L. Siluk)
In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza
Uámak ' s Acuática
Con delicadeza, mi mente seleccionaba una melodía sorda, fuera del espacio muerto oscuro vacío rodeándome?
Yo vi una forma sobre una roca, no seguro de quién era; yo tenía un pensamiento sensitivo llámalo un sentimiento, que siente ello, o la segunda oportunidad; había oído eso antes, no seguro de si quiero poner mucho crédito en ello, pero así sea, la sensibilidad y el entumecimiento estaban allí. No sentí ningún peligro en el momento, en la figura iluminada por la luna, sentada sobre las rocas, estando al acecho, buscando en la profundidad. Realmente conseguí una conciencia de calambres en mi estómago pienso, como ciempiés que mordisquean en ello - de todas las esquinas - en la carne rosada y roja de mis órganos internos, picando sus pequeños colmillos venenosos en ellos.
Tropecé sobre el follaje espeso, perdido en sus plantas espinosas crecidas demasiado salvajes y el fango, y Dios sabe que más; en el corolario, vine al borde cerca del mar, mirando sobre la acuática, al borde de la roca, hacía muchos años ya, que yo había estado aquí. Yo zigzagueaba a través del último de los arbustos, cuidadosamente ahora, esto era el borde de la roca, y entonces consigo yo en una apertura más clara. Yo podía solamente oír los ruidos del cambio de las aguas ahora - las aguas debajo de mí, como el golpe de olas que hace ruido, y salpicando contra las rocas sobresalientes del mar, directamente delante de mí. Pero esto era unos segundos antes de la noche, detrás del crepúsculo, sí de verdad, esto había desaparecido, tragado por una noche inquieta.
La impenetrabilidad siempre parece traer con ello una cantidad ilimitada de amenaza, ¿verdad? Una pregunta retórica a lo mejor, seguro esto es, y aquella figura sobre la marea? se tornaba mas calmada, y las rocas eran el mamut, pasando por alta mar, dentado y con colmillos. El viento apacible sobre la cabeza, no como hace unos minutos, pienso esto, justo de improviso se evaporó. Como estuve a punto de decir, la forma, la silueta sobre la enorme roca, todavía esta examinando el mar; es como si él esta bloqueado en un trance, o que yo soy sólo un gusano para él, y demasiado insuficiente para él para prestarme cualquier atención. Él parece estar hablando con el mismo, o quizás algún monstruo de mar, solo bromeando - pero él se dirige a alguien, algo, y su cabeza dirigida hacia abajo, abajo, abajo hacia el mar. Salvo el hecho no estoy en una ilusión. Un barco de pesca, no, no solamente un navío de alguna clase, no estoy seguro por qué dije el barco de pesca, como lo conozco, esto ha encendido, una luz sobre su cubierta, supongo esto es una cubierta, está muy lejos en la distancia. Anduve ahora, sin objeto pienso, no puedo ver mucho delante de mí, no sea que yo termine en el mar encima de aquel monstruo maldito que no puedo ver, sólo averiguar si es verdadero. Ah bien, justo algunas sombras dejaron la luna un poco más expuesta, pero esto me dio un poco de luz. En septiembre es frío aquí, juro que la estatura tiene algo que ver con esta tarde misteriosa. Aquí fuera de la costa? mis huesos están enfriados. Si usted me preguntara: ¿Que esta haciendo Usted aquí? Yo no podía decirle, yo no tendría la respuesta, haciendo afuera ¿qué? Tal vez aquella figura sobre la roca sabe - él debe estar sólo a cien yardas de mí ahora; esta posibilidad lo averiguaré muy pronto, y usted también. Pienso que ya es de noche, pero que no todo tan tarde. Evidentemente fui dibujado aquí fuera. Yo visitaba a un amigo, usted podría decir, pero sólo después de que llegué. Entonces que fue lo que me provocó tomar este pequeño viaje (otra vez) - su conjetura es tan buena como la mía. He estado en sitios en el mundo entero que parecen utilizar el alma de personas, agitar su pulso hasta el punto en que él tiene o él entra - y termina en, en cualquier parte donde lo haga - en este caso aquí. " Siempre, buen Maestro", oí ( un murmullo) "?Toma la parte de como es esto ?" esto es lo que resonó a mis espaldas, el viento, sí el viento lo empujó atrás en mis oídos del punto donde aquella persona desconocida esta, aquella figura sobre el enorme roca mirando, solamente examinando dentro del - lo que yo asumo, el mar, un agujero negro en el mar, sí de verdad, es lo que él hace, examinando un agujero negro en el mar, por alguna razón extraña, puedo ver que ahora, o podía, esto justo se desvaneció, tan rápido como vino. Evidentemente, era algo más, o yo debería decir, es prospero. - la forma estuvo mirando orgullosa con un tintineo de arrogancia. Me pregunté, ahora estando a varias yardas de distancia lejos: "¿Tiene él una indicación de mi presencia?" ¿"Quién se concentra tan fuerte?, pienso mirando, él esta preguntando al agua del mar algo Quizás alguien; consigo el sentimiento que él ha perdido algo, y quiere negociar para que ello regrese- la muerte entrega muchos deseos en el hombre y la bestia: y él mira para ambos seres. O él esta planeando algo; él es enorme, terriblemente masivo. Daré unos pasos más, una yarda ahora, él debería girar, yo podría pensar. Estoy seguro que él puede sentir el latido de mi corazón, pienso oyendo el latido, puedo oírlo yo mismo. - - ¿Una y otra vez digo que debería él girar hacia mí me vería, entonces qué? Ahora él me oyó mascullando mis pensamientos, comenzando algunos conjuros también. Un sendero que yo, me pregunté-, ¿ahora que?, estoy a la derecha detrás de él, tres pies: - "Soy Uámak, y debajo de mí, esta el Ministro de Destino, y hay muchos y varios, modos de morir, él tiene sobre una placa de hueso de cráneo, tallado en ello, setenta y dos modos de morir. Él me trae una placa a la vez, me los muestra. Me fuerzan a mirar mientras él se burla de mí. El destino tiene un sentido gracioso de humor. El me hará temerlo, el jugó conmigo desde hace siglos. Él dice que debo seleccionar uno, y sé que no puedo. Él une mi voz y lo repite abajo a quienquiera que esta debajo de la corteza de la tierra, como ellos se ríen de mí. ¿Qué camino ha sido escogido para mí, sé que usted tiene la segunda oportunidad? - "Estuve mortificado, él giró y casi perdí el control de mis funciones físicas (él fue la penumbra encarnada; un semidiós, o así el se veía) y bien, no entremos en detalles. De todos modos, él sabía que yo, sabía y él quiso que yo le dijera lo que habíamos escogido para su lecho de muerte. Esto es entonces por lo que fui traído hasta aquí, no conocía, y los dedos de destino así como la Ciudad de la muerte no le dirían, quizás por un largo, muy largo tiempo y esto sería su muerte hasta que él pidiera al infierno y al Destino mismos para decirle; yo fui su mensajero. ¿Miré fijamente en la oscuridad dónde él había estado concentrado, o donde él examinaba, y yo no podía ver lo que él vio, pero lo que yo realmente vi era su muerte ?su muerte, - "¿Que ve usted? " preguntó el semidiós. - "Un ser con alas, poniendo rocas sobre tu cuerpo. Usted está en un desierto, encadenado a la tierra bajo usted, y las rocas sobre usted, usted no puede moverse". - "¿Que muerte es esta?", él me preguntó. - "El infierno, " ahogándome dije. - "¿Voy a yo estar consciente?", preguntó él. - "¡Siempre! ... "
See Mr. Dennis Siluk's books and travels at his website: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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Poetry in motion: enter the world of the 'scrap metal poet' - Journalducameroun.com - English - (press release)
Spell of the Andes: (in English and Spanish)
Note: written 4-15-05, while driving through the Andes of Peru, from Huancayo to Lima. I sensed I was but an ant, among the mass of stone, earth and foliage of this enchanting, and enduring landscape.
A Hundred and Fifty Dead [Korean War--l952]
There I sat, ninety-five degree weatherOutside; the bookstore café, was cool.An Old Timer stood by me, explaining:"There were two-hundred of us on the Island,Near North Korea, back in '52-We guarded 16,000-prisners?"All of a sudden, all hell broke looseThree-hundred North Koreans cameOver the bob-wired fence, in pursuit"It all happened in a matter of secondsThe machineguns killed 150-of themThat's all I saw in the war of '52.
Two Poems: San Jeronimo Brook & [in English and Spanish]
Fair Andes! Thy arms reach highOf iron-woven solid stone Thu art a condor to the skyOf glory hidden in thy heartSo many paths, a maze of art?In thy old, Mantaro ValleyWhere adobes, breathe and tremble Beyond your rustic shadowsThere lays the prettiest of brooksIs my heart, within its stream!My image deeply carved, rippledIn its undiluted shallow watersWaiting, just waiting for me?As it opens up, opens up my soulMy rippled soul-searching-eyes!..
The Treasure of Catalina Huanca (In English and Spanish)
Note: written after seeing the little adobe 16th century church San Sebastian, in San Jeronimo, by the mountains of Huancayo, Peru, after being taken there by the Wandering Quechua guide, Enrique (4-13-2005).The Treasure of Catalina HuancaWritten by Dennis L.
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.
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 against 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 leaving impressions Accepting fate Like tarnished silver!.
Let Your Feelings Be Your Guide
The light of all eternity shines with me now / My feelings light up my life / How I find my way is determined by them / They illumine my path and show me who I amWhen I was young, I felt so many things / Then came the day when I could not stand the pain / My world was chaos then, filled with sorrow and grief / So I closed up to protect that fragile Self withinYears would go by before I could open again / I was forced to by circumstances beyond my control / Life dealt me blows which I later recognized as my own / To awaken me to that sorrow deep within my SoulI worked hard to find my way back to the Light / To that place within where I could feel once again / There my Heart shone forth with a brave face / And shed light on all that I had concealedNow I see how I closed that tender-hearted Self / How I froze in the face of my destiny / Troubles swirled around as a constant source of grief / And I fell to sleep out of fearI am awakening now to the deep void within / Where I've stored all those troubles and pain / I fight my way back to that center once again / So I can come forth completely and be trueMy life moves forward as of this day / When I committed to finding my true Self / I've engaged all manner of demons on this journey / To return to that Source deep insideI wish for life to fill me now and bring all it can / I am thirsty for experience and for growth / I want lavish riches from my Soul to fill me / So that I can truly enjoy all that I beholdThis work is sometimes difficult as I have learned / But no more than any task requiring Love / This journey enriches me with its purpose / And fills me with Life and SoulThis is my gift to myself, my own holy Soul / To have, to hold and to behold / This Heart that bled is now healing its wounds / And can prosper again from what Life bringsLet there never be a return to where hurts cramp me up / And fill me with bitterness and pain / I am awake now, yes, and can move ahead / To appreciate all that Life has assignedOh glory to you, my Sweet Soul, for coming this day / I thank you from the bottom of my Heart / We two can sing together the praises of Love / That take us forward on this journey through timeNever let it be said that one so deserving / Could not find his or her way Home / All whom will follow shall see this Light in turn / And know that their journey can be wonI take you with me now, my Sweet Soul / For you are here in my hands / Where I can behold you / And together, we can be so bold"Move on," you say to me. "Move on, my love / The Light wishes for us to do so" / And my Heart sings with the possibilities / So that "Yes" is the answer I can render with easeMy Heart is filled with Love and joy in this moment / Knowing that I am with you, my Soul / My feelings tell me you are there and always were / Till that sleep came over me earlier onBy awakening to your touch do I know You / And find my own truth there in your eyes / You show me through Love what my purpose can be / I am inspired by this attentive designI am pleased we are here together, in this life / I am pleased that our love is so strong / For now I can reach you, my Sweet Soul Sublime / When you call to me from deep within my HeartI have your answer Dear, and know this to be true / That you and I are forever to be born / In this life or another, we join with each other / And We Soar .
Lamenting Poetic Moods [six Poems]
Advance: in Mr. Siluk's poetry one finds symbolist values, sensuous impressions; verbal magic and even childish jingles; at times the popular 8-syllable verse (ballad metre).
Rules for Writing Poetry
You've been writing poetry since that first assignment in your high school writing class. You know the rules about writing poetry, right? Are there rules? Well, if you frequent the poetry forums across the Internet as much as I do, you'd find that there are a lot of amateur poets who adamantly declare that there are no rules for writing poetry and if someone even suggests reading poetry or books on poetry, many of the amateur poets will throw up a defensive front.
A Different Place...
I wish we had met 20 years ago..
Robert Burns Love Poem: A Red, Red Rose
Robert Burns, a poor man, an educated man, and a ladies' man, is representative of Scotland, much like whisky, haggis, bagpipes, and kilts. He lived a life shortened by rheumatic heart disease, 1759-1796, but his life journey through poverty, informal education, disappointed love, nationalism, and literary and financial success can be identified by all Scots and common men the world over.
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.
The Power of Eating Disorders
I want to get closeI am afraid.Afraid of what you might see.
Out of the eight poems provided here [all previously unpublished], four are Poetic Prose, a few Visionary [what I call Vsionary anyhow], a few Free Verse, and a few with more form and structure, more closely to the Auden style of: stanza, metrical rhythm, and rhyme. In saying that, I do believe all the poems are conveying a rich network of meaning, some of them painfully close bond between pleasure and destruction.
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, hoping to avoid The Slipping and sliding Of winter's ice and wind?[s]Their weighty legs are dirty From moving dust and rain (Here and there, everywhere) Through all kinds of terrain Like moving clouds caught In the foliage 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!.
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.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: A Discussion of How Do I Love Thee?
"How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning was written in 1845 while she was being courted by the English poet, Robert Browning. The poem is also titled Sonnet XLIII from Sonnets From the Portuguese.
Opposites Do Attract Quite Well
When I am climbing up, you are stepping down. When I wear a smile, you wear a frown.
Testimony to the Night [In English and Spanish]
In the quiet of the arctic night- In its deep northern skies, Dim are the lights, in its coldEvening frost?! Even the stars of the arctic Seem silently stone frozen!Here, here is where you find Peace and the beast within-! Remote, no ears or wordsTo clutter the mind To entrench the throat; Here, here is where you die?(for a moment).Here, the sky has eternal eyes Eyes with cosmic tides Tides that never rest: they warWith the Universe- Likened to a dark deep abyss; Endless and never resting?Here my eyes seek and search In countless hours, ebbing and Sweeping the heavens aboveNumbing, changeless- Are the cosmos, the heavens? Here resides a strange peace?Here, resides a strange peace With an army of stars to defeat Shinning, silently in the darkThe ebbing, eldritch dark; Time has no relevance here, Here, resides a strange, peace?Cold and oddly numb are my feet, As I look up, upon the many bridges One star bridging the next-as if,If Kings and Queens were Guarding them-the Hosts- O-Yes! A strange, strange peace?Ah! Praise, praise be to thee, to thee Flaming, blazing firmaments-ye, Ye, remind me not, of the wars I left,Of the foes, divine immortals?The enemies that never rest Ah! Praise, praise be to thee, to theeI hear music, harmony from afar (there) There are storms hidden in a storehouse, For tomorrow-war beyond, beyondOrion's dust?perpetual dust; There, there the sun is dim to bleak.
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!..
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