The Goat and the Rope [a Poem: in Spanish and English]
The Goat and the Rope
where there were devils I saw none.
they walk noble. naked. like jungle
In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza
La soga y la Cabra
Donde allí hubo diablos yo no vi ninguno.
Nada. El aire está caliente. Sustancia lechosa. Yo estoy y estamos mirando esto profundo.
El alma perdida. Estamos mirando a este terreno.
La luna está muerta. Sobre mi cabeza. Como Una cortina vaga. Colgando. La mayor parte
De los reyes en la abadía de los ministros del oeste
Están aquí. Todo el resto de nosotros está sobre la colina.
Ningún helado aquí abajo. Somos los desechados.
Los seducidos. La mayor parte de nosotros dormidos A través de nuestras vidas terrenales. Ellos todavía Duermen a través de todo esto. Como un pez gordo
Dando vueltas por mamá muerta.
La cerveza. Deslice una bajo la puerta. Use La Biblia para el papel de envolver. Una vez que usted Esté muerto, usted está muerto. Woooo. Aquí viene
La tortura. Déme el cloroformo. Rápido. Estoy muerto. Pero algo me dice que todavía Lo sentiré. No hay ningún cuidado aquí abajo Sólo, el con plumas extraño. Ellos mueven sus Alas como avispas tullidas. Ellos sudan Como un resoplido de toro. Ellos parecen satisfechos.
Ellos han estado en el camino oscuro demasiado tiempo.
Ellos andan nobles. Desnudos. Como ratas De la selva. Civilizados con hedor. Un halcón negro Esta sobre la cabeza. Este esta dando vuelta. Parece a Un albino ahora. Deseo, deseo que yo tuviera un Helicóptero. Aquí viene la tortura. Déme El cloroformo. Un tiro de güisqui lo hará. Avispas tullidas fuera de mi camino. Deslícese Una bajo la puerta. Por favor. La primera vez Alguna vez dije esto. Gato dando vueltas. Donde
Había diablos yo no vi ninguno. Deseo que yo tuviera Un helicóptero. Me pregunto si el sexo es parte del Programa muerto. Pienso que perdí la soga y la cabra.
See Mr. Siluk's books at http://www.amazon.com
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The Bag Apron: The Poet and His Community by John Montague â Cead Isteach/Entry Permitted by Nuala Ni ... - Irish Times
'Everything is lost': A poet in conflict-torn Kashmir laments the destruction of his life's work - Washington Post
No one should have to beg or crawl before humanity. No one should have to scheme to procure philanthropy.
A Case of The Fears
Chicken Soup is good for a coldSleep is good for the FluWhen I get a case of the FearsWhat is a person to do?It is not bacteriaAlthough it can eat away my soulIt is not a virusYet, it can keep me from feeling wholeI know what will do the trick,What will put me back on top,A great big bowl of Ice CreamWill really hit the spotThat was great and now I am doneOne bowl just won't doIf one is good, then more is greatAnd now I have eaten two.Bowls three, four, five and sixCame and then they wentI think my case of the fears are fixedLook at how my time was spentI am getting sleepyIt is time to go to bedMy fears are no longer in my stomachNow they are in my headI close my eyes and I can seeThe Fears I want to killI will do, whatever it takesTo keep the monsters still.
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.
Three Poems: Phantom of the Rocks; Lady from Lima & Bell Ringer of de Copan
Phantom of the Rocks[Huancayo, Peru]Night falls deepUpon the traveler!Low, over the AndesBy Huancayo-;They know a legend,Not of this earth,Where evil lurks(Over Palla-Huarcuan!..
The Poets Corner [Three Poems with a review]
The Poet's Corner [Three poem/ see review 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!..
Ode, to the Mighty Midget Omac [In English and Spanish]
Part One Midget HistoryI am thirty-six inches tall, that is all-Honest to god I am My hair is green, my eyes red, and IHave a very thick neckMy eyebrows are thin, and my beardHas three hairs? And I bore abuse, when I was youngYes! It happened to be; day by day??folks laugh at me, my appearanceYou see?I make them appalled. .
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!..
You cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved.
Since Youve Been Gone...
My life has changedin so so many waysIt seems to always bein a state of disarray..
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.
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.
AFRICA (to africans in diaspora)africa here i come, africa africa of the black soul the soul of an ancient culture the culture of your timid tribes.its your voice i hear africa your voice of the talking drums your beaded drums and the royal trumpeter the metal gong of your town crieri have come to see your music dance i have heard of your ageless minstrels have i not heard of your swinging hips! i have heard enough and have come to watch wouldn't you dance for me africaafrica here i come africa would you not show me to your tribes the timid tribes of your sweetened tongues the varied tongues of your virtuous menafrica, black soul africa tell me about your gods your gods of the sky and of the mother earth your gods of the hills and of the rivers aboundshow me to your kings africa your kings of the ancient dynasty the ancient dynasty of rusted spear and shield africa, here i come africaHEAVENLY GUESTheavenly guest heralding thunderously in its own awake pelting on men as well, the gods gathering itself drop by drop.
My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother)
She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.She loved me like nobody else has ever loved me in my life.
Poetry in a Nutshell
Poetry is more than just rhyming and prose that is in meters and verse. It is an art form.
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.
Wars, Air of Ambiguity [for: Lt. Laura Walker] in SPANISH and English
Wars, air of AmbiguityDedicated to 1st. Lt.
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.
In the Mountans of Haiti [A Poem: in English and Spanish]
In the Mountains of Haiti(In the City)-July is a hot month-sweating Poverty out on every street (In Port de Prince); mixingMemory with desire causes stirring. Not much rain in Haiti (in 1986); Summer kept us busy, building A medical clinic, in the mountains?.
THe Monster Mash, A Graveyard SMASH (short story I wrote when I was 11)
The Monster Mash The Graveyard SmashHave you heard of the Monster Mash? I suppose you know the story of how it came to be, right? Well, I'm here to tell the TRUE story to you.It sarted out late one night, when all monsters where out of human sight.
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.
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