Have you ever experienced infatuation with someone you know is not a good match for you? Or how about an interesting relationship that roots itself deep in your memory..
Little Girl from Huancayo [a poem/in English and Spanish]
Little girl from HuancayoDo you really, really know?
Just how fast those feet will grow,On the streets of Huancayo.Little girl with jumping jacksOn the street, looking back;
Back to see whose watching her,A little boy with a bird.
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).
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.
Three Poems: The Monkey Man of Lima, Plus Two More
What Hides behind the Minute?What hides behind the minute?
It seems, no one really knows;
How many times will we wakeup,
To count the minutes gone?The rose was dead when I arrived;
The sword, was rusty and dull;
The window curtain was open,
And there was music in the hall.Oh lovely minute, where art thou?
One, is not like the other-:
Whirling in an earthly orbit,
As the boundless world discovers.
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?.
Lima, City with the Stretched out Wings [In English and Spanish]
City with the Stretched out WingsIt's an ink-black night: no stars: a moon in sightJust dots of: red, green and white-white lightsAs the plane descends, descends, slides down
On the long-drawn-out-spun-out lingering city of lights
Uneven as a crumbled cake, lit up like a Christmas tree-The sleepless city, with its stretched out wingsStretching from the mountains to the sea-
Winding through the valley's, forests, and streams
Stretches, stretches its naked wings-endlesslyAs,I'm descending, down, over and around the city
(descending, descending, and sliding to the ground)The city with stretched out wings-and endless lights
Down, behind, around, the ground, it's immune to me
I'm just part of its evening, a baptism in its inky seaInvisible people: cats, dogs, birds, and rats-infiniteUncountable: dots; streams of lit dots, dot-lights;
People: walking, talking, sleeping, eating by the dots
People: waiting, killing, robbing, praying, by the dotsFor tomorrow, tomorrow and another tomorrowThey say-:you are ruthless, and I know this to be trueAnd they tell me you have thieves and murders-And this, I dare say-but shall-is also true, very true
But show me a city to the contrary of eight-million-?
I shake my fist and say: '?show me! But no one does'So alive, so brave, with strong and hungry hearts;I say, show me one that sings in poverty and smiles
Prove me one that celebrates year-round of its heroes
Show me painters that are as good-that sell on streets-As good as: Picasso, Dali, Rembrandt, and Yang YangAnd that welcomes the world with stretched out arms-Show me all this, or some of this, and I will say no moreWith this,I descend to its streets, its crowed winding streetsAs well as, to its neighborhoods with dust and soiled air,
And hear the laughs of the children; the dogs on roofs
Sights of the shoe-shiners: men and boys, in the parksAnd the numerous food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, covering all-My Lima, Peru with its renowned Cathedral:Golden yellow with towering crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its wrinkled aged men, lovely women,They all stand tall and bow to its Inca history, its glory-
Its world that once ruled all, like the Roman Empire,Like the American Dream, they were the noble, the kingsAnd now, from drudgery and toil, sweat and strive, all, all Grinding, grinding away, each and everyday, lover of the, King of Kings: Jesus Christ-this is the Lima I know today; a mighty ship that has already sailed the seven seas, now resting!?Spanish VersionLima,
La ciudad con las alas extendidas
Translated by Rosa PeñalozaEsta es una noche oscura: no estrellas, ni luna a la vistaSolo puntos: rojo, verde y blanco-luces blancasMientras que el avión desciende, desciende, bajando
A la larga-extendida-plana persistente ciudad de luces
Plana como un panqueque, encendida como un árbol de navidad-La despierta ciudad, con sus alas extendidasExtendidas desde las montañas hacia el océano
Zigzagueante a través de los valles, bosques y riachuelos
Estirando, estirando sus alas desnudas-interminablesMientras,Voy descendiendo, abajo, por encima y alrededor de la ciudad
(Descendiendo, descendiendo, y deslizándose a la tierra)La ciudad con las alas extendidas-y luces interminables
Abajo, Abajo, detrás, alrededor, la tierra, es inmune a mí
Sólo soy parte de esta noche, un bautizado en su oscuro océanoInvisible: gente, gatos, perros, pájaros, y ratas, infinidadIncontables: puntos, riachuelos de luz, puntos de luz;
Gente: caminando, conversando, durmiendo, comiendo bajo los puntos de luz
Gente: esperando, matando, robando, rezando bajo los puntos de luzPor mañana, mañana y otro mañanaEllos dicen--:Tu eres implacable, y yo se que esto es verdadY ellos me dicen tú tienes ladrones, y muertes-Y esto, me atrevo a decir, que esto también es cierto, muy ciertoPero muéstrame una ciudad de ocho millones contraria --?
Sacudo mis puños y digo: "?muéstrame," pero nadie lo haceTan viva, tan valerosa, con corazones fuertes y hambrientos:Digo, muéstrame una que canta en pobreza, y sonríe
Pruébame una como esa, que celebra alrededor del año a sus héroes
Muéstrame pintores tan buenos-que venden en las calles-Tan buenos como: Picasso, Dali, Rembrant y Yang YangY que recibe al mundo con extendidos brazosMuéstrame todo esto, o algo de esto, y no diré masCon esto,Desciendo a sus calles, atiborrada, zigzagueantes callesAsí como su raro vecindario con polvo en el aire
Y oigo la risa de los niños, los perros en los techos
Vista de los lustrabotas, hombres y muchachos, en los parquesY los numerosos carros de comida, músicos y vendedores de periódicosY con su desnuda y desplumadas alas, cubriendo todo-Mi Lima, Perú, con su renombrada catedral:Amarilla dorada con su coronadas torres, yDentro de su plaza cuadrada, una celebrada piletaBajo su piel, con sus arrugados ancianos, tiernas mujeres,Todos ellos parados altos, y reverenciando a su historia inca, sugloria-
Su mundo que una vez gobernó todo, como el Imperio RomanoComo el sueño de América, ellos fueron los nobles, los reyesY ahora de pesadez, y esfuerzo, sudor, lucha, todos, todos extenuados, fatigados, este y cada día, amantes del
Rey de los Reyes: Jesucristo-esta es la Lima que conozco, hoy; un poderoso barco que ya navegó los siete mares, ahora descansando?Author/Poet Dennis Siluk, web site: http://dennissiluk.
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.
Two Poems and a Short Story
1)dying in the bar
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.
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,
Here And There
My eyes opened.
I am still alive;
Living on planet earth.
The Plane from Iquitos [1959-Part One]
Iquitos & the Amazon
Part OneIt was December 2, l959, I was sitting on a small prop-plane leaving Iquitos, Peru for a trip down the Amazon toward the opening, the mouth of the mighty Amazon,--to Manaus. As we flew low one could see the waters of the Amazon, the city always impressed me, but more from this birds-eye view, you could see the mighty river in its squid like form, with all it tentacles [contributories: waters linking to the river].
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Novelist and Poet.Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev.
Expressing an Emotion - The Art of Writing Poetry
Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, finding meaning in few words. A melody of passion flowing out onto the pages, words that flow into each other and yet express the inner most thoughts and feelings of those who read the words.
Way of Life: Rhymes of the Inca [four poems: see in Spanish and English NOW!]
Way of Life:
Rhymes of the IncaPizarro
(Spanish conquistador ((1525))The blind follow the blind
The dumb follow the fool
But the cleaver, like 'Pizarro,'
(who could not read or write)
And ruled the Inca world!Thus, Atahualpa was
Beheaded out of pride and
Indolence-: one might say,
And ignorance ruled? .Note: don Francisco Pizarro #689 5/27/05Cepeda the Sly
[Lima, Perú-l546 AD]Cepeda the Sly-, judge
With two sides; one false,
One pride-both mixed with lies.
More Articles from Poetry Information:
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The Robots Are Here to Write PoetryAtlas ObscuraFor almost 200 years, humans have been outsourcing the task of writing poetryâfitting fragments of the human experience into a mosaic of thrill and despairâto machines. In addition to hammering our thoughts out on keyboards, we've also relinquished ...
Behind the scenes at Brick Street PoetryNUVOMorin was the featured reader at Poetry on Brick Street at the SullivanMunce Center in Zionsville on the night of Dec. 7. âLet's say I'm changing the fairy tale too much,â she said, working the wool into yarn on the spindle. âI keep changing things ...
The New Yorker
The Man Who Remade Arabic PoetryThe New YorkerIn March, 2011, when civil protests broke out in cities and towns across Syria, the country's most famous poet, Adonisâwho is in his eighties and has lived in exile since the mid-nineteen-fiftiesâhesitated to support the demonstrators. Although he ...
Poetry society to meet SundayEnid News & EagleDon Blanding Poetry Society will meet 2:30 p.m. Sunday at St. Matthew's Episcopal Church, 518 W. Randolph. Those attending are asked to park in the back and come in that entrance. All poets are welcome. Those attending also are asked to bring a ...
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley
(English version)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? .
Because of You
You are to me my lifeline
That scares me.
Learn About Love From Poet Rumi
In this modern age of technology, busy lifestyles, and obsession with consumerism have taken a lot of the romance and love out of our lives. The Internet has become a medium to connect with people as everyone is finding it a lot harder to meet one another in the 'real' world.
Four Poems: Harvest of Apoplectic Horses [Katrinas Pathway]
Four Poems: Katrina's PathwayHarvest of Apoplectic Horses
((Dedicated to: Katrina)) crisis)It has happened before:
Nearby and afar,
Where the four-horses of
With their flaming nostrils
Breathed in the fury of the winds
Only to vomit out, disaster; -
Then galloped away,
Against pale faces!..
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.
Listen as I Share: WE
You speak simple, completley understandable
I respect them, respect you, honor what you tell me
and even though I know where you're coming from,
I just wanted to share with you, let you hear:
Shadows of the Andes; Ollantayambo; and Cesar Vallejo [Poems in English and Spanish]
1) Shadows of the Andes
[or: Song to the Andes]I shall blend-in, into theMountains-
Into the faintest thinShadowsof the mountains!
Like the moss on moistenedStoneLike a leaf blown far fromHome?(freshly fallen)!I shall blend-in, clingingTo the mountains-
Into its faintest thinShadowsNote: when I arrived back home from Peru, my 7th trip in five years [April, 2005], I had spend about 30-days this time on the trip. I visited the Mantaro Valley, Huancayo, and drove through the Andes.
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.
Caught in the Arms of ED
YOU MIGHT THINK I AM STRONGI THINK YOU GOT IT WRONGI LIVE LIFE DAY TO DAYHOPING IT WILL GO MY WAYI HAVE MY FRIENDS AND MY FOOD PLANMY THERAPIST AND MY THOUGHTSMY EXERCISE AND MY EXCITEMENTTHEN SOMETHING HAPPENS AND I GET CAUGHTCAUGHT IN THE ARMS OF EDTURNING MY EYES AWAYFROM MY FOCUS TO WIN THE FIGHTTHAT I THOUGHT WAS GOING TO STAY.HE TELLS ME THAT I AM SELFISHTHAT I SHOULD DOUBT MY EVERY MOVEONE MINUTE I AM HAPPYDO I HAVE A RIGHT TO FEEL THIS GOOD?DOUBTING MY STRENGTH AND CONFIDENCEAS ED ALWAYS KNEW I WOULDI AM LOSING INCHES AROUND MY WAISTAND MY PANTS ARE FALLING OFFI SEE THE FACE OF ED IN MY HEADAS HE BEGINS TO LAUGH AND SCOFFYOU THINK YOU ARE GOING STRONGYOU THINK YOU GOT ME BEATLET ME SEE YOU LOSE EVEN MOREYOU WILL SEE THAT YOU WERE WRONG.
Stone Beds [A Poem and an Advance]
[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.
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Novelist and Poet.Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev.
Two Poems on the Traditions of Peru [in English and Spanish]
[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.
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.
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
Man Unbowed [A poem]
Man UnbowedUnbowed by sin, the world of man, stands
Upon his feet he gapes into the sky,
The indifference of centuries within his eyes,
And in his heart the curse of the old world.
Who made him dead to love and God?
A thing that breathes only for wants and needs,
With a lack of emotion, a brother to the fox?
Who tightened and pushed up his jagged brow?
(To make him look so grand, so proud-so tall.
I AM SO GRATEFUL for simpler times.
Stores were closed on Sundays,
TV shows seemed to make more sense,
Family members spent ample time with each other,
And people were valued more than things.
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.
Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Dog
Emlyn Williams Theatre, Mold, North Wales: 20th February 2003Clwyd Theatr Cymru commemorated the 50th anniversary of the death of the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas (1914-1953) with a superb run of performances by a small but accomplished cast of actors.Described in the programme as "A theatrical journey through the prose writing of Dylan Thomas", the production was created by Tim Baker, an Associate of the Royal National Theatre, who won the Manchester Evening News Best Visiting Production award in 1992 for the highly acclaimed To Kill a Mockingbird.
A Happiness Poem
If a happiness poem could bring forth a smile,
Then my face would always dress in style.If my ears could hear my computer screen,
From one to another, they, too, would grin.
Publishing Your Poetry
If you are serious about seeing your work published by reputable publishers, there are a few points you should consider. Firstly and most obviously, you need to determine if you have poetry worth publishing.