The Butcher of Lima and Footprints to Mantaro Valley (Two Poems)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley
In what retreat art hid?-
Where falling mountains groan In shadow and among
The rapids of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?
Beyond the footprints of the Andes--?
I can hear your voice in echoes
I can hear thy voice, divinely low. I do but know thy by a glance
As the clouds above me know? . Ah! Gone like that, but love-love!
Hath found my naked soul!
4-20-05 (#627) Note: written after seeing the Mantaro Valley, beyond the Andes.
The Butcher of Lima (Dedicated to: Mario Poggi)
Prologue: I do not wish to judge anyone, lest I be judged, and God forbid should I be judged by anyone but He. Thus, I write this following poem with a word of discretion to the reader likewise, that all is not as it seems, is it. Having said that, it has been said the Psychologist Mario Poggi-whom I met on three occasions and purchased a sculpture from, and received one from him as a gift-has learned the hard way-that is, the curse of revenge has long wings; hence, revenge is for the Lord. Why? Because both the avenger and the victim are cursed thereafter (one does not have time to make amends if that is indeed his wish; the other, loses his life slowly as he lives on). Thus, "The Butcher of Lima," is really a picture of the sculpture Mr. Poggi calls, "The Face of Anguish"; or at least it is to me. During our three meetings, I did not find in his eyes guilt for his murderous deed, for he rid a city of a maniac who was cutting up bodies and burying them,-and perhaps saved a few lives, did he not? But rather a sadness that he did not close his eyes during the process of his slaying of man called "The Butcher," and now the sculptures he has molded with his hands are the eyes of his soul.
The Poem "The Butcher of Lima"
The Psychologist, he killed
"The Butcher of Lima," So it has been said?
With a belt around his neck He strangled him to death!
As he sucked in his breath-- Head carved like a fish!?
He died a purple death
The "Butcher of Lima?." And no one wept.
And the media cried the name: "Poggi! Poggi!?you're insane!"
It is as fate would have it
Motionless and forgotten Are the cold blades of redemption.
Poet, Author Dennis L. Siluk, is now traveling throughout South and Central America and when given the chance, is stopping at Internets to send back some of his poetry, as he creates his poems. His site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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