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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Tenderloin Pride Shines Through Eighth Grade PoetrySF WeeklyEvery year, De Marillac publishes five anthologies by its eighth graders, who have had poetry integrated into their school experience since fourth grade. While many are regular kid musings about family, friends, and anxieties over high school ...
Protesting Through PoetryNPRMARTIN: I'm going to start off by asking Kwame to describe how you see the connection between poetry and protest. ALEXANDER: When I was 10 years old, I was living in Brooklyn. My father was the headmaster of my school. And one day, we woke up and he ...and more »
Column: 'Midwife' is television poetryOmaha World-HeraldOnce in a while I discover a television series so poetic, touching and bewitching that it distracts me from my books. Such a series is âCall the Midwife,â which is seriously hampering my intention to read Jon Meacham's biography of Andrew Jackson ...
Poetry Omnibus solicits submissions, offers workshopsKTOOPoetry Omnibus program coordinator Ceann Murphy was among the contest winners in 2014. (Photo by Scott Burton/KTOO). Poetry Omnibus, the poetry contest that displays locally written work in our Capital Transit buses, is now accepting submissions from ...
Arizona Daily Wildcat
Poetry Center starts spring with a full calenderArizona Daily WildcatThe University of Arizona Poetry Center, located at 1508 E. Helen St., holds monthly events for students, staff and members of the community. The month of January has several events planned from Shop Talks to the UA Prose Series. The events are planned ...
The New Yorker
Joan Murray's Enduring Poetry of the SensesThe New YorkerFirst, Murray's manuscript was pried, from her mother, by W. H. Auden, who wanted to publish it as his inaugural pick as judge of the Yale Series of Younger Poets, in 1947. The resulting book, âPoems,â received a few respectful notices but was soon ...
Winnipeg poets hit grand slam with unique workGlobalnews.caWinnipeg poet Kier Mailan has been to the national event before, and has been a part of many slam performances, having done it since he was 12. âI was just writing poems and reciting it to myself very dramatically and passionately,â Mailan said. âI ...
Empress Michiko's 'waka' poetry published in GermanAsahi ShimbunManuel Herder, president of the publishing house, found out about waka poetry Michiko penned right after the 2011 Great East Japan Earthquake and tsunami that expressed her heartfelt sympathy for the people affected by the disaster. He was deeply moved ...
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..
Arizona Blue--Gunfighter: The Wolves Nest [Chapter One of Seven: The North]
[Episode Five]Arizona Blue-GunfighterThe Wolves Nest-in the North[Episode Five]Northern Minnesota Area-Winter of 1877Chapter One of Seven: The NorthThe area was known as Pigs Eye [St. Paul, Minnesota]; Northfield was a little more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st National Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West.
Burning Autumn Leaves [a poem in Spanish and English]
Burning Autumn Leaves
[1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]My long steel pointed rake punctured
And twisted through tons of autumn leaves
(back in the '50s);
And there's a hill yet, I didn't rake, I see
Behind it, two embankments
Leaves I didn't rake a day ago;
The essence of fall sleeps on the ground.
The King and Delka & Moiromma: the Cold Planet [Parts 25 and 26]
#25The King and Delka
[Split Mawkishness-on Moiromma /Part V]Sickly SentimentalityI have sought out friends
Only to find rawness
Of their passion;
And the uniformity
Of their vision.Who out there can know
My cerebral verve?(Only the long dead)By King Moir I[Of Moiromma]Ah! the aimless cosmos come back to his mind as he stands on his balcony looking up into he eerie dark.
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.
Antidotes for an Alibi
Amy King's first full-length collection, Antidotes for an Alibi, insists that we examine the deceptive clarity of our actions and the goals that motivate us. How does one actually get from "A" to "B"-and is there ever really a "B"? What color is the white space between "A" and "B"? Upon closer inspection, surface realities reveal themselves to be porous and fragile, layered with textures and grains that lead the eye on varying pathways.
Take some time to stop and look at nature. Pick up a rock or two and think about where it might have started out and what it might have gone through to end up where you found it.
Tale of the: Old Hunter and the Golden Hare [In SPANISH and English now]
There once lived an old man and his goodwife
On the edge of the thick of the woods;
They lived in an old run-down shack
For forty-years and some.
The old man hunted for his living,
And his wife sewed on her lap.
Ceasar Vallejo: Black Roses [In English and Spanish]
Black RosesBow down your head ol' poet-
To face God's grace ahead
There are no more trenchesTo dig today?
In the forest of your head,So-:
Bow down, bow down,Ol' barbaric poet!
Death rides the horse ahead
I hear the crackling of a whip
See the crazed eyes of death.He summons you to his den-
The devil and his wind,So-:
Bow down, bow down
Your blood stained brows
He will take you to the edge.
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? .
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.
Lord Byrons She Walks in Beauty
Lord Byron's opening couplet to "She Walks In Beauty" is among the most memorable and most quoted lines in romantic poetry. The opening lines are effortless, graceful, and beautiful, a fitting match for his poem about a woman who possesses effortless grace and beauty.
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 never thought I would have to say GOODBYE to my best friend? But that's what I had to do today I had to let go of her forever -There was no other way For me to face reality Or pretend to be okay I had no concept -Of how hard it would be To actually let go Of this huge part of me? Not tomorrow or ever -Will my life be the same Without my Grannio here Life seems to be a game - Of chance and questions?Questions that never end And have no answers That can begin to mend The gaping hole inside of meNor come close to healing My heart and soul that Seem to be feeling Lost, numb and empty-Completely hollow? Like I have nobody left To really follow - Through life with respectShe was so much more Than my Grandmother I knew that before She left this earthAnd I told her so More than once or twice Because she had to know Just how very special -And truly blessed I felt to have her as my friend She was the best Without a doubt -My Grannio gave me More than anybody Will ever really see? It was an unspoken -Kind of love That came with no conditions And went far above The normal caringAnd average support For a grandchild - Or family of any sort She gave more of herselfTo me than anyone In my life ever will Nobody could have done What she did for meWith so much devotion, Absolute honesty And true emotion? Her loyalty was -Sincerely undying I realize so much Now that I'm crying - And wishing thatI had just one more day To spend holding her hand And trying to take away Her fears and her pain -That took over her Body and her mind Like never before? In our lives -I would have sincerely Given 20 years of my life To have her merely Be here tomorrow -I cannot explain The way I feel today Or how much I pain Is inside of me -That will never go away No matter how much time passes I know this ache will stay With me forever?Just as her special touch Will always be with me And mean so very much - To me and my son?Jakob Thomas Her "BabyDoll" And I promise To never forget -What she would have done If she was still here For him - her only one Great-grandchild?Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www.
Shakespeares Sonnet XVIII, Shall I Compare Thee to a Summers Day?
Shakespeare's sonnets require time and effort to appreciate. Understanding the numerous meanings of the lines, the crisply made references, the brilliance of the images, and the complexity of the sound, rhythm and structure of the verse demands attention and experience.
Ode To Quetzalcoatal [Now in Spanish and English]
Ode to QuetzalcóatlQuetzalcóatl the GreatNo one knew his true name, so they
Called him Quetzalcóatl-feather Serpent
He and his crew of nineteen: faces
Strange faces, images of a prince, a lord:
King of the Yucatan in the year 986 ADHe was a tall man; long cloths, sandals;
White as day, with a long beard, black hair.
Some say red: some don't say?
But they called him priest, Lord, king
Amongst many things: god!.
I Saw the Universe
I can see the cerulean blue of the skiesOr the indigo of the nightI can see the stars wink, the grin of the moonDuring the changes of it's monthly face**I am in awe**I see the sun on it's annual trekAlternately awakening the life in the earthAnd then fading away to allow it to sleepUntil the next spring**I am told the Universe is "out there"Beyond those stars, moon and sun,Yet the power of what I can seeIs a fathoming beyond my comprehension**I am in awe**"Out there" no time, no seasons passNo sense of age, hatred or loss existOnly the infinity0f the Universe**What IS "out there"?What IS the Universe that has no end?What IS the power that creates all this?I want to see it too**And then I remember..
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,As I huddle down, inside my coat,a commuter clone, just waiting for a train.Insidious rain, just drizzling down,through weak light of creeping dawn,Paper sandwich bags and old coffee cups,blowing past, look so forlorn.
Savage Nature: The Life of Ted Hughes
One of the most important poets of the post-war period, Edward James Hughes (1930-1998), was drawn towards the primitive. He was enchanted by the beauty of the natural world, frequently portraying its cruel and savage temperament in his work as a reflection of his own personal suffering and mystical beliefs - convinced that modern man had lost touch with the primordial side of his nature.
New Poetic Work By Ethiopian Immigrant Promotes Respect, Courage And Cultural Sensitivity
McLean, VA - "The Healing Conscious" tells the story of an Ethiopian immigrant boy on his fascinating journey to America and adulthood. Author Kifle Bantayehu, a 23 year-old second-generation Ethiopian immigrant, recounts this poignant tale in poetic format.