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Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English]
1. Night in Jamaica It was a rainy night they say #719 6/7/05 2. Sacred Something Love for love 6/8/05 #720 3. Epitaph in El Dorado Ride high, ride high There upon a cliff His madden brain And so it was And 6/9/05 #725 4. Epitaph of a Shoeshine Boy I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep The earth is warm under my feet; I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep Whereas, I walk alone again Note: When I was a boy of 11 to 13, I used to go from bar to bar in St. Paul, Minnesota and shoeshine (l958-61). I made money that way, until I was 14-years old, at which time I worked for what is now the "Fitzgerald Theater"; where Garrison Keillor (whom I met twice) has his show, "A Prairie Home companion." 5. Lyric Rain Ah! Last night it was a night I so love the wild rain Note: It rained out last night (a storm), in St. Paul, Minnesota, USA; 3:30 AM. My mother used to be frightened by such storms, but I cherished them it seems; odd are we not, so different in what we value. #721 6/8/05 In Spanish Cinco poemas Mixtos, con apuntes 1. Noche en Jamaica Esta fuè una noche lluviosa ellos dicen asesino fallò su blanco #719 6/7/05 2 Amor por amor 6/8/05 *720 3 Alto al Paseo, alto al paseo Allí sobre una roca Su cerebro enfurecido Y entonces fuè Estoy harto de este poema 6/9/05 *725 4 No puedo dormir, no puedo dormir La tierra està caliente bajo mis pies; No puedo dormir, no puedo dormir Mientras que, ando solo otra vez Nota: Cuando yo era un muchacho de 11 a 13, solía ir de bar en bar en Saint Paul Minnesota y lustraba botas (l958-61). Gané dinero de esta manera, hasta que yo tuve 14 años, en el cual trabajé para lo que es ahora el " Teatro Fitzergerald "; donde la Guarnición Keillor (con quien me encontré dos veces) tiene su espectáculo, " A Praire home companion" 5 Lluvia lírica ¡Ah! Anoche esto fue una noche Nota: llovió afuera anoche (una tormenta), en Saint Paul, Minnesota, EE. UU; a las 3h30. Mi madre solía estar asustada por tales tormentas, pero yo los abrigue eso parece; extraños somos nosotros , tan diferentes en lo que valoramos. Poet Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com the book, "Spell of the Andes," is almost ready for the public, got a note today saying it is going to press...this is the best of Dennis' poems on Vietnam and Peru, and Copan, Honduras Rosa
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Too much for any woman in a lost world Out of the weak wood her mind had peace; She knew soon it would all be over-alas Mute and protesting against life's uselessness A narrow path lay below her slender body Between death and attainment, a careless foot The rocks beneath her weakening, she plunged Plunged to her death, in the carving hands of the valley Thinking of it, as she fell, thinking with a smiled, Saying, looking up-dead before her echoes: 'Time is short?time is short?time is short!' When they found her, her face was unafraid of falling. Farewell to Lester Graybill I never met a man, who could shake my hand, and make my heart feel like a hearth afire.I never met a man, who could smile so easy, real honest. 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?. Wondering How I wonder what he's doing as I sit alone at night. How I wonder who he's seeing How I wonder if I'm right. Why I enjoy Writing? During interviews and general conversations with the public,one of the most difficult questions for me to answer(timely and thoroughly) is,"Why do you enjoy writing"?So due to the challenge manifested in such a question,I pondered on creating an answer. Many reasons came to mind,but after digesting much"time for thought",I managed to condense my response to three items. Two Poems, with Figurative Language Says Mr. Dennis Siluk, when asked to review his poetry somewhat, for he hesitates all the time when I ask him to so; I can tell you. Motiff 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.. 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Yes-abstract concepts Bombast and rhetoric His intellect His cleverness This he leaves behind To his decedents!. Review Of Stephen B. Wileys First Book Of Poetry: HERO ISLAND Poet Stephen B. Wiley's first book of poetry, Hero Island, reflects tender snapshots and reminiscent overviews of various stages of his life as a youngster working on a farm in New Jersey, summer vacations spent with his family in Northern Vermont, and his positive stance on life. Five Poems Poems have different cores, or so I believe, and can only be structured well for certain figurative language-heart beats; like all counselors are not made for all clients, so all poems are not made for the same person, or purpose; when we read we all have our likes and dislikes; I do not necessarily know what poetry is per se, but I do know what the greatness of poetry has, and great poetry is close to an illusion?it carries an echo I do believe-figurative yes, at best, and questionable yes, by far. Here are five poems I've recently wrote, all with a different core, focus and style. Two Poems on the Traditions of Peru [in English and Spanish] Atahualpa's Game [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. Recollections 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. Poetry "Reborn" Emerges In Thriller Mystery Novel Since Mohamed Ali-then Cassius Clay-announced that he had written "The world's shortest poem," I have known that I would be a poet. "ME? WHEE!" His triumphant proclamation evoking shivers within my troubled teenaged identity, for I reasoned in rhyme. 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