The Time Has Come and Buzzing
Most of my poems are written late at night, often, as this one was, after I have turned out the lights to go to sleep. It seems that is the time when I am most creative. I hope you enjoy these two poems that talk a little bit about where my ideas come from.
Buzzing
My mind is buzzing
as I try to sleep
the words won't rest
all around me they creep.
They cry to me
with their siren song
"just a few more lines,
it won't take long".
And so I succumb
I pick up my pen
I dash down a few words,
I wait and then....
I try to sleep
March 5, 2004
Fran Watson
The Time Has Come
The time has come the poem said
for you to write that I might be read
and so I took my pen in hand
and wrote the words at its command.
The words spewed forth as I obeyed
The poem wanted its glory displayed.
It shimmered, it glowed, it shone with delight
it showed off its power as I brought it to light.
The words began running and singing and dancing,
and then quite and sorrowful and then into romancing.
Up one side, cross over, now run over there,
I wait and then....
Now quickly, now slowly, now gently, more care.
Swiftly they tumble, they rush and they pour,
then suddenly they stop. I hear them no more.
Where do they come from and where do they go?
Alas it's unfortunate I really don't know.
If I knew, I could coax them to come out and play
when I chose, instead of awaiting their stay.
But lif is just like that, it ebbs and it flows,
like words of this poem, it comes and it goes.
We know not our journey, its only begun,
we just step out there gently and walk towards the sun.
And slowly or quickly our journey is o'r
and just like this poem - there is no more!
Copyright Feb 13, 2005
Fran Watson
Fran Watson
http://www.franwatson.ca
http://www.diet-basics.org
http://www.moremoney4u.org
MORE RESOURCES:
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Google News
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Three Poems: Dona Leonors Revenge; The Old Moon; Common Sides [All in Spanish/all in English]
1) Doa Leonor's Revenge [1627 AD]Rafael Ortiz's fateWas on the plateOf Doa Leonor'sWhen she arrivedIn Lima, Peru;To taste revengeFor the beheadingOf her husband.And so the plot?was now played out(in an alleyway)As she gutted her trout!In SpanishTranslated by Nancy PenalozaLa leyenda de:La venganza de doa Leonor(1627 despus de cristo)El destino de Rafael Ortiz Estaba sobre el platoDe doa Leonor.
Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet]
Let's follow the poet to hisHell and heaven! Count hisGhosts and dilemma's?Reach out to touch hisStretched-out skies; let's followThe poet to see where he lays.Let's follow the poet to his end;To see if he can?whateverHe wants to do, do over again?.
Two Poems and a Short Story
1)dying in the bar[sluggishly]yet,I would crawl tooupto the bar,it was everything, the dampnessthe carved woodthe zoned-out-ness in my headdreaming; it was better than death?then I took another drink?so manyI never moved much, like dead fish.my head split like an assit was numb and, nothing else numbness was my homeacross the street, dancingon the patiothe moon was out.
Two Poems Written During Recovery
Since my wife and I are moving, or preparing to move, we've been going through our things as most people must, to prepare for the new location, and in doing so, I found two poems, ones I wrote in 1990, now 15-years old, never published, and so I'd like to publish them today. I was a heavy drinker up to 1984 (some twenty years drinking), when I quite, and so these poems must have something to do with it, a slight reflection perhaps.
Tale of the Brick Maker, of San Jeronimo, Peru [In English and Spanish]
Tale of the Brick Maker, Of San Jernimo, Peru[A Cup of Sorrow]-1In the Andean mountains, within theMantaro Valley region of Peru, Isolated, secluded, tranquil, is the littlevillage of San Jernimo.Near the village, here lay the fertile valleywith bent-grass, and hugeMountains stretching northbound,And heading towards the ocean's coast.
Listen as I Share: WE
You speak simple, completley understandablejustificationsI respect them, respect you, honor what you tell meand even though I know where you're coming from,I just wanted to share with you, let you hear:my heart..
Lima, City with the Stretched out Wings [In English and Spanish]
Lima, 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 lightsDown, behind, around, the ground, it's immune to meI'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 dotsPeople: 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 trueBut 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 smilesProve me one that celebrates year-round of its heroesShow 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 roofsSights 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 extendidasTranslated by Rosa PealozaEsta es una noche oscura: no estrellas, ni luna a la vistaSolo puntos: rojo, verde y blanco-luces blancasMientras que el avin desciende, desciende, bajandoA la larga-extendida-plana persistente ciudad de luces Plana como un panqueque, encendida como un rbol de navidad-La despierta ciudad, con sus alas extendidasExtendidas desde las montaas hacia el ocanoZigzagueante a travs de los valles, bosques y riachuelosEstirando, estirando sus alas desnudas-interminablesMientras,Voy descendiendo, abajo, por encima y alrededor de la ciudad(Descendiendo, descendiendo, y deslizndose a la tierra)La ciudad con las alas extendidas-y luces interminablesAbajo, Abajo, detrs, alrededor, la tierra, es inmune a mSlo soy parte de esta noche, un bautizado en su oscuro ocanoInvisible: gente, gatos, perros, pjaros, y ratas, infinidadIncontables: puntos, riachuelos de luz, puntos de luz; Gente: caminando, conversando, durmiendo, comiendo bajo los puntos de luzGente: esperando, matando, robando, rezando bajo los puntos de luzPor maana, maana y otro maanaEllos dicen--:Tu eres implacable, y yo se que esto es verdadY ellos me dicen t tienes ladrones, y muertes-Y esto, me atrevo a decir, que esto tambin es cierto, muy ciertoPero mustrame una ciudad de ocho millones contraria --?Sacudo mis puos y digo: "?mustrame," pero nadie lo haceTan viva, tan valerosa, con corazones fuertes y hambrientos:Digo, mustrame una que canta en pobreza, y sonrePrubame una como esa, que celebra alrededor del ao a sus hroesMustrame pintores tan buenos-que venden en las calles-Tan buenos como: Picasso, Dali, Rembrant y Yang YangY que recibe al mundo con extendidos brazosMustrame todo esto, o algo de esto, y no dir masCon esto,Desciendo a sus calles, atiborrada, zigzagueantes callesAs como su raro vecindario con polvo en el aireY oigo la risa de los nios, los perros en los techosVista de los lustrabotas, hombres y muchachos, en los parquesY los numerosos carros de comida, msicos y vendedores de peridicosY con su desnuda y desplumadas alas, cubriendo todo-Mi Lima, Per, 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 gobern todo, como el Imperio RomanoComo el sueo de Amrica, ellos fueron los nobles, los reyesY ahora de pesadez, y esfuerzo, sudor, lucha, todos, todos extenuados, fatigados, este y cada da, amantes delRey de los Reyes: Jesucristo-esta es la Lima que conozco, hoy; un poderoso barco que ya naveg los siete mares, ahora descansando?Author/Poet Dennis Siluk, web site: http://dennissiluk.
Eight Poems
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.
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 pageGive it a pathway to run, tell your friends, they've won.
Ode to: The Ice Maiden of Ampatos Summit [now in: English and Spanish]
Dedcate to Antonio Castillo. L.
Poetry and Popular Culture
Is poetry too complicated for the average reader? Is it too cryptic, scholarly? If you ask a large group of average people what they like or don't like about poetry, you'll get a few different answers, but there is an overwhelmingly common category of responses.One of the main reasons that people say they aren't addicted to contemporary poetry is that they feel it is too cryptic.
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.
Changes
I am not the one I was before yesterday.I cannot go back.
Africa - Wheres The Profit?
A poetic comment that just welled up inside my head - why cant we just do something - before many more are dead?How pious those politicians are,When up there on T.V.
Growing
Growing hurts sometimes;saying goodbye to friends,to things you've known and doneto things you wanted to do.Growing heals sometimesthe shattered dreams and hopesof a life you once knewleading you to a new knowledge of yourself.
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.
Famous Poets Quotations - Top 30 Poetry Quotations by Famous Poets
"For this reason poetry is something more philosophical and more worthy of serious attention than history."-- Aristotle"Every American poet feels that the whole responsibility for contemporary poetry has fallen upon his shoulders, that he is a literary aristocracy of one.
The Spirits de Copan
Part oneI see them in the skiesI hear them in their hellsThey whisper and they moanAnd never are alone-The Spirits and the Ghouls?The Spirits de Copan!They are shadows in my worldEchoes in my dreamsA mystery and a forceTo a cosmic happening!The Spirits and the Ghouls?The Spirits de Copan!..
Man Unbowed [A poem]
Man UnbowedUnbowed by sin, the world of man, standsUpon 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.
