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 #713
Note: 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. And legend has it, because of a chess game, he was killed, while Catalina Wanka was on her way bringing Gold for his freedom, of which she stopped abruptly, and hid, once finding out, the king was murdered by the Spaniards.
El Juego de Atahualpa
A veces, no es sabio
Compartir su sabiduría
---como hizo, Atahualpa
( El Rey inca) en el
Juego de ajedrez; a partir de entonces,
Él fue condenado a muerte.
6/6/05 *713
21.
Ica, Witches
[Peruvian]
Do not go to Ica, dear friend
There you may find witches-
In toast and bread?
Perhaps lose your head,
Perhaps find them in bed
Perhaps, find yourself dead.
6/6/05 #714 [Ica, is in Northern Peru]
Note: there are stories, that even my wife agrees with, that she has heard that witches haunt this area of Peru; a city in the South part of Peru.
brujas de Ica
No vaya a Ica, querido amigo
Allí usted puede encontrar brujas-
En tostada y pan ?
Quizás pierda su cabeza,
Quizás los encuentre en la cama
Quizás, se encuentre muerto.
6/6/05 *714
Poet/Author Dennis Siluk website: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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Sleep, Dreams, and a Poem
The Incubus' Flash-lightHe looked inside my headAnd found a dreamHe didn't like-;As I looked back at him,I found an incubus Shinning a light(and stole this poem fromhim-last night).Thoughts: Dreams and Poetry: in dreams we let go of our inhibitions; in poetry we write them back out.
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.
My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother)
She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.She loved me like nobody else has ever loved me in my life.
In Poetry: Meaning of Words [And ...Rocket-belt]
In Poetry: Meaning of WordsWhen I write poetry, I check out the meaning of words for too often they sound the same, but once written, and if spelled wrong, in consequence, give a complete different meaning of what I had intended; this I call a moment of damage control. If my rhyme is flat, and my cadence is off, so what, I can survive, as long as the meaning of my words are not; and are as I meant them to be.
RISK
Do not be afraid to shine.This world needs what you have to give.
Writing Innovative Poetry
Writing innovative poetry, the kind of poetry that reputable literary journals publish, entails knowing exactly what each word of a poem does to the reader. A good poem should be evocative, skillful, and cohesive, but before attempting to hone these attributes, a potential poet should be knowledgeable of the various forms and attributes of contemporary poetry.
Three Love Poems [all wicked]
Advance: Mr. Dennis Siluk's poetry can have its fire-hearted twists: as with 'Lovers'.
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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 seeBehind it, two embankmentsLeaves I didn't rake a day ago;The essence of fall sleeps on the ground.
The Ballad of: Brawling Mad-dog Sergeant Rook [Now in: SPANISH and English]
English VersionA bunch of us guys in the hutIn ?NamWere playing cards, singing songs;In a solo-room, back of the hutLay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;And watching from a distanceWas his sidekick, Corporal Cook.When out of the night, he wantedTo fightThis bully of six-foot-twoDog-drunk, smelling like a skunkI wanted to fight him too.
Lucky...
You make me smilelike I've seldom done beforeYou give me a reasonto want more and more..
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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.
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.
Looking Out the Rear Window
The funeral rite concludedWith the pastor shaking hands,Offering words of comfortI didn't quite understand.The undertakers came forthAnd summoned pallbearers' four.
The Treasure of Catalina Huanca (In English and Spanish)
Note: written after seeing the little adobe 16th century church San Sebastian, in San Jeronimo, by the mountains of Huancayo, Peru, after being taken there by the Wandering Quechua guide, Enrique (4-13-2005).The Treasure of Catalina HuancaWritten by Dennis L.
Asha of Darfur [A poem with a commentary by the author]
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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.
Lifes Too Short
Time goes by to quicklyto hold your feelings insideEspecially when their so strongeven if they don't abide..
I Shall Wait...
I Shall Wait..
House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three/with notes]
House of the Goblin[Part Two of Three]Here is where, where the air is stillAnd the mountains shadows disappear!Here is where, unnumbered spirits dwellWhere harp and memory expire?Where the rainbow-leaps, from itsStoreroom-keep, and cries; And the sands along the oceans coastEcho then die?as in sleep?;And where enchantment turns into ghouls!..
Life is a Fantasy
LIFE IS A FANTASY!A pink-eyed rabbit, fuzzy whiteHops in bedrooms filled with frightA child of six with much to knowHer father's basest feelings showShe knows of LOVE, only through himHe satisfies his every whimHe leaves, she wipes himfrom her chin!Her mother NEEDS to see the bestHe answered her God requestTo have a roof to comfort bringA yard where all the birdies singTell me how she could really knowWhat source for learning could she go?Her mother regularly beaten if not worseThe cycle of violence - a woman's curseConflicting visions, dependenciesOne can endure many idiosyncrasiesShe could not make him defendant beDenial, avoidance? she disbelievesThe rabbit hides beneath tall trees.At thirteen a step-grandfatha'Finds a well-trained girl that oughta'Do what powerful men requestNever knowing what is bestAnd run away she does at lastFreedom can be such a 'blast'A rabbit's foot upon a chainThe FANTASY her 'safe' domainHow long in life must it remain?To protect her from these menWho always for her lips, do 'yen'A state trooper in Tennessee Like every other man does see Her lips so full and luscious red Through the bars, not in a bed.
