Three Love Poems [all wicked]
Advance: Mr. Dennis Siluk's poetry can have its fire-hearted twists: as with 'Lovers'...', and 'Death...' and the 'Loves's Curse';but love can carry with it, luring assets, especially in these three poems, as you will soon see; two of which he calls sonnets. He sings a dim song, but it all seems to fit in the river of bitter waters; or salty waters. Be that as it may, they are worth the adventure in reading them, weary as they may be. For those interested, his new book of poems will be out in weeks, "Spell of the Adnes," it will be a charming book. Rosa Penaloza Loves' December Love died here Songs ago; Two-faced soul, No more tears; By and by, By and by, To Death's King- Does not die! December's high! #731/ 6/12/05 Death's Sonnet Day has flown! Dim with gray The Hell's moan For this day Is your repay Rare I know, Through the halls Of the Hell, Of Heaven! #732 6/12/05 Lovers' Curse Lovers' are They pretend to be nice, If it were not so But they don't This is the lovers' curse. #730/6/10/2005 Author/Poet: Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
MORE RESOURCES:
Google News |
RELATED ARTICLES
Lucky... You make me smilelike I've seldom done beforeYou give me a reasonto want more and more.. The Power of Eating Disorders I want to get closeI am afraid.Afraid of what you might see. 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. Two Poems and an Analysis ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love'] Two Poems and an Analysis ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']WitnessMy face belongs to whoever sees itEverything has a meaning but lifeEven the bugs strive for existence God saved man, from GodGhosts have lonely sinsHer bones are stonesUp and down the hillGardens blossomSpotless skiesDramatistsAugustI can not rest!.. 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!.. Black Blood, in Jeremiahs Vines - A Poem and an Article Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines[A Dream Poem]And I heard the crackling of wood, and I noticed the Lord God had made men of wood, and fire came from his mouth.Then the wind poured its grief upon us-over our sins; and I heard the words for the seventh time, "Go to the mountains!"Foolish people of this land pray and understand-for He cometh! Thereof, toss yourself to thy knees, for the roar of rebellious men will bleed: black blood, through the vines of Jeremiah. 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!.. I Hate The Wait (Weight) I get up in the morningAnd want to stay in bedOh, so nice and warmLike fresh from the oven bread.My day is oh so busyI wish that I could stayIn the quiet of my houseIf only I could play. Ballade of an Inca King Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and landSays the Inca King?;In Spain, they leave the bustling streets,For sail to Peruvian shores;The murmur of the gold is sweet,It glows and glistens like the sunA mountain of gold, or the graveAwaits the human, Inca-god?!Spaniards sing their songs of victoryWhere breaks the green Peruvian sea;Who now, worships the Inca King (?) Guarded behind prisons doors-?They chatter about his golden ringsThey watch the winds cross the shores?They count the days that idle by,For gold they worship and will die.Envoy. Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King] The Torrents of HellHell's furnace-Likened to a chimneyVomits her torrentsOf flames-Into the airThrough earths crustAnd the earth's trembles-!Agitated, she projectsA thick curtain of smokeTo heat the feet of thoseWho provoke her every wish.Like molten ironShe waits for the soul(the moment)Then molds, into her enclosureHuman serpents?Out of savage flesh!No storm, no struggleNo eruption, no typhoon,Just a terrible phenomenon,Hell is capable of producing;And upon death,Back into the AbyssThey melt!. 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. Uamaks Aquatic [suspense: now in Spanish and English] Delicately, my mind was selecting a muffled tune, out of the dead dark empty space surrounding me?I saw a shape on a rock, not sure who it was; I had a sensitivity though, a feeling call it, or second-sight; I've heard that before, not sure if I want to put a lot of credence into it, but so be it, the sensitivity and numbness was there. I didn't' sense any danger in the moment, in the moonlit figure, sitting on the rocks, lurking, looking out into the deep. 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. 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, buildingA medical clinic, in the mountains?. Opposites Do Attract Quite Well When I am climbing up, you are stepping down.When I wear a smile, you wear a frown. Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait] the disease of extremismis infectious-;whoever cannot think oftheir childgrowing up without itis part of the phenomenon! (the choice of the day).fanaticism,--with a powerful ideologyare seeds for suicide!murder: givingreasons to rage!. To My Friend, With Love All is still; all quiet; The world seems to be at peace. My soul is singing its rhythmic melodyAnd I'm led like in a trance to write its tunes. The Goat and the Rope [a Poem: in Spanish and English] The Goat and the Ropewhere there were devils I saw none.nothing. Four Poems: Two for the Devil, Two for Peru Here is some witty poetry (not sure if that is the proper word: witty, but it will do): one poem on the Aztec year 2012, a year that has been in the public's eye quite a lot; one on cloning, and the biblical end time events--which, if I may add seems ripe for the monster events that are said to take place; and two poems dealing with some tradtions of Peru; one imparticular, on vacationing, where not to go; all the makings for some thought.Aztec BabyOn December 25, 2012 ADThe Devil had an idea-He'd clone himselfIn the form of a baby;Called the Antichrist. Banana Republic Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered,Through eighty per cent of my allotted span,Occasionally awoken, when dissent is spoken,And I invent another cunning five year plan,Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned,So I borrowed from the French and Robespierre,Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth and claw,And let my all equal Citizens appear,Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime,For there is another election looming,I have to appear sincere, for part of this coming year,And assure everyone that everything is booming,Never mind strict quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters,And told them which party let them stay,Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed everyone of note,You never know what might happen on the day.So to be on the safe side, I swallow all my pride,And allow my people to hear my hallowed voice,And roll out the charade, put on the facade,And even make believe they have a choice,Next time around the crown, will be trampled underground,House of Lords and Lord Chancellor history,With the other Chancellor gone, I alone will soldier on,Yes, then there will only ever be me,Ill hold elections for you, as all dictators do,And fill positions with those that grease my palm,As for civil unrest, there is always house arrest,Or secret imprisonment for those that mean me harm. |