Ode to: The Ice Maiden of Ampatos Summit [now in: English and Spanish]
Dedícate to Antonio Castillo. L. Of. Los Andes Universitario
The Ice MaidenOf Ampato's Summit
Part OneThe Climb
In the spring of my life, in my village
By the Andes, I awoke one morning
To find I was chosen for a journey
How shall I say: to the summit of Ampato!
Ampato, our sacred mountain
I climbed with our holy priests.
I found myself twenty-thousand feet high;
I would be the sacrificial offering
Ordained so, by our celestial chief priest.
Once on top, death could scarcely be
Any bitter than its wild arduous winds;
And the icy cold Andean ceremony?.
And there I sat, within the clouds, and rested
With figurines of silver and gold,
And beautiful textiles adorning me
All dressed, in fine indulgent funerary,
I was to be, the Inca Ice Maiden
Now ready for death and burial.
'I hoped the gods of Ampato,' so I prayed
'Are pleased today'; for my body,
Will be frozen soon, anyway.
Yet, I'm so very cold, and my hands clutch,
To my dress-tightly, against my side;
I cannot see anything vividly.
Thus, the holy moment has come for me
I died with every hope that was.
(Five-hundred years ago!...)
Part TwoBeyond Death
I felt my soul, my spirit, fall, falling
In this thick discolored air,
After a very, very long silence;
No woman, though woman I once was,
Once was, and now my blood lumped
Lumped and frozen like ice knobs.
The soul maker, from whom gave me
My first breath at birth?
He is coming now, He's nearby
As I reply, He sees my soul cry-
My tears, frozen tears?melt
I will be, resurrected (He tells me)
He rules the earth, its mountains
All its waters and skies,
His holy Inca city, must be nearby?
'Lead me,' I sigh, a lowly sigh-
'Lead me to this Holy Inca City,
And leave my cold ill body behind.'
And He smiles, as he leads me
Leads me with untouchable hands,
Leads me to the Holy City!...#748 7/4/05
Translated by Nancy PeñalozaEdited by Rosa Peñaloza
La Doncella de HieloDe la Cumbre de Ampato
Versión en español
En la primavera de mi vida, en mi puebloPor los Andes, desperté una mañanaPara encontrar que fui escogida para un viaje.
Como voy a decir: ¡A la cumbre de Ampato!Ampato, nuestra montaña sagradaSubí con nuestros santos sacerdotes.
Me encontré a 20,000 pies de altura;Yo sería el sacrificio ofrecidoOrdenado así, por nuestro celestial sacerdote principal
Una vez en la cima, la muerte apenas podría serNada más amarga, que sus arduos vientos salvajes;Y la ceremonia andina fría helada-.
Y allí me senté, entre las nubes, y descansé
Con las estatuillas de plata y oro,
Y el textil hermoso adornándome
Toda vestida, en el fino funerario indulgente, Yo debía ser, la Doncella Inca de Hielo
Ahora lista para la muerte y el entierro.
"Esperé que los dioses de Ampato", por eso recé"Estén contentos hoy día"; por que mi cuerpo,Será congelado pronto, de todos modos.
Todavía, tengo tanto frío, y mis manos enganchadas,A mi vestido- fuertemente, contra mi costado;No puedo ver nada vívidamente.
Así, el momento sagrado ha venido para míMuero con cada esperanza que hubo.(¡Quinientos años atrás!....)
Más Allá de la Muerte
Sentí mi alma, mi espíritu, caer, cayendoEn este aire espeso decolorado,Después de un, muy largo silencio
Ninguna mujer, aunque mujer fui una vezUna vez fui, y ahora mi sangre amontonadaAmontonada y congelada como copos de hielo.
El Hacedor del alma, por quien mi primer alientoMe fue dado al nacer....El está viniendo ahora, El está muy cerca.
Como respondo, El ve mi alma llorar-Mis lágrimas, lágrimas heladas...derretirseYo seré, resucitada (me dice El)
El gobierna la tierra, sus montañasTodas sus aguas y cielos, Sus ciudades Incas santas deben esta cerca?
"Guíame" yo suspiro, un suspiro humilde"Guíame a esta ciudad santa Inca,Y deja mi helado cuerpo enfermo atrás".
Y El sonríe, mientras me guía¡Guiándome con sus intocables manos,Guiándome a la ciudad santa! .....
#748 4 de Julio del 2005
Dennis Siluk Poet, see his new book "Spell of the Andes," at http://www.amazon.com
Four Poems: Grendels Nature...the Racetrack...Counting days...[Now in English and Spanish]
English Version1) Grendel's DivorceYou must know that I do not hateAnd that I hate you,Because everything dead has twoSides;A sound is one arm of the quiet,Ice has its warm half.I hate you in order to start hating youTo begin life againAnd never to stop hating you:That is why I do not hate you yet.
Learn About Love From Poet Rumi
Learn about love by reading poetry by a long dead poet named Rumi. No need to look for ancient texts hidden in caves.
Asha of Darfur [A poem with a commentary by the author]
Asha of DarfurCry, cry-oh little Darfur womanFor your sister Janjaweed-[in Sudan's merciless region-who was raped to death);Where rape and death run ramped;And Asha prays the Arabs don't' hearHere sobbing little black tears??in fear she will be chained to a bedIn Darfur, by the insidious justiceOf the Arabs, who run ramped?Ah, yes! In Darfur you've guessed,It is not a crime to raped and arrested;By the very one who raped, and terrorizedYou; it is the conquest?Satan's ribs!..
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.
Live For Today...
Isn't that what they say?But what does that mean?There's no definition that mayanswer that question..
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.
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 PeñalozaEsta es una noche oscura: no estrellas, ni luna a la vistaSolo puntos: rojo, verde y blanco-luces blancasMientras que el avión desciende, desciende, bajandoA 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 océanoZigzagueante a través de los valles, bosques y riachuelosEstirando, 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 interminablesAbajo, Abajo, detrás, alrededor, la tierra, es inmune a míSólo 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 luzGente: 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 sonríePruébame una como esa, que celebra alrededor del año a sus héroesMuéstrame 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 aireY oigo la risa de los niños, los perros en los techosVista 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 delRey 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.
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast [Summer of 2002]?wind was blowing furiously It never left for a moment Bursts of fury I found it difficult to keep My feet placed, thus, I clung to my knees For one blissful moment I could not now disguise it From myself Some subtle feeling Manifested itself Then the current drew Sharply away from me With her mystery-Back out into the open sea Yet-, still it roared back at me! It was an expressed release It made my head swim I noticed it kept-step With my exultation!?#761 7/14/2005Notes: There are mysteries to the sea, at times it seems as to have its own mind, its own character; as if nature was plugged into all that exist. Earth itself being an entity with its own lively soul.
Im Sorry Mom! A Mothers Day Poem
Mother's Day Poetry,I'm Sorry Mom!I'm sorry for the troubles And the worries I brought you.I'm sorry for my mistakes, I didn't mean to make you blue.
Whats A Prisoner to Do?
What's a prisoner to do when justice fails and the innocent is escorted off to jail?What's a prisoner to do once stigmatized,caged and abandoned and ostracized?What's a prisoner to do there's no one to trust;the system fails and the outcome unjust?What's a prisoner to do when family decidethe punishment is warranted and justified?What's a prisoner to do while confined in a cell;the perpetrator's free and faring quite well?What's a prisoner to do once his reputation is deadand his life has been ruined because of what someone said?What's a prisoner to do when he's not believed,though he's telling the truth, he's thought to deceive?What's a prisoner to do as he sits all alone,no one seems to care; former friends all gone?What's a prisoner to do sitting lost and idleand most of one's thoughts become suicidal?What's a prisoner to do when freedom's taken awayand the will to live diminishes each day?What's a prisoner to do when hedged in by strife;with no escape possible; no chance for a new life?What's a prisoner to do when he can no longer seethe beauty of the sky or the waves of the sea?What's a prisoner to do when the sun he can't feel,nor the breeze of spring because his fate is sealed?What's a prisoner to do when doomed to despairbut still praying to escape the electric chair?Tell me, what's a prisoner to do?Rev. Saundra L.
A Dose of Laughter
I'm not well. Can't you tell? Kinda low, so,give me a dose of laughter.
Four Poems: Harvest of Apoplectic Horses [Katrinas Pathway]
Four Poems: Katrina's PathwayHarvest of Apoplectic Horses((Dedicated to: Katrina)) crisis)It has happened before:Nearby and afar,Where the four-horses ofApocalypseWith their flaming nostrilsBreathed in the fury of the windsOnly to vomit out, disaster; -Then galloped away,Against pale faces!..
San Francisco [Almost a Sonnet]
(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Pacific Ocean resides; the year is 1967)Mid October seemed like some spring day,When through the poised waters, dry as lead, The ferry, like vague shadows that stand the dead,Slipped down the curved coast of Frisco bay,Rounded the Golden Gate,-and San Francisco lay,Before me, that gay city, pink and red,Hippies covered Haigh Asbury's homeless head,-My home, to be, I found stirring and grey.The waves busted on the wooden-sides; fishermenNearby with long necks, looked and cast again.
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.
Shadows of the Andes; Ollantayambo; and Cesar Vallejo [Poems in English and Spanish]
1) Shadows of the Andes [or: Song to the Andes]I shall blend-in, into theMountains-Into the faintest thinShadowsof the mountains!Like the moss on moistenedStoneLike a leaf blown far fromHome?(freshly fallen)!I shall blend-in, clingingTo the mountains-Into its faintest thinShadowsNote: when I arrived back home from Peru, my 7th trip in five years [April, 2005], I had spend about 30-days this time on the trip. I visited the Mantaro Valley, Huancayo, and drove through the Andes.
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 seeBehind it, two embankmentsLeaves I didn't rake a day ago;The essence of fall sleeps on the ground.
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!..
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.
Two Poems: San Jeronimo Brook & [in English and Spanish]
Fair Andes! Thy arms reach highOf iron-woven solid stoneThu art a condor to the skyOf glory hidden in thy heartSo many paths, a maze of art?In thy old, Mantaro ValleyWhere adobes, breathe and trembleBeyond your rustic shadowsThere lays the prettiest of brooksIs my heart, within its stream!My image deeply carved, rippledIn its undiluted shallow watersWaiting, just waiting for me?As it opens up, opens up my soulMy rippled soul-searching-eyes!..
Feelings, O How Glorious!
Sometimes we feel hard-pressed, Our backs against the wall; Sometimes we feel lightheaded, As if we are going to fall.Sometimes we feel fierce angerAt those who misuse guns; Sometimes we feel ashamedOf how we treat God's little ones.