| |
| |
|
Poetry Information |
|
Blind Designs [a Poem] and a Note by Rosa on The Other Door
Blind Designs Born today, gone tomorrow (he has not learned he has detached himself #814 8/24/05 A note by Rosa Peņaloza-Siluk, "The very first book Dennis wrote, "The Other Door: Poetic Exhortations", appears now on Ebay and Abe, and Alibis books, and elsewhere as a keepsake. It was 25-years ago he wrote the critical praised book, in classical poetry. Since then it has become a sought-after title for the author, with few circulating copies left. There was only 750-copies made, and 400 of them signed, a short classic in his genre. It is vintage Siluk, poetry-about people who love and get hurt, and travel, just about the whole gamut of life. He has been thinking of republishing the book with a new introduction by his wife [me], because besides his books on drugs and alcohol, "A Path to Sobriety?,"has proven that it will outlast him and myself, with all respect intended for my husband. Rosa Poet Dennis Siluk, lives in Minnesota and Peru, and has just finished a new book,on Peruvian poems, and is working on "The Curse of the Abyass Worm," which he hopes to get out by March, 2006. You can see his travels and books at his website: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
MORE RESOURCES: Unable to open RSS Feed $XMLfilename with error HTTP ERROR: 404, exiting |
|
|
|
RELATED ARTICLES
Changes I am not the one I was before yesterday.I cannot go back. The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your mistakes, and you cant unravel time,you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self serving crime,to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed,when its purely posturing and posing, all about vanity and greed,to secure a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years,is the extent of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears,when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you,leave relatives behind who see, that nothing you said was true,there is no thought now for those, whose number you dont count,they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount,no thought of resignation, no apology to those left behind,just onward with the ego, fast forward from those times,as if nothing ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok,as if now is what to focus on, and then was another day,lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen,not an affront to the living, not impeachable and obscene,you may want to move on now, and ignore your past infamy,but you should be tried for treason, and jailed for blasphemy. 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. Article on Poetry and Two Poems Writing Poetry for TomorrowWhat does a man need to be a poet, or tomorrow's literary giant? Questions many a student has asked, from Harvard all the way to the community college in one's hometown. What is the answer? Well, I can give you mine, and I'm sure if you asked a hundred writers, or a hundred scholars, you'd get two hundred different answers. The Goat and the Rope [a Poem: in Spanish and English] The Goat and the Ropewhere there were devils I saw none.nothing. Two Poems on the Traditions of Peru [in English and Spanish] Atahualpa's Game[Peruvian]Sometimes, it's not wiseTo 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. A Case of The Fears Chicken Soup is good for a coldSleep is good for the FluWhen I get a case of the FearsWhat is a person to do?It is not bacteriaAlthough it can eat away my soulIt is not a virusYet, it can keep me from feeling wholeI know what will do the trick,What will put me back on top,A great big bowl of Ice CreamWill really hit the spotThat was great and now I am doneOne bowl just won't doIf one is good, then more is greatAnd now I have eaten two.Bowls three, four, five and sixCame and then they wentI think my case of the fears are fixedLook at how my time was spentI am getting sleepyIt is time to go to bedMy fears are no longer in my stomachNow they are in my headI close my eyes and I can seeThe Fears I want to killI will do, whatever it takesTo keep the monsters still. Publishing Your Poetry If you are serious about seeing your work published by reputable publishers, there are a few points you should consider. Firstly and most obviously, you need to determine if you have poetry worth publishing. 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. 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. The Dead God of Copan (in English and Spanish) English VersionAnd the Death God said: "Let it rise to its glory in the Rio Valley-for a season; then let it be gone, we shall call it Copan?"Prologue: Empires come and go, liken to cosmic events, or the storms around the world: Atlantis, Mu, Greece, Persia, Rome, the Inca Nation, and even the great Maya heroic times of Copan, in Central America. All came and all left, one way or another; now just dust and artifacts in the spiral of time. 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. Three Sweet Poems, and Two Not So Sweet [now in: SPANISH and English] 1) End PoemWherever you are today-Is where you were meant to be;It's where God, dotted the'i' and the 't'?!2) God's AngelsGod asked his angels:"Why do you look so sad?"Responded one angel:"Sir, we can't find the shade."3) An Empty SpaceOut of wisdom one will wait,travel far for love; the thirstwill not kill them. Never Ever More Once upon a midnight dreary, coffee cold and vision bleary, all night sat there writing COBOL, coding spread across the bed sheets, changing syntax for the mainframe,having checked my final line, I took the floppy from the drive.Typing with a steady hand,I then invoked the SAVE command,but there below my effectuation,appeared the cryptic communication,"Abort, Retry, Ignore" and nothing more. I Shall Wait... I Shall Wait.. Mechanical Poetry - Part Three Have you ever read the lyrics of a Simon and Garfunkle song? Pure poetry. Want to write poems like that? Start copying them. Memoirs of a Wastelands Rim [a Poem: now in Spanish and English] Memoirs of a Wasteland's RimIt still was light when she paused at the wasteland's rim-Over, the rim rest like a sleeping brute, a wooden frameAdjacent to the blue where early stars hung like oil lampsHanging from old beams and shade?the wooden frameHer footing caught the beams, as she had fallen onto itAlone, she watched the forenoon, climbing around herA drifter woman, marked by life, and slanting dreams With appearance of hurt and molded muscle on her faceHer figure etched against the wooden frame,She tried to jump, and lost her balance, hanging like a birdNow sipping the gloom in the ledge and shattered hopesShe yielded before the sluggish advance of sunsetBlood dripped, with her dying darknessAnd a crimson moon hurled a flame acrossThe shadowy clouds, burning throughout the skyThe tormented sky above her?Crossing the valley's floor her eye gripped itRocky images, highest pointsThrusting herself up boldly from to the ledgeThe painted morning blushed over the rimHer brows and nose, face against the granite stoneMassive injuries was taking form,Her silhouette floating so indolently across the sunIt was too great a task-to die alone?she wished nowShe had not jumped?a thousand feet below, yet to go.Too much for any woman in a lost worldOut of the weak wood her mind had peace; She knew soon it would all be over-alasMute and protesting against life's uselessnessA narrow path lay below her slender bodyBetween death and attainment, a careless footThe rocks beneath her weakening, she plungedPlunged to her death, in the carving hands of the valleyThinking 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. 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. Birthday Messages I WANTED TO SAY IT WITH A BUNCH OF FLOWERS A CARD WOULD HAVE SUFFICED.I WANTED TO SAY IT WITH A PACK OF SWEETS A' HI' WOULD HAVE SUFFICED.
|
| home | site map | contact us |