Sunday, September 30, 2012

Mechanical Poetry

Do you ever stare at the paper, waiting for Poetic inspiration? Well, you can stop waiting and start using systematic techniques for creating Poetry. If it seems too mechanical or artificial at first, don't worry. The point is just to get you writing, because creativity is stimulated by work.

When You Have A Poem In Mind

If you have your topic, ask yourself why it's important, and write down your answer. How do you feel about it? Write down those feelings. Write a line or a scene that exemplifies what you are trying to point out. Then, start rearranging the words into a Poem. The main thing is to do anything other than waiting to stimulate your creativity.

Sometimes Poems can come from a simple description. Write down a description of an event, and then find a way to form it into somet hing more succinct and Poetic. The Poem below, Religion, was created in this way:

On the shoulder of Keystone Road
A woman was laying in the dirt
Calling out for help
While ninety-three christians
Fourteen muslims
And five jews
Drove by
On a sunny afternoon

When You Need Ideas For Poems

1. Look around and write down what you see.

2. Write about anything that you felt today.

3. Ask anyone for a topic and start writing.

4. Use random words, one per line, to create a verse.

The following verse was written in a few minutes using four randomly chosen words:

Our dirty little secret
Our sorrow none can see
Is not
For things we cannot have
But for things we cannot be

Poets can break through the worst writers-block, by simply using any tricks available to start writing Poems. Try it. Even very artificial, or mechanical techniques will get your creativity flowing. You'll find more of these Poetic techniques in part two.

Steve Gillman has been playing with Poetry for thirty years. He and his wife Ana created the game Deal-A-Poem, which can be accessed for free at: http://www.dealaPoem.com


Author:: Steven Gillman
Keywords:: Poetry,Poets,Poems,Poem,Poet,Poetic
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Seven Cosmic Poems

1)Semyaz Meets Azazel in the Pit

And there his sarcophagus drifts

Beneath the towering abyss cliffs

Stretching out of the dark deep

(With all its weight, sealing his fate),

No light, no day, only binding chains.

Lost, forgotten in the sands density.

Where no travelers have yet been

No roads or skies to befriend

Faceless skeletons, silent voices

They all embrace in this veil of dark

Embrace, by looks: face-to-face

Hungry, to fill the emptiness of space.

[As Semyaz meets Azazel

2)Human Origins

The Human Origins: possibly a mixture of ancient genetic mutations And a face-lift from Homo habilis to Homo creatures we are today. But who did the uplifting?

3)The Valley of the Arrows

[From: The Cadaverous Beasts of SSARG

The Twilight

Over the planet of jade

Turns from light emerald

To a deepand deeper green;

The campfire flickers

A pale blue gl ow:

Covers the foliage

In the Valley

With grave wide eyes

Turns everything a dark

Yellow-blue:

In the quiet

Valley of the Arrows!

#1229 4/29/06 [#1

4) Sweet Shadows

[From: The Cadaverous Beasts of SSARG

She hears echoes in the shadows

Come follow, come follow me

Leave Kings to Kings

And Queens to Queens

That will bring

Sorrow and laughter

Tomorrow.

The wild shadow bears a hum , Sunlight passes, but its trembling

Veils of gray stirred;

As they softly, shyly undo

The dark,

One hears:, I am here!

#1330 4/29/06 [#2

5) Moirommas Dawn

[Arctic planet on the rim, between

two solar systems, ours being one

Forlorn, the empires of this planet

Forgotten, is its sun, under its innumerable clouds

Arctic nights, sink below its morning star

And never an soul, shall ever know

The yearning of Moirommas peo ple!

#1372 6/9/06 [Written in Lima, Peru

6) The Black Galaxy

midnight mystery! That links the soul with sight

Like winds upon a mountains side

Glares your deepest sapphire eyes;

Here is Pandoras pyre,

Where chariots fly through nebulas.

midnight mystery! Here is the Black Galaxy?

Written at EP Caf, Miraflores, and Lima, Peru; 6/7/06; redone, 6/9/06: #1370

7) Granitic Dreams

Beauty becomes

Because life is short;

Tenderness, because its hard;

But fragile wings, we all have

With heavy vulture hearts

Love is brief at best

Grief, long and pale,

But underneath the haunted hills:

Under Granitic dreams and silence

Are magnificent twilights!

#1372 6/9/06

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Poets & Poems Part XV: Are the Dead Dead? Two Poems and a Sonnet

Sonnet for Old Age

I will be deep, buried below the ground

Asleep, a ghoul in a shadowy grave Like you, beside your table turning gray!

Oh mother, your eyes never did regret; Ah, yes, me, me! We may be happy yet,

Travel afar, but not yet, to-day.

When you grew old, youd often say:

Youll get old like me, some far-off day! (I feel like this, this very evening).

When I was young, to my son Id say, Cody: with your busy mind, keep forefront,

Now listen to me he called dad! Hell be held long in remembering.

#1527 21/10/2006

The Bird-gods

Before the making of man
The Bird-gods rule the lands:
Ere, love and war took place then!
The Hawks and the Eagles raced:
Clawful, fluttered, muttered:
They cast (somehow) to each other:
An evil magical spell, then
Embracing they fell.

Then man appeared and found fire,
But somehow, it was wiped clean:
The memory of the Bird-gods,
From mans brain.

#1528 21/10/2006

Are the Dead, Dead?

Are not the dead, dead?
It is not strange to reach me
I am at present, reaching out of the dark
To see you (or out of the light)
To see you
Look around
Fear not
I am dead.
But I wrote this for you
Tis truethe world
Is mad
Go on
You will join me soon.

Note: This poem was found after ten years, sitting in the back of one of my old books, thought Id bring it to life. 8/1996 (#1529); at this time, the time I wrote this, I was very ill, not knowing if my system (body) was ever going to recover from a number of atrophies. But it did somewhat.

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Political
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Still Alive (El Salvador Images out of Latin America)

Images out of Latin America

Still Alive (El Salvador)

Introduction: long overdue is this poem. I lived through the 1980s (the war of El Salvador)) the Reagan years)); also, Vietnam (of which I was part of, in the seventies); and been to Central America twice. Once recently, and on the boarder of El Salvador. Thus, this is dedicated to the voices and echoes of the people of the l980s, and a long, very long war, one that lasted some 12-years; yes, longer than Vietnam.

There was no end to war it seemed
(back thenway back when)
A very long time ago
So it seems.

The screams of the innocent, echoed:
Around the world, but only few heard;
(back thenway back when)
A very long time ago
So it seems.

There was no place to hide not in
The mountains, or in the trees, nor
Under the leaves (no place at all
) (back thenwhy back when)
A very long time ago
So it seems.

The innocent lived in the eye s of:
Death, death, death!
Day after day, after day
(as if there was no end)!..

Yet, somehow, some survived:
Amongst the rubble and insane
And the bloody smoke filled sky!!
(back thenwhy back when)
A very long time ago
So it seems.

11/9/05 (written while in Lima)

A Note by Rosa: Here is a poem I never saw coming, but it was about six months ago we were on the boarder of El Salvador, and I know he has been thinking of going there; he couldn't (Dennis), make it in country last time, and we just got back from Bogota this time, I get the feeling he is thinking about El Salvador again, and going there next time; I think his writtings are rubbing off on me, especially after I read what I wrote, it sounds like him almost.

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Grief of Loss and Healing through Poetry

Any Loss perpetuates Grief, and conversely, grieving is the humankind's way of dealing with Loss. William Faulkner says, Between Grief and nothing, I will take Grief. Without adequate grieving, we lose our spontaneity and our sense of being alive. Life turns into something to endure and the world feels like a hostile place.

One way to Mourn Loss is to write about our feelings and what we have lost, but then, there are feelings for which straight prose is not always adequate, since Grief refuses to accept definition. In this instance, Poetry fills the gap, because Poetry has the capacity to imply a lot more than what prose can achieve. Also, a Poem publicizes and legitimizes our Grief, making the community draw closer to us in our Pain.

Probably, Poetry for Loss has existed before any written history. Since Poetry is originally oral, it carries within itself a very long history. One of the earliest Epic Poems we know of is the Sumerian Gilgamesh. Inside this Poe m, the mighty Gilgamesh Laments the Death of his friend Enkidu and orders the creation to never fall silent in Mourning.

The Epics of Ramayana, Iliad, and Odyssey contain serious Laments about the nature of Loss through Poetry. In Ramayana, Raja Dasharatha grieves just before his Death, Lamenting:
when the the season for fruit cometh he will grieve!
So is it now with me: I die of Grief for Rama's exile.
After Raja dies, he too is grieved by Ayodha.

In Odyssey, Homer says:
Even his Griefs are a joy
long after to one that remembers
all that he wrought and endured.

Then, in the Iliad, Achilles' grieves.
Why Mourns my son? thy late preferrd request
The god has granted, and the Greeks distressd:
Why Mourns my son? thy anguish let me share,
Reveal the cause, and trust a parents care.

He, deeply groaningTo this cureless Grief,
Not even the Thunderers favour brings relief.

In the Jewish traditi on, a Poem was the most powerful way to express Grief. It probably started with David's Dirge urging the Israelites to teach their children to weep and Mourn. The same feeling is echoed in the Latin hymn Dies Irae where David's word is mentioned in the first stanza.

A Grief Poem or an Elegy has always been a balm against despair. Classic or Romantic Age Poets and Poets up to our day have used Grief to announce to the world that Pain eventually teaches us solid values and an understanding of the human experience.

Of all the grieving Poets, Edgar Allen Poe has raised his Sorrows to the altar of Poetry. Who can forget the Mourning in Annabel Lee, in the mystery of Ulalume, or in Raven's bleak utterings of nevermore? Then, closer to our time, Whitman created a true monument for Lincoln, in O Captain! My Captain!

Today, contemporary Poets choose a more poignant attitude towards Grief. Late Stanley Kunitz's Night Letter, Billy Collins' The Dead, and Jane Kenyon' s Coat, are examples that come to mind. Rather than using expected Phrases and conventional Lamenting, these Poets hint at their Sorrow by shaping their lines around concrete Images and physical objects. As a result, their Poetry carries a genuine Voice with a delicate and powerful expression of feeling.

Joy Cagil is an author on http://www.Writing.Com/ which is a site for Poetry. Her portfolio can be found at http://www.Writing.Com/authors/joycag


Author:: Joy Cagil
Keywords:: Loss,Grief,Poet,Poem,Poetry,Life,Death,Epic,Mourn,Elegy,Dirge,Pain,Voice,Sorrow,Image,Lament,Phrase
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Saturday, September 29, 2012

"Suspenders! Yup" and A Strategic World Two Poems

Suspenders! Yup

When I see suspenders rolled over

a mans chest,

from shoulders to waist, somewhere attached, I like to think he picked that

up from some old timer long ago

(most people do; most people dont use them anymore, not sure why, belts I suppose.

Perchance the wind, makes them wear

them;

holds their bellys up (its just a guess, I dont know):

loaded down with falls slush, couldnt

run it off by winter, so you carry it

(especially in the Midwest).

Such heaps of weight I dont have though,

so I conclude, thats not the main reason we wear those suspenders,

not for dragging fat around anyhow.

I, myself, prefer to wear them: summer

through winter: all year round,

just because one could do worse, by not having them on.

Note: the author is 58-years old, has wore them suspenders a very, very long time. #1137 1/31/06

A Strategic world (The world of Today and Yest erday)

The wild gods of the world

Inside their dark rooms

Two dark for us to see

Perch, like the sun

Over looking the world to be.

Sleight of mind; hark,

On thoughts.

We remain in the dark~!

Note: the world is a political arena and it is hard to avoid the incoming daily news events (I try at length, and cant), good or bad, you are hemmed into it, and so I smile with demise;

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Neon Blue's Unspoken Tales Of Buried Roses and Feathers Carved In Stone

18 May 2006

Buried Roses

if i had Roses to give you

i would have buried them

muted their breath

measured their penitence

stopped the flood of overflowing criticism

the rain continues

I thought it's shoulders were undaunted

horizontal landscapes catch the rhythm

hold Gifts

good and bad

none the less given with due remarks of wanting shelter

in the presence of unadorned queens

was it you who never stopped noting thorns

of now quieted Roses?

or me who allowed their travel?

-----------------------------------------

19 May 2006

Defined By So Few Words

neon blue continues on

i am neither sad nor happy

i guess i find myself relieved

waiting for tears if i need them

i never realized her poems to be so short

so inconclusive

so undefined

she always seemed so magnificently tormented

ahhh zelda

where are you whe n i need you?

pointing in the direction of the sky

i expected beyond

but the Treasure was in the trees

my eyes gathered them

standing beneath and within

i bend my branches

born with a melancholy

poets charm that pathway

books and paintings

sculptures of flight

rounded off with a drunken stupor

my fingers feel numb

i approach the station to arrive

i have been there and back

i am coated with the very same torment

said with few words

on the pages that you sent to me

--------------------------------------

20 May 2006

'Neon's Unspoken Tales'

she said she knew you

i, of course took up her time

quoting our best/ worst moments

yet, only in my head

she never really heard our history

my memories burn still unspoken

be sure to call her everyday, she said

'every' day?

every single day?

just keep it short

that's really all that's needed

how do you fill a bottle too small?

how do you comb the Hair of an old dolly

who's locks are now sparse?

how do you find the voices

remembered

take them back

comfort them

instruct them in the Art of positive thinking?

my moods are not always my own

------------------------------------------

20 May 2006

'Feathers Carved In Stone'

i am not sure how it settles...

the stone past the surface of the water

my words, my appraisal

in a crunch i refer to little boxes

sometimes empty

decorated with ribbons

sometimes filled with feathers carved in stone

i fall back on their sentimental comfort

of who i wish to be

strong, undaunted

graceful despite the climate

just like all the other ladies i admire

yet i sit at the bottom of this pond

i am not sure if it is mirky or clear

if my visions make sense to me at this moment

it may just be lie

i must hold the flag of my own destiny

fold up notes that overtake my heArt

but then

i think i might miss them

i feel afraid that if i stand tall

i will find i do not exist

pieces of my flight

though they be stone

brought me here thus far

i would be leaving the little girl

with paper dolls

alone and still afraid

---------------------------------------

25 May 2006

A Promise and a Gift

he fled from the mountains

arrived at the sea

leaving

all his Gifts behind him

including me

white knights and sacred shells

reach out past sad

beyond

the sand a token

within this map

you came...so i left

you didn't no tice

pretending

i never really cared

--------------------------------------

14 july 2006

I Stroke Her Hair

i stroke her Hair

i mend her

again

despite her wild objections

defined by lines that did not match

she held herself closely

did not entertain streaks of light

river crossings

paths that led to lime green

i walk past her sigh and find it to be my own

buckle down you stupid girl!

consequences of moons that go unlocked

bring hues that grey up possibility

i shook her

i made her bleed

who did she think i was?

her eyes looked up

she asked for mercy

the kind that only i could give her

many a tormented heArt is born out of Passion

i stroked her Hair

i gave her the box unopened

with all the Gifts inside

because i was the only one who could

and the only one there

About Me:
Name:Kathy Ostman-M agnusen
Location:Hawaii, United States
Aloha! I am a figurative Artist and Illustrator. If you check out my website you will see that I am very prolific in oils. My paintings are collected worldwide. I also do sculpture; images available upon request. I have illustrated for Hay House Inc. , Neil Davidson, who was considered for the Pulitzer Prize in feature writing, and several other publications. I also enjoy story writing and Poetry. All of the paintings,stories and poems are written by me. Check out my website http://www.kathysArt.com Walk On The Wild Side Series including the painting of Neon Blue is not on my website but can be viewed on my blog: http://kathysArtcom.blogspot.com/


Author:: Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
Keywords:: Art,Poetry,Roses,Klimt,paper dolls,Hair,Gift,heArt,Passion,Love,sea shells,heArt,Painings,Treasure
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Explosion Implosion and Relational Erosion

Explosion
A violent atmospheric expansion
A bursting forth of noise
A sudden polluting of the air
Without sensitivity or care
Or concern for being fair
A loud sharp sound
Where no love can abound
Followed by your friend's frown
And a raising of the eyebrows
By all those around
Be it privately with family
Or with strangers in town
Perhaps such could have been avoided
If you'd just have sat down
But the Explosion has already occurred
Having gone unabated
Now others are jaded
Worn out and broken down
By the vicious sound
Yet you're not that bad of a person
You just need to learn a life lesson
Think before you speak
Breathe before you blow up
And fine tune the tone
Before you talk
Lest others leave your presence
Consider going for a walk.
Implosion
Bursting inwardly
Collapsing from within
In such a circumstance
Nobody does win
For you withhold
Your emotions and feelings
While your internal world
Is irritated and reeling
Though you're ready
To hit the ceiling
You play it cool
Yet within
Feel like a fool
Or grow embittered
By the situation
Get hostile toward people
Staggering within
While your emotions
Whirl around
You try to hide it
With a sheepish grin
Yet your voice emits
A different sound
A withdrawal
A distance
A suspicious hesitance
With an evident resistance
Which can only be overcome
With inquisitive persistence
Until all be brought into the light
And there be declared an armistice
Ah, now isn't that better?
Then why the delay?
Why didn't you just go ahead
And let yourself say
What you felt
The interaction dealt
Inedible spelt
A communicative spout
That made you want to
Violently shout
And let it all out.
Neither Explosion nor Implosion
Is perfect or right Prefer communication and Reconciliation
Which puts out the fight
Lest relational Erosion
Become your intolerable plight.
Be not dismayed
By an adversarial exchange
Which you can graciously rearrange
With a little understanding and elegance
As you acknowledge and honor
The other individual and their interest
Therefore do not hastily resort to defiance
Instead employ your own brilliance
To build a worthy alliance.

Paul Davis is a masterful poet, worldwide professional speaker, minister and author of several books including Breakthrough for a Broken Heart; and Stop Lusting & Start Living.

Paul is a life coach (relational & professional), popular keynote speaker, creative consultant, humor being, adventurer, explorer, mediator, liberator and dream-maker.

Paul's compassion for people & passion to travel has taken him to over 50 countries of the world where he has had a tremendous impact. Paul has also brought re vival to many in war-torn, impoverished and tsunami stricken regions of the earth. His organization Dream-Maker Ministries is building dreams, breaking limitations and reviving nations!

Paul's Breakthrough Seminars inspire, awaken, impregnate with purpose, impart the fire of desire, catapult people into a new level of self-awareness, facilitate destiny discovery and dream fulfillment.

Contact Paul to minister, speak at your event or for life coaching: RevivingNations@yahoo.com, 407-967-7553

For additional info: http://www.DreamMakerMinistries.com, http://www.CreativeCommunications.TV


Author:: Paul Davis
Keywords:: Explosion,Implosion,Erosion,Corrosion,toxic expression,damage control,Reconciliation,Conflict,Peace
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Heaven is Here!

The kingdom of heaven

Does not come with careful observation

Religious hesitation

Mental reservation

Lukewarm resignation

Devilish deviation

Self-exaltation

Neither is it a denomination

Made by men

No!

The kingdom of heaven

Is within

Hard for some to understand

So simple

It takes a theologian

To complicate the matter

Mess up the message

Interpret and expound

Push deacons around

Settle the congregation down

Dull the service

With a funeralistic frown

God however wants to bring

The kingdom of heaven to town

To turn the nation

Upside down

To dunk us all in the river

No, you won't drown

It's a river of life

Liquid love

From the Holy Spirit

The good news is for all

Though few will hear it

After Jesus rose from the dead

Heaven received Him

And the peoples on earth

Who leHeartedly believed Him

Yet Jesus did not leave us

Without a guide

You don't need to look very far

If you are born again

He's deep inside

The Holy Spirit bears witness

To the cross

On which Jesus did bleed

To forgive humanity's sin

And meet their every need

Heaven has now come to earth

It's all in the Holy Spirit

Righteousness, peace and joy

More fun than a toy

You can experience it

Get it, got it, give it!

New birth for you

In Christ Jesus

For me, you and us!

Heaven is here

The new wine of the Spirit

Better than beer

Corona, Bud, or Becks

The devil's power is broken

He's off our necks!

Newness of life

For whosoever will

Just begin to feel

God is nearby

Heaven is here

There's no need to cry

Nor reason why

Just enjoy it now

It is no lie.

Paul Davis is a life coach (relational & professional), traveling minister and fitness trainer. Paul is the author of several books including Breakthrough for a Broken Heart; Stop Lusting; and God vs. Religion.

Paul is a popular worldwide keynote speaker, creative consultant, humor being, explorer, mediator, minister, liberator and dream-maker.

Paul's compassion for people & passion to travel has taken him to over 50 countries of the world where he has had a tremendous impact. Paul has also brought revival to many in war-torn, impoverished and tsunami stricken regions of the earth. His nonprofit organization Dream-Maker Ministries is building dreams and breaking limitations.

Paul's Breakthrough Seminars inspire, revive, awaken, impregnate with purpose, impart the fire of desire, catapult people into a new level of self-awareness, facilitate destiny discovery and dream fulfillment.

Contact Paul to minister, speak at your event or for life coaching: RevivingNations@yahoo.com 407-967-7553.

For additional info: http://www.DreamMakerMinistries.com, http://www.CreativeCommunications.TV


Author:: Paul Davis
Keywords:: heaven is here,kingdom of God,Christ Jesus,God,Holy Spirit,Righteousness,Spirituality,Eternity,Heart
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Walk Slower Through The Grass

Summer morning, sun on my face. The Freedom was in the air.
Tall Grass, acres to play.
Please let me go back thereoh Please just for a moment, go back there

COLD THROUGH MY BONES.
THATS WHAT I HAVE NOW.
THE SKY IS DARK AND GRAY.
I CRY AND ASK MYSELF HOW..AS THE TEARS RUN, HOW,HOW, HOW

Beautiful breeze, flowers were swaying.
The Garden, so bright, green to pick are mine.
Picnic table, smiling, sitting on top.
That day, it had no worries, no Timejust one more moment of precious Time?

CHILLED WINDS WITH NO MERCY.
THE TREES ARE STARTING TO DIE.
I HAVE NOWHERE TO HIDE NOW.
PEACEFUL TIMES A RE LONG GONE BY.
WHERE DID THEY GO? THEYRE LONG GONE BY

I am no longer that child who wasnt told the truth.
Of How twisted this world can be, the darkness I didnt see.
Now I learned of the Pain I am destined to endure.
I had no way of ever knowing this is what it would be.

I should have picked more flower.
And walked slower through the Grass.
Inhaled the fragrance of the Garden.
Soaked in every sun ray on my face,But its too late, Im not her anymore.
I will hide until the darkness fades.
Or until I am let Free.
Please, if youre there, let me go Free, Please let me go Free, I beg you to be Free

Written by Alisa Chagnon, webmaster of Love Bulletin. http://www.lovebulletin.com Love Bulletin is a Free and complete women's online magazine, offering advice and articles on love, dating, relationships, romance and breakups. Readers change the content with submissions in Q&A, Fill-in-the-Blanks and polls. Alisa is also web master to Pep Pom, http://www.petpom.com - A complete information center regarding Pomeranians.


Author:: Alisa Chagnon
Keywords:: Garden, Grass, Free, Please, How, Pain, Time,
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Friday, September 28, 2012

What I Feel

Sometimes I think of different things and I don't know why I do
There are times I want another baby because I want one with you

There are sometimes I want to sit and cry for really no reason at all
Then other times I feel so alive but in one second a tear could fall

I swear some days I really can cry almost at the drop of a hat
If there was a contest for crying on queue I know I could win that

It does not take much for me to break down and cry
I lie awake at night sometimes just wondering why

Why did god take my mother away?
I want her now not another day

It really does feel like too much to take
When I put on a smile only I know it's fake

No one else knows what I'm feeling inside
Only I know, my expressions I hide

Maybe one day I will understand things more
Until then I will cry by myself on the floor

What you do

You send tingles down my spine
Every time you wink I know your mine

If only you knew the way I feel
If only you knew my touch was real

The way you look at me with your eyes
It's like you almost hypnotize

Hypnotize me with your soul
You make the other part of me whole

I love being around you all the time
I love that I'm yours and that you are mine

There is no one that can take your place
Without you my love would vanish with out a trace

More Poetry


Author:: Mellissa Floyd
Keywords:: Poetry
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Most Wonderous To Behold! Joy! Eye!

When I touch you my love, your skin is as smooth
As a Night breeze on a tropical Night

Your eyes are like two diamonds, casting their loving radiance
All over me

Your lips are softer than the softest cotton
And the shape of your body is most wondrous to behold

But the most wondrous thing about you, is your love my love

Whose depths is like the ocean and Magnificent as a Starlit Night with shooting stars!

May I ple-e-ase immerse myself,
In the VAST MYSTERY OF YOUR CHARMS!

JOY!
The warm Rays of the Sun lick my face like a playful puppy as I sit on her front porch.

Joy! Courses though my veins like water though a garden hose, as the warm summer breeze, strokes me gently though the trees.

Her lips, her smile, the scent of her hair, I can smell in the air!

Good times we've shared race through my mind like a dog along a mountain trail

But it was all a Dream as I awakened in my darken cell!

Dam n!

Oh how I Thought everything was GOING SO WELL!

EYE!
My arrows of love fly towards your heart but miss their mark!

Desperately I try to catch your eye but you won't comply!

Guess you didn't see my banner of love spelling-out your name across the sky!

So what'll it take?

How do I shake?

Your tree of love to get a date?

Copyright 2001 El-veasey Publishing

VC L. Veasey is a Musician, Songwriter, Counselor, Producer

Website: http://www.blackmerda.com Email: vclveasey@yahoo.com Dig Ya Later Gator


Author:: Vc Veasey
Keywords:: Joy, Wonderous, Starlit, Night, Magnificent, Deph, Poetry, Thought, Rays, Sun, Light, Dream, Verse
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Three Poems: Phantom of the Rocks Lady from Lima & Bell Ringer of de Copan

Phantom of the Rocks

[Huancayo, Peru

Night falls deep

Upon the traveler!

Low, over the Andes

By Huancayo;

They know a legend,

Not of this earth,

Where evil lurks

(Over Palla-Huarcuan!...)

The Phantom of the Rocks;

Should you pass thru there,

At nightbe aware:

Expect not to return!...

Note: There is a rock in the form of an Indian Maiden; this is considered the evil spirit of the area. #657 5/13/05

Lady from Lima

[Dona Ana-1668 AD

Dona Anabut twenty-nine

Years old Ruled Lima, Peru, with

Diamonds and gold. Haunted with pride and

Nobility She dressed in splendor

For all to see! And pardoned a friar

Who was quite thirsty!

#659 5/2005

Bell Ringer: de Copan

In the cathedral de Copan the Bell Ringer was a boy and his only job

(to my knowledge was), was to the ring the bells in the town-let of the cathedral.

It so happe ned that (one night

around dusk), the lad, with mortal anguish, inspired madnessin the

delirium

of the moment: rang the bells like Holy Hell!!

(As I was witness to this all.)

He rang the bells, as if they had

wings! As if this was his sermon. As he dashed against the Tower

Walls:

He rang the bells like Holy Hell!! He rang the bells with Royal

decree!! He swung on the ropes like a

monkey.

Echoes, echoespassed through

the plaza-square; as sinful strollers, strolled

everywhere.

As he rang the bells like Holy Hell!!

And now tell me: what could

I do? I pealed my hat off my head,

And kneeled on a pew.

Note: Occurrence happened as described in the poem, April, 2005 while visiting the archeological site nearby. #658 [May 13, 2005

Dennis Siluk is a poet, and author. He is working on his 30th book called, The Treasure of Catalina Wanka, and will have a presentation of it in Lima, Peru in November at the Ricardo Palma house, under the director Luis Cuillermo Guedes Ontaneda, so he looks forward to seeing those whom may be passing through, or perhaps live there. His site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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A Dog's Eye View

There is a light ahead
Where am I going?
Ive arrived my first breath
Mum? What are you doing?
Its warm against her body
Feeling safe with the others
Why are we all different?
Are those my sisters and brothers?
Im moving but not with paws
Its one of those human beings
The little one is nearing
What is all this that Im seeing?
Mum! Why are you staying?
Im being taken by the others
Were moving away and theyre looking at me
Now Ill never see my Mother
Ow! A sharp pain in my leg
A hug from the human one
She feeds me and plays with me
Perhaps this Life could be fun
Funny they touch with their mouths
They talk to a thing by their ears
They wear clothes and eat with sticks
Have they done this for all these years?
They move along in metal things
They watch things in a square
And listen to noises from a box
Ive got fur they have hair
Im supposed to be a humans best fri end
I belong to the family I do
Some think Im a dumb Animal
From what Ive seen so are you!

I have been writing poetry for many years and regularly have it published in print. My poetry is published by Forward Press and in many other publications. So I'm now putting my poetry online.

I'm married to my husband Peter. I publish my poetry on my Blog jo-hale-poetry at http://jo-hale-poetry.blogspot.com/ and on 8hop.com My poetry on 8hop.com. I also have information about my poetry at http://www.squidoo.com/jo-hale-poetry.


Author:: Joanne Hale
Keywords:: Dog, View, Birth, Life, Companionship, Friendship, Trust, Pet, Animal, human's best friend, Care
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The Man Poet

The unmade poet
Is a born lunatic.
Like the Atlantic,
A flood of ideas
Undulate in his mind
And burst on his tongue
Like the waves of the shore
At the explosion of his thoughts
In the city avenues even!

Ordinary eyes
Judge him abnormal,
But wise ears heed his counsel.

Little brains
Grope with his words,
But evolved souls
Grasp his thoughts;
A scientific madman indeed!

He uses the philosophers'lab
For his lunatic researches.
He rushes to the mystics'asylum
For his dramatic experiments
And only few taste
His poetic philosophy.

Worthy brethren,brethren,
Cross the Man poet you may,
What a lunatic being, you'll say!
Right or wrong you may be --
Why not seek ye first the key
That reveals the poetic will?

Mawutodzi Abissath
(Black Ideas)

SWIMMING AMONG THE BEAUTIES

How beautiful
It's beautiful
To be beautiful
To beautiful people
To meet beautiful friends
To share beautiful ideas
In a beautiful fashion
For a beautiful purpose
In this beautiful world
So as to beautify
The beauty of beauties-
And that's swimming
Among the beauties!

Mawutodzi Abissath (Black Ideas)

SUCH IS LIFE

Oh life! Wondrous life!
Life that operates
Under instructions unknown,
Such life is full of wonders.

Life that turns mountains of today
Into valleys of tomorrow,
Such life is full of wonders!

Life that changes masters of today
Into slaves of tomorrow,
Such life is full of wonders!

Life that turns judges of today
Into prisoners of tomorrow,
Such life is full of wonders!

Life that turns lovers of today
Into bitter foes of tomorrow,
Such life is full of wonders!

Oh!man of vanity, man of obscurity,
Be cautious in life;
For,life is full of mysteries!

Mawutodzi Abissath
(Black Id eas)
http://www.nyansah.blogspot.com

A Ghanian journalist, writer and poet.
Blog: http://www.nyansah.blogspot.com


Author:: Mawutodzi Abissath
Keywords:: Poetry
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Thursday, September 27, 2012

The Ballad of: Brawling Maddog Sergeant Rook Now in: SPANISH and English

English Version

A bunch of us guys in the hut

In Nam
Were playing cards, singing songs;
In a solo-room, back of the hut
Lay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;

And watching from a distance
Was his sidekick, Corporal Cook.

When out of the night, he wanted

To fight
This bully of six-foot-two
Dog-drunk, smelling like a skunk

I wanted to fight him too.

He wobbled like a duck as I

Blocked his punch

(for I was drunk too),
And I kicked him several times

I guess
Yet he didnt fall, as expected
This Sergeant I barely knew

There was no man, could beat

This bear of a brut,
In our company, or there about
So I kicked him in the groin

Again
And still he didnt shout!

And such was I, as he looked

At me
Puzzled from brow to foot
He was a demon from hell I

Thought
This mad-dog Sergeant Rook.

With the face of bulldog

And a deadly stare
I swear he was three hundred

Pounds;
I twisted my body like a cobra
Jumped in the air like a bird

And when I came down
The blaze in his eyes were gone

This mad-dog Sergeant Rook!

I pierced my fingers into his flesh
Like nails and thornswith

Ferociousness
Then I moved from side to side

A bit
As he swayed like a tree in a storm
Clutching the side of the hut

I guess;
We both knew, we wanted no more.

In echoes he cursed insanities

As his sidekick cheered him on
But for he and I, the game was

Over
It was back to war, in Vietnam!...

Note: 699 5/31/05

Spanish Version

La Balada de :
la Pelea del perro rabioso Sargento Rook.

Un grupo de nosotros los muchachos en la choza

En Nam
Jugbamos a las cartas, cantando canciones;
En un cuarto solo, atrs de la choza
Sargento Rook, Puso al perro rabioso,

Y mirando desde una distancia
Estaba su compaero, el cabo Cocinero.

Cuando hacia fuera de la noche, l quiso

Luchar
Este matn de seis pie dos
perro borracho, oliendo como un zorrillo

desee lucharlo tambin tambin.

l se bambole como un pato as, yo
bloquee su puete-

(por que yo tambin estaba borracho),
Y le di de patadas varias veces

Prienso-
Ms el no se cay como esperaba.
Este Sargento yo, apenas lo conoca

No haba ningn hombre, que podra golpear

Este oso de un brut,
En nuestra compaa, o por all
Entonces le di patadas en la ingle

Otra vez-
Y de todos modos l no grit!

Y tal era yo, como l mir

En m
Dejado perplejo de frente a pie
l era un demonio del infierno

yo Pienso
Este sargento Rook perro rabioso.

Con la cara de bulldog

Y un mirada fija mortal
Juro que l tena trescientas

Libras;
Torc mi cuerpo como una cobra
salt en el aire como un pajaro

Y cuando baj
El resplandor en sus ojos se habian ido.

Este Sargento Rook perro rabioso!

Perfor mis dedos en su carne
Como uas y espinas- con

Ferocidad
Entonces me mov un poco
de un lado al otro
Como l se balance como un rbol en una tormenta
Agarrando el lado de la choza

Adivino;
Ambos sabamos, no quisimos ms.

En ecos l maldijo locuras-

Como su compaero lo alent
Pero para l y para mi el juego haba acabado

Esto fu tras de La guerra, en Vietnam!...

Note: 699 5/31/05

Poet/Author Dennis Siluk, produces a ballad of Vietnam, an occurance, where more truth resides than fiction. The Author lives in St. Paul, Minnesota and Lima, Peru; and was a soldier in the Vietnam war


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: P oetry
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Lord Byron's "She Walks in Beauty"

The Poem I am going to deal with in this Commentary is the description of a woman. It is somehow not very clear what is the relationship between the poet and her and what are the Feelings involved between the two. Still, even if the poets Feelings are not very clearly exposed, by the way he describes her, especially in the first two stanzas we can deduce the admiration the poet is baring for her. We can even say that he has unwillingly fallen in love with her, and is now writing this Poem to explain both to himself and us the strange phenomenon that has taken place.

From this point of view, the theme of the Poem is similar in a way with Keatss La Belle Dame Sans Merci, as they both deal with the unexpected and unexplainable power of love. Still, if in Keatss Poem the love and the fulfillment of attraction are driven to an extreme, here this does not happen as the poet has coped with the thought of not having her.

As a structure, the Poem consists of three stanzas, which can allow us to see a certain evolution of the poets states of mind in regard to the lady. The first stanza describes the woman from a more far-away perspective. It is the very moment of the attraction, when the fire is lit inside the poets heart, who is concentrating his angle of view, focusing more and more. In the second stanza the apogee of his Feelings is touched as the poet is completely charmed by the woman, whose defects he turns into qualiti es and she is possessed by a nameless grace. The last stanza means coming back to earth, as the poet, though still persisting on her Beauty has to notice that the woman has a heart whose love is innocent and a mind at peace with all below. The meaning of these lines is that the womans love and Feelings cannot be disturbed. The Poem has a calm ending, which together with the slow beginning and the intense second stanza make it very round and symmetrical on the whole.

In the first two lines of the first stanza the poet focuses on the appearance of the woman. The woman is seen as a cloudless and starry night. At a more superficial look this can be seen as a purely physical description, as the lady was probably dressed in a black dress. The stars, the glimpses of light would be her jewelry. Still, if we accept the idea that this is more than just a physical, almost literal description we should see what lies underneath the words. This metaphor allows us to understand the way the woman is perceived by the poet. She is the one that covers everything with her Beauty, bringing light into darkness, as the stars do in a cloudless night.

Her aspect and eyes are a strange combination of dark and brightness. Though this contrast might sound a little bit strange at the beginning, it is a beautiful mean of expression. It describes the Beauty and also the mystery that this woman has covered herself into. By associating these two characteristics to the eyes we get a better picture of what the lady looks like, as her black eyes are filled with brightness. In fact, this oxymoron is continued throughout the first two stanzas. The last two lines of the first stanza show the disappointment of the poet of not being able to make use of the light that comes out of this woman. He is den ied the heaven, the privilege of enjoying wholly the Beauty and light of the lady. This is where the dark emerges from, as all the brightness is shadowed by the sorrow of not having her.

The second stanza continues the description of the woman as a symmetrical combination of light and dark, of shade and brightness. This metaphor is meant to underline the complexity and harmony within the woman, not the superficiality or imperfection.

The view is now more focused than before and gets closer, visualizing the head of the woman in closer detail. Her hair is seen as the exponent of darkness, which is present in her raven tresses, in immediate contrast with the face. This one is filled with light. This perfect division of light and darkness, of shade and ray is associated to a nameless grace that is exercising its power over this very woman.

In this way the poet drives his divinization of the woman to a peak as he considers her gifted by a greater force with the immense quality of making cohabit both light and dark. The woman becomes the perfect shelter where the two opposite forces make peace and then cooperate in order to make her one of the most beautiful beings in the world. She is the one that helps and maintains this relationship of reconciliation as both forces are put in the service of a noble ideal, the ideal of Beauty. Still, the combination of such different forces is made in perfect harmony, and the result is a pure and compact universe.

The last stanza leaves aside the coexistence of light and dark within the woman and tries to give a more general account of the woman and the characteristics that impress the poet so much.

The general word that seems to describe the facts in this stanza is serenity. Every quality that rests inside this being is in perfect harmony and peace. Things are described as if the woman is winning mens hearts unwillingly.

The poet focuses again on the face and on the expression o f the lady. The elements that seem to have a strong impact on men are her smile and her tinted brow. The falling in love of the men is done very softly, with a criminal-like perspicacity, as the men hardly realize the reasons, though they are obvious. On the other hand this seems to happen without her will, as she keeps her calm and imperturbability. Her mind is at peace with all below, and the love for her beloved has not been affected by the victims she has made during time.

This last stanza gives the impression of resignation at the thought of not having her. If the first two stanzas were full of impulsive thoughts that tended to describe her in a very exaggerated way, in this one the poet is brought more down to earth. We might even say that he is now describing her with a trace of sadness, of resignation at the thought of not having her. He is now trying to convince himself of the fact that an eventual relationship between the two of them or any other two persons would stand no chance as her heart is forever given.

If we now come back to the interpretation for the first stanza according to which the lady is dressed in a black outfit, we can find another possible trace of interpreting the last lines of the Poem. Indeed, by associating the obsessive repetition of the black color with a mind at peace we can suppose that the woman is a widow. This is how we can find a meaning to the last verses. The author is sure that her love cannot be disturbed, as her beloved is now dead and nothing will be able to re-win her heart.

Next, we will have a closer look at the composition of the Poem. We notice that the duality persists in what the words are concerned. Each first line of each stanza consists of two elements separated by comma, this double enumeration being carried on through the following lines. Either if it is two opposite or similar elements they are always put in the same phrase, in an unperturbed harmony: Beauty/night, cli mes/skies, dark/bright, aspect/eyes, shade/ray, more/less, tress/face, cheek/brow, soft/calm, smiles that win/tints that glow, mind/heart. The poet, who perhaps wants to underline the happiness and fulfillment through finding of a mate, drives this duality to obsession.

We find the same duality in the succession of the lines inside the Poem- the form of the rhyme, that is. Indeed, a line ending in a certain termination is followed by a different one and then by another one, again different but similar to the first one. This allows us to notice the hesitation and alternation of Feelings that takes place inside the poet. The Poem follows a basic iambic tetrameter with an unaccented syllable followed by an accented syllable. Each line consists of four meters with two syllables each, a total of eight syllables per line. The rhyme scheme flows as ABABAB CDCDCD EFEFEF. Alliteration is also used: Of cloudless climes and starry skies, in which there is a repetition of the s sound. The second stanza contains insight into the dwelling place of the woman's thoughts, creating an insight into her mind by using alliteration. The repetition of the s sounds is soothing in the phrase serenely sweet express, because Byron is referring to her thoughts, and her thoughts are serene and pure.

The Poem is special, also through the means of expressions that the poet uses. These are not of an extraordinary expressivity, but still are beautiful and add a little color to the Poem. The first line contains two means of expression: walks in Beauty and like the night. These metaphors are very helpful in depicting the woman, both to a physical and an overall extent. Further, the light which heaven to gaudy day denies is again a very expressive metaphor showing the power of such a Beauty, as i t can deny the happiness of a human being. With this, Byron transforms Beauty in a defect and the beautiful woman into a cursed being, as involuntarily these can harm other people.

In the second stanza, the epithet nameless grace is associated to the Beauty that lies inside the admired woman. More than that, the poet considers that Beauty is a sort of spirit that lays inside the woman and that gives her glamour. This grace is present also in another metaphor, as it waves, the poet referring at the presence and the ways of manifesting of this spirit. The raven tress is an epithet meant to make us perceive better the blackness of the womans hair. In the same stanza we meet the inversion thoughts serenely sweet express, which does not hide any meaning beneath, but contributes to the image of the Poem.

In the last stanza we can notice the apathy of the poet also through the poorness of means of expression. Indeed, there are no notable metaphors or epithtets.

Th e Poem represents more than just a description of an attractive woman. It is an insight inside Byrons mind and subconscience, a description of the effects of love. It is less important which was the real context in which he wrote this Poem or which were the real elements that made him write the Poem. The important thing is that by reading this Poem our imagination has a certain freedom and in the same time is led by Byron, as he drives us to the checkpoints he establishes in the Poem. Thus we can affirm that the Poem is an authentic piece of Romantic poetry, even if this current is by far non-conventional, but diverse. The Feelings and the means of expression implied in the Poem are definitory for Byron and also for the trend he was a part of.

This Commentary was written for the History of Arts co urse at the International University Bremen by Ioan Hepes (http://hepes.blogspot.com). For more discussions on similar topics refer to http://worldlibrarian.blogspot.com/ . You are free to post comments on the Blog.


Author:: Ioan Hepes
Keywords:: Poem, Byron, lord Byron, Romanticism, she walks in Beauty, Beauty, Referat, Commentary, Feelings
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Three November Poems

Show-shine Boy

Im warm
Safe
Surrounded by books
Under my heart beat
Resides a phantom
an old drunk
On the long walk
From 12 to 58
I never forgot
The Shoe-shine Boy
In me!!
I never ran out of polish;
When I looked into my shine,
As now, I do, into my poems
Saying: Whats next?
Unhurried, unfurled
I ended up here
Here, writing this poem
It cleverly fits
Into my life, so nice
I drink my latte
Here at the B.N., Caf
(a stir-stick, in hand)
Somehow I feel, really feel:
This is just the beginning

#934 11-22-05

Fears Intentions

Fear, O fear, go to sleep Undiscoveredso you creep

Repulsive, at its very least! You shall not mould me in my Sleep!...

And when he has gone, far away Awkward things, seem to stay

Like plastic clay, I seem to be Waiting for fear, to return to Me!...

#932 11-22-05

The Balconies of Lima, Peru

how swi ft: I step from one to one!

A moment out of the day

The winds upon my brow

A breath taken away; away by The balconies of Lima, Peru

(Most beautiful in the world!) Here is where, within the shadows

Of the Plaza de Arms

Is where kings and conquerors

Once ruled

here! here the air is still,

Warm as the orchards in spring Warm as the Sacred Valleys afternoon.

Here is where the balconies sing! With a ghostly fragrance in the air,

Here along the streets of Lima, Peru Here, here is where they sing, sing

Of the long lost folklores, Of long ago

Note: I have traveled the world over, in Spain, Lisbon, New Orleans, etc., and Ive yet to find any balconies equal to Limas; even in Italy, and 59-other countries. #929 11-19-2005

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Two Poems with Figurative Language

Says Mr. Dennis Siluk, when asked to review his Poetry somewhat, for he hesitates all the time when I ask him to so; I can tell you. Anyhow, he said to me (responding more on poem #728, Derivative Echoes): Figurative language, meaning words used to refer to something that you don't really mean, is used here to make noises, as are metaphors sometimes. Probably the reason I used figurative language imagery here was to tie the ideas and feelings my poem [s expresses [ness to the physical world in which I want it to exist. He lost me somewhere along the line, but it sounded good when I read the poems. Rosa Penaloza.

The Bear-men of Qolqepunku
(or: the magical ice of Peru)

(Foreshadow)

High up in the Andes of Peru
The Ukukus wander on

Glacier, frost and snow

Dressed in furry clocks and masks
They trek to find the mountains ice

Of sacred healing powers

The Bear-men, they are called:
In the old language of the Quechua;

Guardians of the ice

They cut the ice in solid blocks
Carried on backs, down mountain paths,

To family, friends, and livestock

Ah! Sixteen-thousand feet high, comes
A pilgrimage Qoyllur Rit i

Year, after year, after year.

The Bear-men, silently watch
Their glacier, slowly disappear

As if in thin air!...

Theyve now decide to leave the ice
The magical ice of Peru, in place

As warming temperatures rise

This is helping the Ice Cap
Evaporate, in the 21st Century

Perhaps this is a whisper

Is this the worlds end?

#731 6/17/05

Derivative Echoes

I would show you love in a handful of clouds

Could I find the clouds, and find the love;
And is it love one is really looking for?

Fallen angels ha d love from heaven,
And chose lust in place, on earth!

In hell one loves lust and thus, would be

Unhappy in Heaven I imagine;
Ah! Maybe allusions is the strand were

Looking for? Were living for
We live in the age of imagined howling

with aches and pains in the mind

Fear of deathnymphs (well dressed)
Schoolmasters serving children a blotted

Light; perfect pitch, more questions than
Answer; disrupting the harmonic balance!...

#728 6/2005

Poet Dennis Siluk
http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

A Conjugal Curse

She craves but to savor a tender Lovers` kiss,
and sense the rush of rapture it could bring;
Masked behind the cloak of marital bliss
Unfettered fervor latent lay below a wedding ring.

After the dowry came a deluge of deepening disturb
In-laws enter with contrived smiles ready to unfold
Her starving hearts feelings she can never curb
Her frozen gaze reveals a million truths untold

Her ravenous eyes are famished
The honeymoon has vanished
A thorny contract for life of ill-design
From whose fate she cannot resign

Her yearning lips and a throbbing heart need ignition
Ill-begotten in-laws perform a fake rendition
From fiery claws a smoke is bellowing
If only she could get rid of them with a magic spell
Existences affliction may become a bearable living hell

Eyes utter the words that her husband is blinded to tell
A suppressed mind conceals what the spirit knows too well< br> Smiles on her lips disperse the glower of a hearts desire
Laughter on the lips spread the tears that eyes conspire

Oh, chaste wither away! And set her Lust free--
held incarcerated, long ago a romance ceased to be
to whisper a hymn of Infidelity,

Making Love to another spiced her spirit, tickled her soul
Veiled passions, secreted attractions taking on their toll
A forbidden conjugal intrusion
Vows from an altar mere rhetorical illusion
Yesterdays torment of a paranoid delusion

Till death do us part, for better or for worse?
Ringing hollow promises echoing a nuptial curse
He brings home the living. He controls the purse
Alone, this naked jewel shivering of cold
No one to have. No one to hold.

Woman might be fickle; yes this is true
she`ll eavesdrop on her heart to justify
the Lusting for a flame to flicker anew
of a poignant passion she can`t deny.

Vows have anchored and subjugated many stormy seas,
She`d steer them all away for feelings just like these.

Ozer Khalid has trekked the 4 continents of our globe and has dabbled in investment banking, the law, enterprise and events management. Ozer is an avid linguist, traveller, cineaste, and horse-back rider.


Author:: Ozer Khalid
Keywords:: Ozer, Khalid, Love, Anger, Marriage, Divorce, Poem, Infidelity, Lust,
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Wednesday, September 26, 2012

I Hate The Wait (Weight)

I get up in the morning

And want to stay in bed

Oh, so nice and warm

Like fresh from the oven bread.

My day is oh so busy

I wish that I could stay

In the quiet of my house

If only I could play.

Relax and play like Children do

No matter where they are

Never worried about being late

Or looking ahead too far

My body wont sit quietly

I need to get there now

No time to chat, I now must go

All I can say is Chow

I hate to wait

For time to pass

Time to eat

To get some gas

Tick Tock of the clock

I look into the sky

The numbers move so slowly

I wish that they would fly

The weight wont move at all today

And the wait is way too long

I am doing the best I can

To help move time along.

I can not control the numbers

On the clock or on the scale

I need to remember that they are things

And that I will never fail.

Time will pass without my help,

The scale gets thrown away

I will learn to breathe these words,

I will to learn to say to say:

Say the words that matter

In soul, In Heart and Voice

I have enough, I do enough, I am enough

For each day is a choice.

http://www.reflectingrace.com


Author:: Mary Pat Nally
Keywords:: Eating Disorder Poetry
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Tale of the: Old Hunter and the Golden Hare In SPANISH and English now

There once lived an old man and his goodwife
On the edge of the thick of the woods;
They lived in an old run-down shack
For forty-years and some.
The old man hunted for his living,
And his wife sewed on her lap.

He once was hunting in the woods,
The marshes were high with game
When the waters rise, many animals die
And he thought (as always), Such a shame.
Well, this day he saw a Golden Hare,

No common hare, thought he.
Stranded on a mud bare little isle
So he quickly grabbed the hare by the ears,
To save it, if you please.

Now the Golden Hare started to examine him,
And it spoke like a human being:
Let me go, old man, back in the woods
I will give you most anything!

The old man was surprised and scared,
For he had never heard of a hare talking.
So gently by its ears, he put the hare down
And kindly said, as he did so:
God be with you, my lovely little Golden Hare!
And thank youbut I want for noththing;
Go back to your home in the woods,
And roam free as you normally would.

But the hare stood stone-still, shaking,
Too weak was sheIll have you know:
Thus, into his sack, the old man put her
And brought her back to his home.

There he dried the hare, gave her food,
And said: Now gobefore night!
And thus, the hare was gone for good.

To his wife, the old hunter was cautious
To tell her about the talking, Golden Hare,
And so he explained: I caught this hare
Stranded, and thought to set her free
Whereupon, she promised me, most anything;
But like a good Christian, I simply said
God be with you [and I need nothing.

Thereupon, his wife reprimanded her husband:
You old foolyou big stupid man!
You might have asked for a sewing machine!
Now go find the hare and ask!

The old man turned to the woods,
Where the morning was flickering with light.
And off he went, calling out to the Golden Hare.
And the Golden Hare appeared, behind a bush,
What is it, old man, what is your wish?
With his eyes cast down, the old man answered:
I am sad to say, Most Beautify Hare~!
But my old woman scorned me utterly
Bothers me every second of the day,
She says she wants a sewing machine.

The Golden Hare mumbled in reply:
So be it, go home old man, be at peace,
For your wife will soon have it.

And behold, when the old man arrived home,
His wife was laughing, by a sewing machine.
But she screamed at her husband evermore:
You silly old man, go back and ask for a farmhouse!

And again he went back to the woods,
But this time the rain was pouring,
He called out to the Golden Hare,
And the Golden Hare appeared again, saying:
Now what is it old man, what is your wish?
It never ends; forgive me, but my wife
Now wants a farmhouse.
The Golden Hare mumbled in answer:
As you desire, go home and youll have it~!

And when he arrived back home,
His shack was replaced by a farmhouse.
Oh yes, even with a huge towering silo.
And there sat his old wife by the window.

But the old woman was still hungry with greed
Told her husband, Go back and ask for money!
Perhaps a ton of gold, she will give to you!

And the old hunter did as she asked,
Hollered out for the Golden Hare to appear
And although the hare appeared, said nothing,
She listened angrily as the old man begged:
Forgiven me of my wifes greed, but now she Wants a ton of gold, or just a lot of money.
The hare just whoosh its golden ears
And vanished back into the woods.

When the husband arrived back home
Behold, his old wife was like before,
Sitting by their old broken down shack
Sewing an old shirt, on her lap, bored.

#769 7/11/05

IN SPANISH

Translated by Nancy Pealoza

Cu ento del: cazador anciano
Y la liebre de oro

Por Dennis L. Siluk

All una vez viva un viejo hombre y su buena esposa
En el borde de la espesura del bosque;
Ellos Vivian en una vieja choza
Por cuarenta aos y algo.
El anciano cazaba para su vida
Y su esposa cosa sobre su regazo.

El una vez estaba cazando en el bosque,
Los pantanos eran altos con juego
Cuando el agua creci, muchos animales murieron
Y el pens (como siempre) que vergenza.
Bien, ese da el vio una liebre de oro,
rara liebre pens l.
Varado sobre el barro desnudo de la pequea isla
As, el rpidamente agarro a la liebre por las orejas,
Para salvarla, si te parece.

Ahora la liebre de oro empez a examinarlo,
Y le habl como un ser humano:
djame ir, anciano, de regreso al bosque-
Yo te dar algo, mas!

El anciano estaba sorprendido y asustado.
Porque el nunca haba odo de una liebre que hablaba.
Tan gentilmente por sus orejas, el dejo la liebre
Y amablemente dijo, como hizo l eso?:
Dios este contigo, mi amada pequea liebre de oro
Y gracias pero, yo no quiero nada;
Regresa a tu casa en el bosque,
Y vaga libre como normalmente tu puedas!.

Pero la liebre aun permaneci parada como piedra, sacudindose
Demasiado dbil estaba ella- te har saber:
Ms, dentro de su saco, el anciano la puso

y la llev de regreso a su casa.

All el sec a la liebre, le dio comida,
Y le dijo: ahora vete- antes que anochezca!
Y as, la liebre se fue para siempre.

Para su esposa, el anciano cazador fue cauteloso
Para decirle acerca de la hablante, liebre de oro
Entonces el explic Cog esta liebre varada y pens
Ponerla en libertad- por lo cual ella me prometi algo ms;
Pero como buen cristiano simplemente dije.
Dios este contigo.y no necesito nada

Con eso, la esposa reprendi a su marido
t viejo tonto.tu hombre grande entupido< br> Pudiste haber pedido una mquina de coser!
Ahora vaya a buscar la liebre y pida

El anciano regres al bosque,
Donde la maana Recin parpadeaba luz.

Y l fue llamando a la liebre de oro

Y la liebre de oro apareci detrs de un arbusto
Que es eso anciano? Cul es tu deseo?
Con sus ojos destrozados el anciano contest:
Estoy muy triste para decir muy bella liebre!
Pero mi vieja me despreci completamente-
Me molesta cada segundo del da
Ella dice que quiere una maquina de coser!

La liebre dorada mascull
La respuesta vete a casa en paz anciano
Por que Tu esposa pronto lo tendr

Y contemplo, cuando el anciano lleg a casa,

Su esposa estaba rindose, Por una maquina de coser.

Pero ella Le grito a su esposo cada vez mas
T anciano tonto, vuelve y pide
una granja!

Y otra vez el anciano volvi a los bosques,
Pero esta vez la lluvia estaba fluyendo,
El llam fuerte a la liebre de oro
Y la liebre de oro apareci otra vez diciendo:

Y ahora que anciano cual es tu deseo? .
Esto nunca se termina perdneme, pero mi esposa

Ahora quiere una granja.

La liebre de oro mascullaba la respuesta

Como tu . Deseo, ve a casa y lo tendrs!

Y cuando l regres a su casa,
Su choza fue substituida por una granja.
Oh si, hasta con un enorme silo altsimo.
Y all se sent a su vieja esposa por la ventana.

Pero la anciana todava tena el hambre con la avaricia
Dijo a su marido, Vuelve y pide el dinero!
Quizs una tonelada de oro, ella te lo dar!

Y el viejo cazador hizo como ella pregunt pidi,

Gritando alto para que la Liebre De oro apareciera
Y aunque la liebre apareci, no dijo nada,
Ella escuch con ira como el anciano rog:
Perdneme la avaricia de mi esposa, pero ahora ella
Quiera una tonelada de oro, o justo una cantidad de dinero
La liebre justo whoosh orejas de oro
Y desapareci dentro del bosque.

Cuando el marido regres a casa
Contemplan, su vieja esposa estaba como antes,
Sentada por su vieja choza.

Cosiendo una vieja camisa, sobre su regazo, aburrido.

*769 7/11/05

Poet/Author Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetic Tale
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Death & the Supernatural: Poetry/Five Poems

Supernatural Poetry

Here are five poems,what I calldeath and supernatural poems. Perhaps a bit bizarre, a few stanzas may be, but with unfailing subtlety of course, and a ting of acuteness, but we have to hag on if we want a good ride:

1.

Evils Creation

Thou knowith evil clings
To tender peace;
Nor does it heed ones drowsy
Un-enthralled grief

But softly it darkens
Twilights dunes;
With sprinkling shadows
Straight from the moon.

O Night! Who giveth birth
To Evils plight?
As mighty murmurs
Reached my breast:

His name has no beginning
And no end!

But why! O why?
Everlasting King,
Have you created!
Such a thing?

As mighty murmurs
Reached my breast:
To see, whom you love
The very best!...

#609 4/1/05

2.

The First Depth

Struggling against unrestful skies
The warlords of eternal darkness
unseen to lifes obvious eyes
Ebb and seek the prize, dominion!

The First depth, the silence of the deep
Eternal legions with unrestful eyes
The Abysses storm, uncircumcised
The colossal ramparts now untied

The First Depth, with rival skies
Here, gathers demonic and divine
Now with storms, once hidden beyond
Armies of defense, build their saga

And I saw dreadful swords like suns
Thunder and lightening by Orion
This was the tidings of cosmic doom
If only man could have seen the gloom.

And the echoes I heard from the stars
Unnamed, immortal flames cast down
Gathered on earth for the final countdown
Armageddons titanic onset!...

#610 [4/2/04

3.

Satans Daisies

Walk slowly, he is near
Above the clouds;
Talk softly, he can hear
Our venom mouths !

With his dark charcoal horns
And plotted lust,
He that was once fair
Is after us!

#612 [4/3/05

4.

The Iron Raven

You cannot escape, debased death
(Says the axiomatic, Iron Raven,
Who delivers the dead)
My imperishable Icons!
Die, you shall, exhumed someday.
Fame is no exception, to the Raven,
He seals fate, in ignoble ways!

#611 [4/3/05

5.

The Marble Tomb

Twill be the same, the same
(I told him, when he was living),
A wood or marble tomb
In a hundred years, lets say
Or a hundred so called days
What matters to he,
(He will be dead)?
A pompous monument
Will be of no goodyet
He built it out of Marble
(Nonetheless), not wood!

Your name will be forgotten
Amongst the rubbish and roots
Oer rotting dampness; and
Who will clean your tomb?
(I asked him all these things
Before he died; and he never
Did replyand built his tomb
Of marble, admiring its size!)

Youin there, in that tomb!
You cannot hear a thing!!!!!
And out here theyre building
Yesanother mausoleum
For another rich man!

#613 [4/3/04

Poet and Author, Dennis L. Siluk: will be going to Lima, Peru tomorrrow [and the mountians,and to Central America [Copan thereafter, for a month to find more Poetry to write about...and the secrets that reside in its soil...!

http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

It's What She Didn't Say

When I hear your voice inside my head it makes me think of you every single day as I fight back tears of sadness and wonder if you're okay

My life is empty without you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my simple hopes seem in vain

I realize how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and expect you not to hate

I don't deserve a second chance to show you how much I care when you needed me the most I know I failed to be there

Now your trust in me is gone forever and I will never have the chance to say I really hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every day

I would give almost anything in life if I could go back to that day and erase everything I said and did to make your heartache go away

What hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the absence of these Words haunt me each and every day...

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.bellaonline.com/articles/art8364.asp


Author:: Danielle Hollister
KeyWords:: Poetry, Poems, Loss, Family, Words, Sisters, Love, Children, Poem
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

I Walk Alone

I walk this road alone, looking for me and searching for you.
I long to walk the path lighted by your eyes
Where I am forever led on by your voice.

I know nothing of you, yet I know you are everything,
And so I Love you.
From the red of the morning sky to the deep darkness of sad nights I Love you.

Who directs my dreams to your face every night?
Who melds every thought I have into a thought of you?
Why are they so cruel as to lead me to you, but not you to me?

The whole of my Love torrents onto me at times.
At times, when I am quiet, I can hear its waves crashing above me.
Oh if I could swim to your shore and cling to your beaches,
I would lay silent, if you asked me to, just taking in the beauty of your presence.

When I speak to you my words are like steam.
They capture my heart as a net captures water.
I so wish to pour my hearts ocean onto you,
But I still wait to hear even a trickle in your voice.

If my words contain any water
That quenches some dry part of your soul,
Then lead me onto your path where I will serve you.

Oh you, with your skin like silk and eyes like water,
Let me pour myself out to you.
Let me warm your hands with mine,
Let me strum beautiful chords on your heartstrings,
Let my heart finally sing its silent symphony to you.

But as for now, I walk alone.

Michael Jordan is a music student at the University of North Texas and writes in his spare time. He blogs (irregularly) at http://www.mikeyj.net Listen for his upcoming CD release in 2007!


Author:: Michael Jordan
Keywords:: I Walk Alone,Pain,Love
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Tuesday, September 25, 2012

The Dream Date

The first day i met you Your smile hit me like a whirlwind And left me breathless Your eyes were wet with passionate compassion Full of love, care and concern I was transfixed and enchanted by it Never had i seen so much tenderness When you spoke, the words came tumbling Out of slightly parted lips; The words were sonorous, like a musical note Or an orchestrated tone I took in your pulchritude and well endowed body Slowly making sure i did not miss the smallest detail Of God's wonderful creation

That did the magic I was thrown into a fantasy A dream of having you close; Of staring into your eyes and Tracing your lips with my finger Of whispering sweet words into your ears Telling you how much i need you The feeling grew intense with each passing day Until The fantasy became a nightmare A wonderful nightmare that lives with me Went everywhere with me and Refused to go away no matter how hard i tried

As i write I do so because i cannot Keep the feeling to myself alone I need to share it with you And with everyone who cares to listen Maybe this will help make my fantasy A reality A reality capped with beautiful scenes of love Your image will always haunt me Just like your charm has weakened my will-power And made me a prisoner of circumstance My shackles would only be broken if you become mine Because you will forever live in my heart of hearts

I am a Nigerian and an avid reader who also take great pleasure in putting pen to paper. I believe that with the right expression of words written with my pen people could change for the better and correct or curb some ills eating deep into our system of government or life in general. Poverty and corruption have always being Africa's most dreaded diseases and Nigeria is no exception. I write fiction and non-fiction and also write Articles on any subject, especially that concerning the well-being of the poor masses. I wish to be an acclaimed writer and author and a motivatio nal speaker.


Author:: Kevin Madu
Keywords:: article submission, Articles, Writers, Writing, Publishing, Ezine, Email marketing, Email newsletter, Email
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Jumping into Bed: Winter Poetry (in English and Spanish)

1Walking in the Snow
(New Years Day2006)

The winter wind whistles, harmoniously
with happy snowdrifts, miles long
and my shoes, like car tires
grip the ground, they chop through away the whiteness.

The day is calm. No birds fly
across the sky. Hercules
is asleep. It must be this snow
we need to balance our equilibrium, this snow: calm, white and cold.

Dedicated to my goddaughter, Ximena Herrera Pealoza 1/2/2006 [#1053

Note by the author: on my way to the bookstore today, in Roseville, Minnesota (New Years Day), my wife was expressing how beautiful the trees were, all laced with white snow from the night before, from the tip, to each branch to their toes.

In Spanish
By Rosa Penaloza

Versin en Espaol

Caminando en la Nieve
(Nuevo Ao2006)

El viento de invierno silva, armoniosamente
con cmulos de nieve felices, largas milla
y mis zapatos, como neumticos de coche
agarran el suelo, el los cortan de lejos la blancura.

El da es tranquilo. Ningn pjaro vuela
a travs del cielo. Hrcules
est dormido. Esto debe ser esta nieve
necesitamos balancear nuestro equilibrio,
esta nieve: tranquila, blanca y fra.

Dedicado a mi ahijada, Ximena Herrera Pealoza 1/Enero/2006 [# 1053

Nota por el autor: En mi camino a la librera hoy, en Roseville, Minnesota (el Da de Ao nuevo), mi esposa expresaba qu hermosos eran los rboles, todo encajados con la nieve blanca de la noche anterior, desde la punta, a cada rama, hasta abajo.

2After a Long Day


I start out reading and writing each day
at my computer, then end up at the caf
and back to my house againbetween
three to ten hours a day, sometimes I see
the moon before I see the afternoon sun
plowing through the foliage of words and books, papers and napkins.

Suppose my house was to burn down?
And the caf locked its doors up tight?
Everyday I do not rea d or write I weather away!...

#1051 1/1/2006

3Sleepy Winter Wife

Each night the first face I see sleeping

Is my wifes I have decided to leave her sleep in the sofa

Chairby the warm cozy fire. She often peeks to see if Im still there

Busy writing or reading, by my computer. Then she falls back into her deep sleep again.

Like a little fussy bear, hibernating

I cant complain much, Ive been blessed; Thus, I check out the house at midnight,

Wake her up, and like a train, coo coo to bed.

#1042 1/1/2006

Versin en Espaol

Esposa Soolienta en Invierno (Nuevo Ao2006)

Cada noche la primera cara que veo dormida

Es el de mi esposa He decidido dejarla dormir en el sof

por el fuego caliente acogedor. Ella a menudo echa una ojeada para ver si estoy todava all

Ocupado escribiendo o leyendo, por mi computadora. Despus ella vuelve a su sueo profundo otra vez.

Como un pequeo oso quisquilloso, i nvernando

No puedo quejarme mucho, he sido bendecido; As, chequeo la casa en la medianoche,

La despierto, y como un tren, caminamos hacia la cama.

*1042 1/Enero/2006

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

By Invitation Only a poem on death

Dennis' Aunt died yesterday (at 80-years old), and this is the poem he wrote for her; she was always a helpful woman to him, with many fond memories. Rosa

The Poem:

BY INVITATION ONLY

(Dedicated to my Aunt Rose)

So she has gone to that mystic country, which we all will visit some day, a different kind of country, drowned in mist and lore, legends and Biblical versecalled heaven.

I learned about her death today, my Aunt Rose, who used to buy for me those fat little steaks; give me some loose change for gas, in times when I wasnt doing so well, in times when I took her shopping; and those picnics when I was just a kid.

Heaven, a true land where all is beautiful, restfulwhere life is not heavy; and sickness, does not exist. How sweet it is, where disorder and anxiety is unforeseen, even banned. By invitation only is how you get there!

She was eighty-years old, died last night; I heard about it this morning. It is here where life e nds, here on earth; but there, beyond its gravity, earth gravity, we must go to livefor infinity. Perhaps there, the clocks have no hands, and we will all have more time, meet again, and sit in the sun, like we did so long ago, at those picnics, when we were, ohso young.

# 1201 (02/12/06)) Prose Poem))

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Panic

A squealing sound
Soft Cry-murmur
What? Where?
Please Help

Shallow I breathe
Deepness, gasping
Inhale withdraw
Pressure, expanding

Rhythm, rapid
Altered image
Flashing pictures
Hot, raging
Fire

Clearing, easy
Everything is fine
Smooth, beating
Still, calm

It has gone
Passed timelessly
Fearless me
Once more
Same Pattern
Continuously


Biography
Poetry

I have been writing poetry for many years and regularly have it published in print. My poetry is published by Forward Press and in many other publications. So I'm now putting my poetry online. I'm adding over 50 poems to the Ezine, and finishing this as soon as possible. When I'm finished this I'll write more when I can. I publish my poetry on my Blog jo-hale-poetry at http://jo-hale-poetry.blogspot.com/ and on 8hop.com My poetry on 8hop.com. I also have information about my poetry at http://www.squidoo.com/jo-hale-poetry. I'm married to my husband Peter. I was born in May 1970 and am a Taurean star sign.
Age: 36
Gender: female
Astrological Sign: Gemini
Zodiac Year: Dog
Industry: Publishing
Occupation: poet
Location: Bristol : England : United Kingdom

Other Interests
Reading poetry cinema animals music photography WW2 stories & memorabelia Day trips quizzes & puzzles.
Favourite Movies
Too many to mention - all depends on my mood at the time.


Author:: Joanne Hale
Keywords:: Panic, Fear, Frightened, Pressure, Continuous, Fearful, Fright, Pattern, Flashing, Worry, Help, CryPost by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

It's What She Didn't Say

When I hear your voice inside my head it makes me think of you every single day as I fight back tears of sadness and wonder if you're okay

My life is empty without you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my simple hopes seem in vain

I realize how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and expect you not to hate

I don't deserve a second chance to show you how much I care when you needed me the most I know I failed to be there

Now your trust in me is gone forever and I will never have the chance to say I really hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every day

I would give almost anything in life if I could go back to that day and erase everything I said and did to make your heartache go away

What hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the absence of these Words haunt me each and every day...

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.bellaonline.com/articles/art8364.asp


Author:: Danielle Hollister
KeyWords:: Poetry, Poems, Loss, Family, Words, Sisters, Love, Children, Poem
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Monday, September 24, 2012

Three Poems and Paradise Lost One for Hell One for Heaven one for an Inca King

The Torrents of Hell

Hells furnace
Likened to a chimney
Vomits her torrents
Of flames
Into the air
Through earths crust
And the earths trembles!

Agitated, she projects
A thick curtain of smoke
To heat the feet of those
Who provoke her every wish.
Like molten iron
She waits for the soul

(the moment)
Then molds, into her enclosure
Human serpents
Out of savage flesh!

No storm, no struggle
No eruption, no typhoon,
Just a terrible phenomenon,
Hell is capable of producing;
And upon death,
Back into the Abyss
They melt!...

#746 7/1/05

Battle of Ollantayambo

In Ollantayambo
Thousands of warriors crowed the terraces,
To repel Herrando Pizarros attack;
Among them, Manco Inca appeared
On horseback, with a lance in his hand
Horrifying, Pizarros unsuccessful advance.

6/30/05 #745

Paradise Lost?

Just some thoughts on Paradise, wh ich keep spinning in my head; in the old Testament, the garden of Eden was byto my understandingfour rivers. Some think it was in Iraq, and perhaps it was. Some folks think it was in Africa, but I doubt that. But if it was in old Sumer, or Iraq, where are the four rivers I ask myself (looking for the lost Paradise), the four rivers that are supposed to be in this paradise?

The Euphrates and Tigris are two rivers I can account for; and perhaps the mythical, or legendary Gihon, and Pison, rivers. But wait, perchance, one of these rivers got mixed up in the old scriptures to mean the Nile? A question I asked myself.

Some say the Tree of Life is in Bahrain, by the Persian Gulf, Gilgamesh was said to have went there, as did Noah. So now I get thinking Im pretty close to finding Paradise, and I must not get Paradise mixed up with Heaven, thats another issue onto its self.

So now I get thinking, the garden must have sunk, like Atlantismaybe, I tell myself. Sunk r ight into the Persian Gulf; is this possible? Food for thought. So my mind is saying, in the time of Christ, a few thousand years after the flood and a few more before the flood when Adam and Eve were kicking dust. Now I ask myself, what does all this add up to?

Eden could very well be where Paradise is, where it was when Christ descended after he died on the cross. Woops, did I say descended. Yes, yes, he told the guy next to him hed meet him in Paradise, not heaven. Im sure I got that right I tell myself. And we all know Heaven is up-yonder, thus he would have had to ascend, not descend. So here is Jesus, hes down in Paradise, and I read that Abraham could hear folks yelling and bellowing for a drink of water across the gulf. Now I get thinking again about Eden, which is called Paradise in the bible, and the Gulf where I cant find a river any longer on top of landthe forth river to be exact; and Jesus descending down to Paradise, where Abraham is. I think it is s tarting to add up for me.

Now across the Gulf, is Hades, or perhaps the whole area is referred to as Hades, but one being Paradise, and the other side being Sheol (Sheol is mentioned in the Old Testament Bible 66-times, that my friends is the number of chapter-books in both books of the Bible). When Sheol is mentioned it is referred to as down; for example, Gen. 37:35 I will go down to In Ps 9:17, The wicked will return to and so forth.

The Paradise lost lets say is under the Persian Gulf, under the waters of the Gulf, the lost river perhaps that I cant account for. Thus Christ arrives after his butchery by the Romans, for they did put the cross on his shoulders, and pierce him with a spear of course, the Jews provoked it nonetheless, and the Romans were easily lead you can see. Anyhow, he came to Paradise as the sacrificial lamb, the blood sacrifice, for the lamb was often the animal used for such ceremonies prior to Christs arrival. Now he announces he is the Messiah, and those who wish can go with him to Heaven, thus, leaving Eden or Paradise for those who need more time to think about it. Sounds too easily to be true; but it was just something swimming in my mind. For those none believers, it is a good Science Fiction Horror, for the Christian, it is most welcomed.

Dennis Siluk see his web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry and Article
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips