Monday, August 27, 2012

Miracles Happen Everyday!

Miracles occur everyday

For those who walk in God's ways

By what they do and say

Desiring truth within

To be liberated

From self and sin

The greatest miracle of all

Is one a man named Paul

Experienced at the age of twenty

While attending the University

It happened when my heart opened

To the drawing of the Holy Spirit

My ears embraced the message

And my mind did hearken to it

After which I prayed a simple prayer

Not to get God out of my hair

Or a religious nut off my back

Nor because I had a heart attack

Not for fire insurance

But for life assurance

I did it because I wanted to

I invited Jesus into my heart

Now how about you?

The greatest miracle I say

Is when a soul yields

To the Creator to pray

And repent of sin

Acknowledging the crucifixion

Celebrating the resurrection

Removing himself from all self -deception

To invite Jesus and the Spirit in

Bringing about a Divine exchange

For his life, God to rearrange

Remove all mental derangement

Depravity

And embrace spirituality

Divine spontaneity

Inner tranquility

A new creation reality

Every disciple's duty

To serve humanity

This is the greatest miracle

When a hardened sinner yields

To God's salvation call

To receive Jesus as Savior

Letting go of all

Lest he horribly fall

From a fall however

God above does lift you

Reposition you

To live victoriously

Commit your life wholeheartedly

Receive from above abundantly

It is then

Jesus by His Spirit

Walks into your life mightily

Empowering, equipping and perfecting you

For it is most Miraculous

God becoming a man

To do for humanity

All He can

Taking your hand

Desiring to be with you everyda y

God multiplies your efforts

As you endeavor to do things His way

Wisdom, power and love

Blessings from above

These are the things God thinks of

For this reason

He has drawn near to you

Through Jesus during this season

Though it was a supreme sacrifice

Christ did not make a fuss

Because the way of God

Is continually Miraculous!

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

Paul is a life coach (relational & professional), creative consultant, humor being, adventurer, explorer, mediator, and liberator.

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 served many in war-torn, impoverished and tsunami stricken regions of the earth. His organization Dream-Maker Minis tries 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

Watch his Miraculous ministry videos below to see Supernatural power flow. http://www.DreamMakerMinistries.com, http://www.CreativeCommunications.TV


Author:: Paul Davis
Keywords:: miracles happen everyday,Miraculous,Supernatural,Divine,God,Jesus,Holy Spirit,Anointed,Signs,Wonders
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Manco Capac: and the Sickle of Death NOW! in Spanish and English

Manco Cpac:
And the Sickle of Death

(1)

Manco Capac lived a long, long life,
If measured, longer than any man alive
But even to him came the cup of death

The Master of the Sun, the Sun God
Called to The son of no race, bright
As the sun and most, most handsome:

Commander, go down and tell
Manco Capac about his death to be,
So he may arrange for deposition

A declaration of his possessions
For I have made him a rich man
The wealth of servants and plenty

Thus, the commander left his abode
Earth bound, and went down to
Manco Capac at the foot of the Andes

There he found this righteous man
In the nearby fields with his servants:
Hail, hail, hail, Father of the Incas!

I come from the Golden City of the
Sun, sent by the Great King of Heaven,
To provide for your successor (departure)

Manco Capac and the Commander
Walked by a huge rock, it talked, said,
In a hu man soft spoken voice:

Holy, holy, is the God of the Sun,
For He summons you, and loves you
Loves and wants you to come home!

Manco Capac pretended not to hear
To hear, as he and the Commander
Walked, and talked, in the courtyard

(2)

Manco Capacs servant said (with awe),
To Mama Ocllo (his devoted wife):
The Commander who is with your husband

is not of our race, nor lives on this earth.
Manco Capac then washed the feet of
The Commander; after that, saw a wonder:

The tears of the Commander turned
Into drops of silver and goldmixed.
Pure silver and pure goldmixed.

(3)

Then the Commander rose in a clap of an
eye, and stood in front of God and said:
Master, Lord, I cannot bring death

upon the house of Manco Capac;
For he is the mot gracious, truthful
And merciful man alive on earth

The Lord said to the Commander:
Go down and keep him company;
Eat with him , and do as he asks

I will give you an all devouring spirit
and I will send the Holy Spirit of God
And a dream unto his servant (to interpret)

(4)

And so it was, the Commander sat
With Manco Capac, at his table and
Prayed and ate with him according

to custom; and they rested the same.
And so it was, the servant wished to
Remain with Manco Capac, but could not

he was told to go rest, it was his wish.
In the middle of the night the servant
Woke up on the fourth hour, in fright

he had had a vision, heard Death talking;
Thus, he run to Manco Capac, and cried:
Death has come! and Manco cried

and so did the Commander cry.
Mama Ocllo then left her room,
Found everyone in tears, and she cried,

but asked: Why is everyone crying?
When Mama Ocllo heard the Commander
Speak she knew he was set apart, holy.

(5)

Said Mama, to her much-loved husband:
Do you not know who t his man is?
Then Manco Capac thought and spoke:

I have lied; I know he is very sacred
A Holy Messenger, from the Sun
I see his brightness, of all things.

And Mama Ocllo knelt down and cried:

Glory be to God, who is bright
With wonders; and husband, she asked,

Let us now look at the revelation
Before us; be it for good or evil? and
Glory be to God, who is like the sun

(6)

Then Manco Capac left his wife to talk
to his servant about his vision;
Said the servant with fear and wonder:

I saw all the stars turn into the sun;
I saw the sun turn into a man;
And he was, descending to earth.

And Manco Capac, knew all the stars being one
Was his God, and the sun was the light
The Commander was bringing to him

from the Almighty. And the Commander
Said, It is time for you to leave earth
Journey to God in the form of your soul;

Said Manco Capac: Is it you then
Who de sires to take my soul from me?
Said the Commander with estrangement:

I am Gods messenger, announcing
Gods intentions. Then the Commander
Disappeared; went back into the heavens!...

(7)

The Commander told the Almighty Master
All that took place, and all that was said.
God then told the Commander, Ask him

Why he is resisting Me; and not one of my
Prophets have escaped the mystery of death.
All have been gathered by the Sickle of Death (?)

(8)

And with the Commander God sent Death
And it came to pass, soon after Manco Capac
Seen Death dressed up in Great Beauty:

And Death greeted him, as if to seduce
Him with beautiful words; but Manco Capac
Call Death, Liar, Death is not beautiful.

But Death said, To the righteous
I am beautiful, to the sinnerdecay,
Do not be deceived, to the sinner

I bring much fear, destruction, dismay;
And to you, blessed man, a crown of honor!...< br> And Death showed him two heads; one called

decay, it had a dragons face. The other
Like a golden Tumi, bright as the sun.
And Death said, Go with the Commander.

(9)

And Manco Capac, said to Death, Show
Me now your hands, and Death did. In
One hand he had a Golden Tumi, and

in the other was the keys to the gates
Of the Sun; then the Inca prophet knelt
Prayed to the Almighty, closing his eyes;

And Death called to God, clutching the
Moment: as God looked down, He snatched
His soul, and drew him up to his kingdom.

Notes by the Author [note #1: In l993, I had two heart attacksone bad one, and bad stroke, the stroke I had during surgery that doctors said, You were a fruitcake, meaning, I was destroyed by the stroke on the operating table, at that time, and afterwards, my left side paralyzed and much more. Each day for three days, I saw a huge man standing at the end of my bed, thinking it wa s the doctor, only to find out, it was not; he was there early in the mornings, about 5:00 AM., by himself; I was able on the third day to read again, prior to this, words and letters were distorted, nor could I figure out the numbers on a telephone. It took me three months to learn how to play the guitar again, and at the time, I had played the guitar for 35-years; the point being here, is that Death perhaps was waiting in a white gown? There are 72-deaths, so it has been written. And as we all know, it has been appointed to man to die, be he a believer in God or not; somebody has made this decision, or something. And so in writing this poetic story, I knew how death would knock on Manco Capacs door; and perhaps this was how it happened.

Note #2: It should be noted also that, Manco Capac ordered the construction of a structure, consisting of three windows, at his birth site, so legend would have it; such as one might see at the archeological site of Machu Picchu; th us, it had been pointed out, he most likely came from there.

#784 8/6/2005
Partly Written in Bayfield, Wisconsin 8/2005
While resting, otherwise in St. Paul, MN
By Dennis L. Siluk

Versin en Espaol

Manco Cpac:
Y la hoz de la muerte

(1)

Manco Cpac vivi una vida larga, larga,
De ser medida, ms larga que cualquier hombre
vivo. Pero an para l lleg la copa de la muerte.

El Amo del sol, el dios Sol,
Llam a El hijo de ninguna raza brillante
Como el sol y ms, ms hermoso:

Comendador, baja y dile a
Manco Cpac acerca de su muerte que ser,
As l puede organizar su relevo.

Una declaracin de sus bienes
Ya que lo he hecho un hombre rico
El ms rico en sirvientes y abundancia.

As el Comendador dej su morada
Y se dirigi a la tierra, y fue hacia
Manco Cpac a los pies de Los Andes.

All, el encontr a este hombre honrado
En los campos cercanos con sus criados:
te salu do, te saludo, te saludo, Padre de los Incas!

Vengo, desde la Ciudad Dorada del Sol,
Enviado por el Gran Rey del Cielo
Para proveerte de tu sucesor (por tu partida)

Manco Cpac y el Comendador
Caminaron por una enorme roca, sta habl, dijo
En una voz suavemente humana:

Santo, santo, es el Dios del sol, por
Emplazarte, y amarte- Amarte
Y querer que t vengas a casa!

Manco Cpac, pretendi no or
or, mientras l y el Comendador
Caminaban, y hablaban, en el patio

(2)

Los sirvientes de Manco Cpac dijeron (con temor)
A Mama Ocllo (su esposa fiel)
el Comendador quien est con tu esposo

no es de nuestra raza, ni vive en esta tierra.
Manco Cpac luego lav los pies
Del Comendador; despus de esto, vio un milagro:

Las lgrimas del comendador se volvieron
En gotas de plata y oromezclados.
Pura plata y puro oromezclados.

(3)

Luego el Comendador se elev en un guio de ojo
Y est uvo enfrente de Dios y dijo:
Amo y Seor, no puedo traer la muerte

..sobre la casa de Manco Cpac;
Por que l es el ms amable, honesto
Y misericordioso hombre vivo sobre la tierra

El Seor le dijo al Comendador:
Ve abajo y mantn compaa con l,
Come con l, y haz lo que l te pida

Yo te dar todo un espritu devorador
y enviar al Espritu Santo de Dios
Y sobre sus servidores un sueo (para interpretar)

(4)

Y as, esto fue, el Comendador se sent
Con Manco Cpac, en su mesa
y rez y comi con l segn

sus costumbres, y ellos descansaron igual.
Y fue as, que el sirviente dese
Permanecer con Manco Cpac, pero no pudo

l fue dicho ir a descansar, ste era su deseo
En el medio de la noche, el criado
Se despert, en la cuarta hora, en temor

l haba tenido una visin, oy a la muerte hablando;
As, el corri hacia Manco Cpac, y grit:
La muerte ha venido y Manco Cpac, llor
y as tambin el C omendador llor.
Mama Ocllo luego dej su cuarto,
Encontrando a todos en lgrimas, y ella llor,

pero pregunt: Por qu todos estn llorando?
Cuando Mama Ocllo oy al comendador
Hablar, ella supo que l era santificado, santo.

(5)

Dijo, Mama, a su esposo muy amado:
T no sabes quin es este hombre?
Luego Manco Cpac pens, y habl:

he mentido; yo s que el es muy sagrado
Un mensajero santo, del Sol
Veo resplandor, de todas las cosas.

Y Mama Ocllo se arrodill y llor:
Gloria sea a Dios, que es radiante
Con maravillas; y esposo, ella pregunto,

Djanos, ahora mirar la revelacin
Ante nosotros; sea eso para bien o mal! y
Gloria sea a Dios, Quien es como el sol

(6)

Luego Manco Cpac, dejo a su esposa hablar
con su sirviente acerca de su visin;
Dijo el sirviente con temor y maravillado:

Vi todas las estrellas convertirse en sol;
Vi al sol convertirse en hombre;
Y l estaba, desc endiendo a la tierra.

Y Manco Cpac, supo que todas las estrellas siendo uno
Era su Dios, y el sol era la luz que el
Comendador estaba trayendo para l

del todopoderoso. Y el Comendador
Dijo, Este es tiempo para ti, de dejar la tierra
Viajar hacia Dios en forma de tu alma;

Dijo Manco Cpac, Entonces eres t quien desea
tomar mi alma
Dijo el comendador con extraeza;

Yo soy el mensajero de Dios, anunciando
..las intenciones de Dios. Luego el Comendador
Desapareci. Regreso al cielo!...

(7)

El Comendador dijo al Dios todopoderoso
Todo lo que ocurri, y todo lo que fue dicho.
Dios entonces dijo al Comendador, pregntale a l

Porqu esta resistindose a Mi; y ninguno de mis
Profetas ha escapado del misterio de la muerte.
Todos han sido atrapados por la Hoz de la Muerte (?)

(8)

Y con el Comendador, Dios envi la muerte
Y sta vino a pasar, pronto despus que Manco Cpac
Vio la m uerte vestida en Gran Belleza;

Y la muerte lo salud, como si lo sedujera
Con palabras bellas; pero Manco Cpac
Llam a la muerte Mentirosa, la muerte no es bella.

Pero la muerte dijo; para el honrado
soy bella, para el pecadorpodredumbre..,
No seas engaado, por el pecador

Yo traigo mucho miedo, destruccin, consternacin;
Y para ti, hombre bendito, una corona de honor!...
Y la muerte le mostr dos cabezas, una llamada

.. putrefaccin, sta tenia la cara de dragn. El otro
Como un Tumi de oro, brillante como el sol.

Y la muerte dijo, Ve con el Comendador

(9)

Y Manco Cpac, dijo a la muerte Mustrame
Ahora tus manos, y la muerte lo hizo. En
Una mano l tenia un Tumi de oro, en la

.Otra mano estaban las llaves de las puertas del sol;
entonces el inca profeta se arrodill
Rez al Todopoderoso, cerrando sus ojos;

Y la muerte llam a Dios, agarrando el
Momento: mientras Dios miraba abajo , El
arrebat su alma y lo elev hacia su Reino.

Dennis Siluk, Poet http://dennissiluk.tripod.com [you are welcom to visit my website, I made it for you


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

Orion's Orchard Poetic Prose Dedicated to Brynna Siluk

In the universe, the one that surrounds the world (perhaps the mind as well)—someone once threw a ball—I do believe—somewhere, and it exploded—, somewhat: which slowed everything down a bit, and its thrust (its push, in all directions) is still keeping it airborne: carried by the push that was set in motion (so very long ago); hence, when it loses its momentum, it will crash, I do suppose, and all that is, will be the ball (its substance: what is hanging on to it, in it): that is all that will be left, everything else just: waves, just waves in nothingness what, that one person once made thrust out of; as a result, nothingness and all that it created will come to some kind of a standstill (I repeat)—it has to: for what will carry it? Save, that that someone does not create something else out of some kind of new anything. It’s how it was, how it had to be, how else could it have been: come about to surround the world, with all its t̵ 7;s crossed, and i’s dotted. We normally don’t think this way, lest we want the mind to become mad.

I heard a voice in this dream of my mind, it said, “I am immortal, I sit behind the suns, and I write epitaphs of all, all the living things, then I open up their lips, an endless task it seems at times: the zenith of life comes from nothingness—and I, I hear their dying wish: to remain, to be something; eyeless faces, that is what you all were once, but by My graces so you became, and they become—more.

Orion’s illumed by my side, showers Me like a rainbow with its gasses, breathless orchard: it is the magnificent mocker of the universe: perhaps you would call it such, perchance: Baudelaire’s fantasy; or Poe’s Twilight; or Clark A. Smith’s perilous deep orchards; George Sterling’s musical images, ghostly lights; Dennis Siluk’s murmur, bemused silence; Ellis’ epigrammatic flight of the imaginati on. I touch, only touch (lest I destroy my own makings): only touch beyond its burning drums, into the winds of nothingness—what I created it all from. The horse head: it roars like a volcano, a moat around me; the Universe is like a squeezing viper, a sacrificial rip in all the proportions I’ve carved out of the thrust, as you call it, from the push: I fixed it for you: the watcher from earth.”

#1366 6/5/2006

Comment by the Author: “Here is a cosmic poem of sorts, which I hope you enjoy; I do trust this briefly and vividly will exposes the element of suggestiveness of the beauty of God’s vast universe.”

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com Poeta Laureado de San Jeronimo de Tunan, Peru


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

Translation

Reflections Concerning the Translation of Poetry

Thinking about various modes of translating Poetry it occurs to me that a translation that respects the rules of grammar must [inevitably be a false translation of the original [the matter of originality will be discussed below because a poem -- a true poem -- is a poem [the repetitiousness is deliberate here that reflects on Poetry as all true poems do while pretending to say something important about life, love, n ature, mankind, death, religion, reality or whatever it pretends to be saying -- a true poem -- regardless of whether it is ancient, classical, romantic, symbolic, modern, contemporary, postmodern or whatever it is or has been made to be -- a true poem cannot, must not, will not respect the rules of grammar --

  • grammar is the police of Poetry
  • grammar is the IRS of Poetry
  • grammar is the CIA of Poetry
  • grammar is the Gestapo of Poetry
  • grammar is worse than a concentration camp
  • grammar dictates and to dictate is to be dictatorial
  • grammar exterminates true Poetry
  • grammar forces the one who translates into submission to the rules of
  • grammar
  • grammar destroys true Poetry

The day grammar was invented Poetry was enslaved -- only those poets who revolted against this enslavement wrote true poems -- [the readers of these reflections concerning the translation of Poetry can make their own list of poets who have revolted -- mine is already made and so to render the grammarlessness [thank you sam of a true poem one must not -- one cannot be faithful to the original because faithfulness would by necessity [and by obligation introduce grammar into the new version in whatever language it has been translated --

but there lies the ambiguity, the inescapable ambiguity and the paradox of translating a true poem because a translated poem that rejects the rules of grammar can only be a falsification of the original poem -- it has to be a false translation just as a translation that respects the rules of grammar is a fals e translation --

only the original can be a true poem but since poems always borrow or steal from other poems then the act of Poetry is always an act of plagiarization and as such a true poem is in fact a false poem -- this is why the act of translating Poetry is a futile act just as the act of writing Poetry is a futile act since one can never write a true poem -- only the first poem was true but it quickly got lost, erased, forgotten into subsequent poems -- and so to write Poetry is to lose ground [I stole this from my Roumanian friend Emile Cioran --

[when Cioran told me that I replied then why kill oneself to write Poetry since one always kills oneself too late -- why write to say exactly what one wanted to say in the first place or what others have tried to say in vain --

[those who disagree with the above reflections can reflect on the subject by themselves -- I merely wanted to share these reflections with those who may not have reflected on the question of translating Poetry -- or cannot do so -- these reflections apply also to the translation of fiction -- I thank you for your attention

www.zhongguofanyi.com
www.htffy.com

A pro translator


Author:: Louis Z
Keywords:: htf translation
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

For the Love of Poetry

Work is love made visible.

And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gates of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy.

For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man's hunger.

~Kahlil Gibran

The Prophet (pg 28)

I absolutely love to write Poetry. Nothing fills my world with joy more than grabbing my favorite pen, a notebook, some quiet time and sitting down to give birth to a new poem. I liken it to giving birth since it is often a painstaking process and can take up more than a few hours of my time. The end result is my baby. Most of my babies end up here at Writing.com waiting for precious feedback from you, the reader.

In regards to the quote above by Kahlil Gibran, he is speaking of cooking which can, again, be compared to Writing a poem. Poems cannot be written with indifference, for if they are they leave your reader hungry for more. They can also leaveiyou/i hungry for more. They must be written with love. People who don't love to write Poetry often make poor poets leaving us, their readers, not satiated and wondering why they bother to write at all.

To love Poetry, you must love words, sounds, and Rhythm and it helps if you have an affinity for Similes, Metaphors, Allusions, Personification and even some Rhyme. (There are many other items but these are just the basics.) Without these tools poems often come out trite and bland. Most of these tools can be found on the web so I won't go into detail, but will give you some brief definitions (from dictionary.com).

Words and Sounds: you all know what words and sounds are so I won't bore your with definitions

Rhythm (I used definition seven as I felt it fit Poetry the best): the pattern of recurrent strong and weak accents, vocalization and silence, and the distribution and combination of these elements in speech.

Simile: a figure of speech in which two unlike things are explicitly compared, as in she is like a rose.

Metaphor: a figure of speech in which a term or phrase is applied to something to which it is not literally applicable in order to suggest a resemblance, as in A mighty fortress is our God.

Allusion: a passing or casual reference; an incidental mention of something, either directly or by implication

Personification: the attribution of a personal nature or character to inanimate objects or abstract notions, esp. as a rhetorical figure.

Rhyme: identity in sound of some part, esp. the end, of words or lines of verse.*

*Note that Rhyme doesn't have to be at the end, it can be internal Rhyme as well./i

So, if you love Poetry as much as I do, go out there and show us by using all the tools you can to make a beautiful work of art that can be enjoyed for many years to come! Let your love of Poetry shine through!

Terry J. Coyier is a 37-year-old college student studying for an Associates of Applied Sciences degree. She is also a freelance writer who writes about a varietry of topics. She lives with her son in the Dallas/Ft. Worth Metroplex. Terry is an author on http://www.Writing.Com/ which is a site for Writers and her personal portfolio can be viewed here.


Author:: Terry Coyier
Keywords:: Poetry,Writing,Metaphor,Simile,Personification,Allusion,Rhyme,Rhythm
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Sunday, August 26, 2012

The Macabre Poems Part Three: poems: 3456

34) Eros Ploy

From her mind to her clitoris,
To her nipples and lips,
Wooed like a bird perched on a stick:
She melted like butter
Until there was no other.

35) Tagaririm (Arch devil Belphegor)

He speaks only in Aramaic, calling up the dead
For vagary, spells and signs, to hide
The Atziloth scrolls, until the four heavens divide,
Untiluntil the end of time.

From different worlds, his powers come
Briah, Yetzirah and Asiahwhere immortal veils
Never meet (Neschamah, Ruach and Nephesch);
And questing armies never die.

Lo, Samaul, Evil Spirit of the soul, waits for thee,
Thy signature O Belphegor
To unroll the scroll,
Bearing the names of angelic beings and demonic foes.

36) Dream Maker [Part 1 of 5

Who crafts a dream
Puts us to sleep!
What ear shall hear
Or balance meet
To wake us up
Upon our feet?

II: Comes the Dream

Comes the dream,
An inkling m emory
Sealed tightclasping
In a darkened room
(In soul-vaults).

III: Ancient Scrolls

Endless mysteries
Of the spirits plight
Weave the inner twilight.
Unending sunsgloom!
Ancient dreams and scrolls.

IV: Sleeping Mind

In each sleeping mind,
Light can seldom find
The formless decay,
Of ones dragging worlds
To be left, behind;

For heavens melody,
Darkness lurks
As the mind hovers:
The strains seep out
Lo! Bend the vine:
Let the sunsets in, Awaken
(Alls forgotten).

V: Lonely, Lost

The Dream-maker shouts:
I found songs unsung,
Lonely, lost a while,
Unto and into thy grief,
Thy grief, my grief now sung.

Ah! Death has lost its sting:
And dreams have lost
Their pulse
Thou shalt not wake this time,
The Dream-maker shouts.

37) The Macabre Serpent of Space

With chilling sarcophagus grimace,
The ill-omen serpent appeared
From out of the shadows of space

Lo! More ancient than man, it thirsts for a name
A place in unutterable space
Yet, only blacknesscul-de-sac.

38) C.A. Smith

The cypress blows over my grave:
Oh would I hide from you
Yet I writeall the same.

Ah! I am a ghost:
With shadows above me
And demon ears below.

April 17 2004, Lima, Peru.

Published on the Eldritch Dark website; a favorite of my friends, Phillip Ellis.

39) I. The Woods in the Sea

Upon the throne, of the moon,
Across the land, into the sea,
He treads: walks endlessly
For the entire world to see.

The wind is from the north,
The bright stars rest in the west,
The gift of second-sight
Resides within his chest.

He knows he cannot rest
For unseen shores yet to come
From lands both dim and gray,
Lands of new outcomes.

Published on the Eldritch Dark website 6/04

40) II: Shadow of Fate

I f one lives with the god of hate,
High or low be he,
Such is his fate.

41) III: Talons

I will weave the pale shadows
(Time lost, time forgotten):
All into pallid brows
Onto the strangers talons:
While I sink into the board-walk
Let him tell his tall tales.

42) IV: Wild Stones

Who is the witch, the demon
The culprit and the ghoul?
I could not tell for the life of me:
So I forgave them, one and all.

And then I slept a long sleep
(Forgiving is quite a chore)
Then, when I woke to meet the day,
Love had conquered all.

43) V: Satans Sidekicks

The men that chum with Satan
Their hearts cannot forgive;
They see no more in love,
Than mercy can see to give.

The men that chum with Satan
Their gods are many and small;
They drift away like white ghosts
Climbing demonic walls.

The men that chum with Satan
Seldom can they sleep;
And through their nightmar e visions,
With flames and smoke they leap.

They walk the earth alonethey do,
Strange, deep with palest eyes.
Always thinking they were cheated:
With footsteps dogged by lies.

And in the halls of Belshazzar
Their ghostly eons twist and twine;
Always knowing naught of hope,
Beyond the blazing line.

44) VI The Great Flood of 51

The night is dark, the Mississippi
Lies asleep;
Velvet mists veil the blood-spattered moon
(With hoary strange eyes):
Restless with hazy fear, and slumber
Of her sleep
(White thunder in the skies).
She hears the whisper of the
Ghostly storm (booming far
Encircling near)
Glide overnightoverheadready:
To be born (like a hammer of Thor).
I shall go forth! she hears:
And down the scarlet veil, hails
Triumph is in its roarthe storm:

Roads, men, levee and homes
Cliffs and bridges tossed about:
The untamable god has freed the clouds.

Continuation from the: Macabre Poems

45) Poes Legacy

If Poe hadnt have been born

Thered have been no rapping or tapping
(at least for a whileat my door?)
Nor would there had been morbid beauty
with depth and sin
That circles the globenor HPL and CAS.
What a mundane life (it would have been)
without the devils pen.

I gripped the legacy: lying on savage ground,
the third-eye of the hunter, filled with wax
calls for breath, in the silent Valley of Shock;
thus, stungI remain, by the fruitless trees
of horrorthen I hear a whisper:

Lord, help my poor soul.

June 4 2004

Inspired by Phillip Ellis.

46) Loving in Limbo

Mother! Mother!
My precious one!
To whose dearest love Will harmony run?
Oh! Thy will it is
In the winters to cross
Or lay simply still
Like Octobers frost;
Now my form is cold
(As in trance Im snared)
Keeping heart and soul
With songs th readbare?

June 6 2004

47) Mystery of Mysteries

Were born alone, as shall we die
Looking at the hour of drifting
A Mystery of Mysteries!
We are pitifully helpless things.

The Watchmans guardian eye,
For Himit is not loneliness;
The drumming of the unguided
Lends allurementwith chanting nearby.
In life and death, two faces pry;
One shall overshadow: they cry

Be it night or day, though face may frown,
Unready for the final dawn
And pandemonium near, throbbing:
Comes the drifting of the hour
As were born, we die: alone
A Mystery of Mysteries!

48) Rosinina Tapi of the Sacred Valley

It was long, long, so long ago
in the Sacred Valley of Peru,
wherein a maiden lived, no one really knew,
by the name of Rosinina Tapi
and this maiden lived with no other thought:
than to live out her life within this sacred spot.

I was a Prince and She was to be,
in this kingdom o f the Sacred Valley;
we fell in love: ardent and unconditionally,
I and my Princess to be
with a cherished worship, that only Heaven
could see.

And so it was, that long, long ago
in this kingdom in the Sacred Valley
a ghostly wind blew to and fro
(out of a void no one knew):
after my lovely Rosinina Tapi,
thus inspiring her kinsmen
to take her away from me.
They hence shut her upin a eerie vault
Within the kingdom of the Valley.

Ah! the devils, the devils, that dwelt in Hell,
Were envying her and I
Oh yes!twas their quest
(as all knew within the Sacred Valley),
that the ghostly wind that blew to and fro
through the cracks of the earth:
had seized and killed my Rosinina Tapi.

And sad was I, to bury my dreams,
(such memories that had to be):
and under the moonbeams, my beautiful Rosinina Tapi
was buried within the Sacred Valley.

49) The Ancient Sharra

You that r est in utter and gloomful darkness
Who come from the middle of the world
The Sharra Indians with shrunken heads,
Colored feathers, blow-guns with
Fearful darts,
Along the equators rimthat doesnt spin
To you I pour forth my autumn nights.

Note: 4/20/04: written during a visit at the Middle of the World at the Ecuador (000)

50) Satans Galapagos

By the dark shadows
Vowed to Lucifer,
By his sealed prophets
Foreshown,
By these, by these I claim
Thee
By trickery, wine and sorcery
I have tried to bend thy
Footsteps
In the peaceful Galapagos.

April 24 2004; Lima, Peru

Note: written returning from the Galapagos, to Lima, Peru; many strange and disruptive incidents, occurred.

51) Fading Worlds

Behind a great shadow,
A world fades
This is the price of beauty
How many stars are lost
This way
Lost within the oceans,
Fading skies?
So many lost worlds die.

< p>In memoriam Clark Ashton Smith April 10 2004, Lima, Peru; revised May 5 2004.

52) Lost Souls

Shadows of the lost souls,
If you call on them,
Will never let you go.

April 17 2004, Lima, Peru

53) The Goat mans Fancy

She heard the coming of the Doom
In the silence still of the moon
For, half-enchanted with his stars
In the twilight of his youth,
To the desert he did part.

Now, with the moon unlit,
He left her heart
As if she was to mutter on
And sing his starry, lonesome song!

Henceforth triumphant
Was the Devils rose:
For she poured his devilish poisons, cold
And muttered on, to a new moon.

54) The Hoofed Demon

He heard me not, nor saw
Knowing my presence as he should:
He whispered.

*Ecuador, Quito, 4/25/04

55) Buried Souls

And there his sarcophagus lay
Beneath the towering mountains
Stretching out of the deep, dark sea
(With all its w eight, 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 embraced in this veil of dark
Embraced by looks: face to face
Hungry to fill the emptiness of space.

April 1 2004, St. Paul, Minnesota

56) The Pale Horse of Rano Raraku

Jesus said: Know what is before your face and what is hidden from you will be revealed to you; From: the Gospel of Thomas.

It is to you, to you among the living that I write; for indeed, I may be dead, and am of little concern if so. For the years now that are in the past, the last few in particular, have been years of terror, of intense dread, as circles the world this very moment, to escalate, I do believeescalate around the globe, and so I write this by inspiration of a story I heard:

Into and onto the Isla de Pascua,
Navel of the world (window to the Pacific)
Whose Moai Eyes of towering volcanic stones
Look towards the Heavens,
As if their spirits were trapped, bound within,
Afraid, fearful, frightened, to leave their stone abode,
To face their worldly sins

Thus, rides the Pale Horse of Rano Rarakus rim of Rano Rarakus rim.

Ah, distinctly, eagerly, pacing,
Tis a visitor who comes racing
Into and onto the whisper of Rano Raraku
To catch the first glimpse,
The very first glimpse, peep, and hint of Apocalypse
Deception and pestilence travel with him,
The Pale Horse: Tribulation

Whence comes hail and fire from above, mixed with blood;
The sun, moon and stars darken.

Henceforth, the Pale Horse comes racing, riding,
From the rim of this wondrous volcanic site.
The seventh trumpet is now ready to be blown,
The woes and vials to be poured:
Within the magic and mystery of this story
Rides the Pale Horse dying, dying, d yingdead,
On the rim of Rano Raraku;

Watching, watchingthe stranger, Austrian, grim:
Thus comes the worlds sins;

As he witnesses the painthe horses message:

The God-King is not dead
The God-King is coming.

Inspired by my poet friend, Johannes [2004

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


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

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
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips