Poetry Articles & News
Three Poems and Paradise Lost
The Torrents of Hell Hell’s furnace— Likened to a chimney Vomits her torrents Of flames— Into the air Through earths crust And the earth’s 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, ...
Never Ever More
Once upon a midnight dreary, coffee cold and vision bleary, coding spread across the bed sheets, changing syntax as it cascaded, all night sat there writing PASCAL, having checked my final line, I took the floppy from the drive.
Catherine Daly reviews Antidotes for an Alibi
Amy King Antidotes for an Alibi BlazeVox Books ISBN 0-9759227-5-0 2005 These poems read to me like poetry versions of flash fiction. Now, I like flash fiction very much, but I like the more fabulistic kind. Amy King is writing the fabulistic kind of flash fiction -- I want to say, "the good kind" -- in poetry. What does this mean? Well, when lineated, the line breaks in the poems point to the jumps in the narrative. When not, the poems still take the same little leaps ...
Two Poems with Triggers
So Many Einstein’s The morning mist, insists there is a God. The earth remains faithful to its orbit. The comet cries out to a hundred planets. The sun ascends over the horizon. From eight to eighty, so many Einstein’s. The evening dust descends over tired wings. To those who write music, paint poetry, I say: our goal is to make whole the sum; Wherein, reason can dwell among everyone. Dennis, some of that figurative verse is great; Perhaps as good as anyone ...
Two Poems: Boyhood, and Old Age
Boyhood Oh me! Thy glorious days have flown! I mealy noticed, now they’re gone, How quickly passed the flowers! Time does not stop youth’s bells; It was like I was in a spell, And my face now shows the hours! Ah yes! My youthful past days, Still lively in my golden age, When all was quick and new Now wrapped in pictures and books, And friends and family were all I knew And love was shown by friendly looks! #741 6/26/05 Old Age They stop by to see ...
Recollections
I AM SO GRATEFUL for simpler times. Stores were closed on Sundays, TV shows seemed to make more sense, Family members spent ample time with each other, And people were valued more than things.
In Poetry: Meaning of Words
In Poetry: Meaning of Words When I write poetry, I check out the meaning of words for too often they sound the same, but once written, and if spelled wrong, in consequence, give a complete different meaning of what I had intended; this I call a moment of damage control. If my rhyme is flat, and my cadence is off, so what, I can survive, as long as the meaning of my words are not; and are as I meant them to be. Even punctuation can be off, and not do too much damage, but not so with ...
Exalted Poetry; Two poem
Bells for Belphegor!... Where immortal veils never meet Belphegor, Arch devil speaks: In vagaries form, With signs and signatures not yet born—; The Tagaririm, order of the demon: They come to meet, the King Of Hell, and Demons, They come from different worlds— With scrolls, spells, untold powers To hell, to hell to meet—Belphegor.. …and ring the bells, the bells… To ring the bells for Belphegor!... #735 6/2005 A Reason for Existence The reason for ...
Asha of Darfur
Asha of Darfur Cry, cry—oh little Darfur woman For your sister Janjaweed— [in Sudan’s merciless region— who was raped to death); Where rape and death run ramped; And Asha prays the Arabs don’t’ hear Here sobbing little black tears… …in fear she will be chained to a bed In Darfur, by the insidious justice Of the Arabs, who run ramped? Ah, yes! In Darfur you’ve guessed, It is not a crime to raped and arrested; By the very one who raped, and ...
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 ...
San Francisco
(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Pacific Ocean resides; the year is 1967)
Five Poems from Home
Five Poems from Home 1) Remembering: Dorothy Parker [Dedicated to the 1920s Poetess] Let it be said, Dorothy Parker lies dead, cremated to ash and poetry; thus, she died at the ripe old age of seventy-three—. The tiny woman with a big mouth, who got caught in the rain and couldn’t get out: continued to play the game, all the same, like drops of rain upon a pane. #713 6/2005 2) Changing me If I’d not be so frank I’d not create such ...
The King and Delka & Moiromma: the Cold Planet
#25 The King and Delka [Split Mawkishness—on Moiromma /Part V] Sickly Sentimentality I have sought out friends Only to find rawness Of their passion; And the uniformity Of their vision. Who out there can know My cerebral verve? (Only the long dead) By King Moir I [Of Moiromma] Ah! the aimless cosmos come back to his mind as he stands on his balcony looking up into he eerie dark. This he proclaimed to the ski: that evil and ugliness are ...
Two Poems and an Analysis
Two Poems and an Analysis [‘Witness,’ & ‘An Old Love’] Witness My face belongs to whoever sees it Everything has a meaning but life Even the bugs strive for existence God saved man, from God Ghosts have lonely sins Her bones are stones Up and down the hill Gardens blossom Spotless skies Dramatists August I can not rest!... #708 6/3/05 An Old Love Around the world from me are the many lands I’ve seen— I, who have longed all his life, that ...
To My Friend, With Love
All is still; all quiet; The world seems to be at peace. My soul is singing its rhythmic melody And I'm led like in a trance to write its tunes. The lyrics are for you. The essence of friendship.
Lord Byron's She Walks in Beauty
Lord Byron’s opening couplet to “She Walks In Beauty” is among the most memorable and most quoted lines in romantic poetry. The opening lines are effortless, graceful, and beautiful, a fitting match for his poem about a woman who possesses effortless grace and beauty.
Ode, to the Mighty Midget Omac
Part One Midget History I am thirty-six inches tall, that is all— Honest to god I am My hair is green, my eyes red, and I Have a very thick neck My eyebrows are thin, and my beard Has three hairs… And I bore abuse, when I was young Yes! It happened to be; day by day… …folks laugh at me, my appearance You see…I make them appalled. . I am middle aged, not very old, nor am I: pious, poor, or a fool; My wrinkles and blemishes are ...
Three Love Poems
Advance: Mr. Dennis Siluk's poetry can have its fire-hearted twists: as with 'Lovers'...', and 'Death...' and the 'Loves's Curse';but love can carry with it, luring assets, especially in these three poems, as you will soon see; two of which he calls sonnets. He sings a dim song, but it all seems to fit in the river of bitter waters; or salty waters. Be that as it may, they are worth the adventure in reading them, weary as they may be. For those ...
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 –1855) Novelist and Poet. Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev. Patrick Bronte,with her sisters Emily and Anne, Charlotte was brought up in a small parsonage in the Yorkshire village of Haworth. Whilst still in her childhood the Bronte sisters lost their mother and as the eldest Charlotte took up the a role of looking out for her sisters Emily and Anne. Charlotte was described as: "the motherly friend and guardian of her younger sisters," The sisters ...
Two Poems on the Traditions of Peru
Atahualpa’s Game [Peruvian] Sometimes, it’s not wise To share your wisdom ---as did, Atahualpa (The Inca King) in the Game of chess; thereafter, He was condemned to death. 6/6/05 #713 Note: Atahualpa, was the most famous of the Inca Kings, in the 16th century of Peru, I do relieve, and was held for ransom by the Spaniards. And legend has it, because of a chess game, he was killed, while Catalina Wanka was on her way bringing Gold for his freedom, of which she ...
Four Poems: Grendel's nature...the Racetrack...counting days...
Grendel’s Divorce You must know that I do not hate And that I hate you, Because everything dead has two Sides; A sound is one arm of the quiet, Ice has its warm half. I hate you in order to start hating you To begin life again And never to stop hating you: That is why I do not hate you yet. I hate you, and I do not hate you, As if I carried Locks in my pocket: to a past of A feeble, crumbling joy— My hate has two lives, in order to Hate ...
Mechanical Poetry; Part Two
What do you do when you want to write poetry? I hope your answer is "I start writing." Even writing a bad poem is better than waiting for the "right words." You can always throw it away, and the process has begun. You'll start to find the words sooner than if you had just waited. Here are some more ways to get started.
Ballade of an Inca King
Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and land Says the Inca King…; In Spain, they leave the bustling streets, For sail to Peruvian shores; The murmur of the gold is sweet, It glows and glistens like the sun A mountain of gold, or the grave Awaits the human, Inca-god…! Spaniards sing their songs of victory Where breaks the green Peruvian sea; Who now, worships the Inca King (?) Guarded behind prisons doors—? They chatter about his golden rings They ...
Two Poems: San Jeroniom Brook &
Fair Andes! Thy arms reach high Of iron-woven solid stone Thu art a condor to the sky Of glory hidden in thy heart So many paths, a maze of art… In thy old, Mantaro Valley Where adobes, breathe and tremble Beyond your rustic shadows There lays the prettiest of brooks Is my heart, within its stream! My image deeply carved, rippled In its undiluted shallow waters Waiting, just waiting for me… As it opens up, opens up my ...
Expressing an Emotion The Art of Writing Poetry
Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, finding meaning in few words. A melody of passion flowing out onto the pages, words that flow into each other and yet express the inner most thoughts and feelings of those who read the words. Writing poetry is a gift, a wonderful gift, being able to illuminate words so that they form a picture, express a feeling and share a thought in so few words. Unlike telling a story or writing a novel that explains every intricate detail a poem leaves ...
The Ballad of: Brawling Mad dog Sergeant Rook
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 ...
Five Mixed Poems,w ith notes
1. Night in Jamaica [Peruvianism: 1810] It was a rainy night they say When don Simon Bolivar Slept in the arms of beautiful —Luisa Crober (of Jamaica); thus an Assassin missed his mark When he stabbed Major Amestoy Sleeping in the dark In Bolivar’s hammock!... #719 6/7/05 2. Sacred Something Love for love curse for curse what you plant (in the furrow): is what you get tomorrow. 6/8/05 #720 3. Epitaph in El ...
Four Poems: Two for the Devil, Two for Peru
Here is some witty poetry (not sure if that is the proper word: witty, but it will do): one poem on the Aztec year 2012, a year that has been in the public's eye quite a lot; one on cloning, and the biblical end time events--which, if I may add seems ripe for the monster events that are said to take place; and two poems dealing with some tradtions of Peru; one imparticular, on vacationing, where not to go; all the makings for some thought.
Way of Life: Rhymes of the Inca
Way of Life: Rhymes of the Inca Pizarro (Spanish conquistador ((1525)) The blind follow the blind The dumb follow the fool But the cleaver, like ‘Pizarro,’ (who could not read or write) Followed human-nature… And ruled the Inca world! Thus, Atahualpa was Beheaded out of pride and Indolence—: one might say, And ignorance ruled… . Note: don Francisco Pizarro #689 5/27/05 Cepeda the Sly [Lima, Perú—l546 AD] Cepeda the Sly—, judge With two sides; one ...
The Shrewdness of Catalina Wanka