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 you, That is why I hate you, when I do

Do not hate you, And also why I hate you when

I do…!.

#700 6/1/05

Grendel’s Waiting

Do not go far off, for more than a

Moment; because—because— It’s difficult to say this: a moment is not, Not long, and Grendel will be waiting For you, as in an empty cave, Nothing is safe.

Don’t be alone, even for an hour, Because—because—Grendel’s

Friends, full of anguish will run, Run after you, choking the life Out of your heart…

…oh, hide your silhouette, yes Never dissolve it, just hide it,

Hide it, eyelids and all into an Empty space; fine my Friend,

Because—because—in that moment You wander off, you will have gone

So far, you will not come back; and And love will remain here dying?

#701 6/2005

Counting Days [Prose poetry]

Each day I wake-up I Thank God for another—; for today is only today. It has its own history you might say, which consumes all of the past for me.

When I look back, it seems the days, no longer days (rather history now) come and gone, had wings on.

I do not want to swallow-up tomorrow, it will come and pass, and be consumed like a burning patch of autumn leaves.

#703 6/2005

Papa Augusto’s Hipódromo [At the Racetrack in Lima, Peru—5/2005]

While I sit here, in the open, drifting in myself, I must have stared a long time down the racetrack, beyond the horses, someone yells “Trifecta!” everyone’s in my space I won!!

#707 6/1/05

In these poems we see not only human nature at work [in Grendel], but the nature of the invisible world perhaps, trying to get into Mr. Siluk's poems. A joyful win at the racetracks, and counting days, can be a bore. All made to order for a nice afternoon in reading. Rosa Penaloza