In Poetry: Meaning of Words [And ...Rocket-belt]
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 my meaning of words, when they are off; or, is not as I intended them to be. I am not a professor, or perfectionist in/of English, nor need to be, a minor in literature is it and will do, but here is the bottom of the iceberg in poetry-the meaning of words. Write what you mean in words, and mean what the words say in writing poetry; or so I must remember for myself; or at least now and then remind myself; remind myself that poetry is the highest point or form in/of writing. Yet, sometimes I must give up something to get something, but never the meaning of a word. Well, that is how I feel anyhow. Why? it is damaging not only to me, but to the reader.
A poem on Vietnam called:
"Corporal Siluk and the Rocket-belt"
"It's a 'ell of a night
When, out of the clear
"Got to grab our rifles again,"
Dennis Siluk's new book, "Spell of the Andes," presently on http://www.amazon.com; he lives in St. Paul, Minnesota, and Lima, Peru. He is working on two more books, and several short stories.
San Francisco [Almost a Sonnet]
(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Pacific Ocean resides; the year is 1967)
You cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them.
Three Poems [Lima; Judges and Evils Creation]
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,
The Time Has Come and Buzzing
Most of my poems are written late at night, often, as this one was, after I have turned out the lights to go to sleep. It seems that is the time when I am most creative. I hope you enjoy these two poems that talk a little bit about where my ideas come from.
Sleep, Dreams, and a Poem
The Incubus' Flash-light
Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait]
the disease of extremismis infectious-;whoever cannot think oftheir childgrowing up without itis part of the phenomenon! (the choice of the day).fanaticism,--with a powerful ideologyare seeds for suicide!murder: givingreasons to rage!...ask:leninistchehitlerbin ladenthey will show youto a nobleact of death!...(that is what they say).throw out:poverty,the disadvantaged-save the ideology,that is the infected,the choice!?
Whats A Prisoner to Do?
What's a prisoner to do when justice fails and the innocent is escorted off to jail?
The Treasure of Catalina Huanca (In English and Spanish)
Note: written after seeing the little adobe 16th century church San Sebastian, in San Jeronimo, by the mountains of Huancayo, Peru, after being taken there by the Wandering Quechua guide, Enrique (4-13-2005).
Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King]
The Torrents of Hell
The Last King of Mars [A Poetic Mytho]
[As Told by the Last] King: it was in the year 23,700 BC that one of the two moons of earth was hit by a meteor that of which, a great part of the moon broke off and hit earth's surface with a devastating impact. Thus the solar system absorbed a cataclysm in unimaginable proportions, from Jupiter to Mars; knocking Earth out of its 100,000-year Ice Age. This destroyed three civilizations, two on Earth, and ours on Mars. That is when I left my home, on the giant rim of Olympus Mons, fifteen-miles high, over a thousand miles wide. Atlantis was originally on Mars you know; replanted on earth, from our residue and remnants. It happened like this?
Rules for Writing Poetry
You've been writing poetry since that first assignment in your high school writing class. You know the rules about writing poetry, right? Are there rules? Well, if you frequent the poetry forums across the Internet as much as I do, you'd find that there are a lot of amateur poets who adamantly declare that there are no rules for writing poetry and if someone even suggests reading poetry or books on poetry, many of the amateur poets will throw up a defensive front. My opinion seems to swing fervently toward the opposition. You have to know the rules before you break them; at least that's what I always say.
Life is a Fantasy
LIFE IS A FANTASY!
The Poets Corner [Three Poems with a review]
The Poet's Corner[Three poem/ see review of poetry under the poems]
Ole Bulky Jeeps & Paper, Ink and Rain [two Peoms]
Ole Bulky Jeeps
now is not the time to openopen that great door againnot the time to be more tolerantnot the time to play to win
An Old Wood Pile [a poem with notes]
Old skin, once held tightAgainst her skeleton-Rose no more, just drapedLoosely over unpadded flesh;Un-tightened muscles, and tissue,Lost its courage, no-fortitude-,Gone are the days and yearsThat stood against the Indomitable elements; The skeleton, now a landmarkHidden under flesh and bloodGuts and moral fiber, backbone?Collapsed from drudgeryTime, time: cascading inside-.Bones now leaving impressionsAccepting fateLike tarnished silver!...Hands look like autumn leavesFallen from a treeWinter's around the cornerThe door of time is closingLike an old wood pileBeing burnet up-Hard to open thingsHard to do anythingPrecariously balanced-Painfully slow?
Key Largo - Frater Albertus
The Spirits de Copan
Song of the Great Zimbabwe, and Silver and Inca Blood [Poems and notes]
"Song of the Great Zimbabwe"
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