Three Poems (While in Transition/English and Spanish) Here are three more poems by the author, Dennis Siluk, while traveling througout Central and South America. Become A Poet In Ten Minutes Have you ever sat there staring at the paper, ready to write, but unsure where to begin? Want a solution that will overcome even the worst writer's block? Anyone can start writing poetry today using a few simple techniques. Shakespeare's Sonnet XVIII, Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day? Shakespeare’s sonnets require time and effort to appreciate. Chan Chan and The Gorriones (Two Poems in English and Spanish) The following two poems, one in English, the other in English and Spanish were done during this ongoing trip in Peru, while in Lima, although the poem concerning: Chan Chan was oriinally started last year,while at the ancient site in Northern Peru, it was just finished recently. I Saw the Universe I can see the cerulean blue of the skiesOr the indigo of the nightI can see the stars wink, the grin of the moonDuring the changes of it's monthly face**I am in awe**I see the sun on it's annual trekAlternately awakening the life in the earthAnd then fading away to allow it to sleepUntil the next spring**I am told the Universe is "out there"Beyond those stars, moon and sun,Yet the power of what I can seeIs a fathoming beyond my comprehension**I am in awe**"Out there" no time, no seasons passNo sense of age, hatred or loss existOnly the infinity0f the Universe**What IS "out there"?What IS the Universe that has no end?What IS the power that creates all this?I want to see it too**And then I remember. Two Poems: "Black Poncho," and "Spirits of de Copan" [in English and Spanish] English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost in the grottos of Peru— By the hills of Huancayo Black Poncho was given A treasure of gold…; By none other than, Demonic goblins!…in the form of scorching fruit; Hence, Black Poncho fooled The goblins of oldBy using his poncho to pull The sizzling golden fruit Through the Andes to Lima, Peru!…Henceforward, he was swindled By a jeweler of dire repute. Mother, I Don't Mind The Pain I am among those who know that one never recovers from the loss of one deeply loved. Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines - A Poem and an Article Black Blood, in Jeremiah’s Vines [A Dream Poem]And I heard the crackling of wood, and I noticed the Lord God had made men of wood, and fire came from his mouth. Sleep, Dreams, and a Poem The Incubus’ Flash-lightHe looked inside my head And found a dreamHe didn’t like—;As I looked back at him, I found an incubus Shinning a light(and stole this poem from him—last night). Stone Beds [A Poem and an Advance] Stone Beds [Pompeii’s surge]Advance: after the great eruption of Pompeii’s nearby volcano, Vesuvius, some two-thousand years ago in the heyday of the Roman Empire, what was left of the city were mostly ashes of stone from an unleashing furnace; it is hard to imagine what the people went through (none, not one person survived). Rhymes of an Ordnance Man [Vietnam War: 1971] Rhymes of an Ordnance Man [Vietnam War: 1971]An eleven part poem By Dennis L. Review Of Stephen B. Wiley's First Book Of Poetry: HERO ISLAND Poet Stephen B. Hindu Poet - Kamalakanta Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th Century. Three Poems: Phantom of the Rocks; Lady from Lima & Bell Ringer of de Copan Phantom of the Rocks[Huancayo, Peru]Night falls deepUpon the traveler!Low, over the AndesBy Huancayo—;They know a legend,Not of this earth,Where evil lurks(Over Palla-Huarcuan!. Motiff Have you ever experienced infatuation with someone you know is not a good match for you? Or how about an interesting relationship that roots itself deep in your memory. Little Girl from Huancayo [a poem/in English and Spanish] Little girl from HuancayoDo you really, really know? Just how fast those feet will grow,On the streets of Huancayo. Lamenting Poetic Moods [six Poems] Advance: in Mr. The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins Sorry would be a start. Three Poems: The Monkey Man of Lima, Plus Two More What Hides behind the Minute?What hides behind the minute? It seems, no one really knows; How many times will we wakeup, To count the minutes gone?The rose was dead when I arrived; The sword, was rusty and dull; The window curtain was open, And there was music in the hall. A Ship to Remember Hammers. Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet] Let’s follow the poet to his Hell and heaven! Count his Ghosts and dilemma’s…Reach out to touch his Stretched-out skies; let’s follow The poet to see where he lays. Lima, City with the Stretched out Wings [In English and Spanish] Lima, City with the Stretched out WingsIt’s an ink-black night: no stars: a moon in sightJust dots of: red, green and white—white lightsAs the plane descends, descends, slides down On the long-drawn-out—spun-out lingering city of lights Uneven as a crumbled cake, lit up like a Christmas tree—The sleepless city, with its stretched out wingsStretching from the mountains to the sea— Winding through the valley’s, forests, and streams Stretches, stretches its naked wings—endlesslyAs,I’m descending, down, over and around the city (descending, descending, and sliding to the ground)The city with stretched out wings—and endless lights Down, behind, around, the ground, it’s immune to me I’m just part of its evening, a baptism in its inky seaInvisible people: cats, dogs, birds, and rats—infiniteUncountable: dots; streams of lit dots, dot-lights; People: walking, talking, sleeping, eating by the dots People: waiting, killing, robbing, praying, by the dotsFor tomorrow, tomorrow and another tomorrowThey say—:you are ruthless, and I know this to be trueAnd they tell me you have thieves and murders—And this, I dare say—but shall—is also true, very true But show me a city to the contrary of eight-million—? I shake my fist and say: ‘…show me! But no one does’So alive, so brave, with strong and hungry hearts;I say, show me one that sings in poverty and smiles Prove me one that celebrates year-round of its heroes Show me painters that are as good—that sell on streets—As good as: Picasso, Dali, Rembrandt, and Yang YangAnd that welcomes the world with stretched out arms—Show me all this, or some of this, and I will say no moreWith this,I descend to its streets, its crowed winding streetsAs well as, to its neighborhoods with dust and soiled air, And hear the laughs of the children; the dogs on roofs Sights of the shoe-shiners: men and boys, in the parksAnd the numerous food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, covering all—My Lima, Peru with its renowned Cathedral:Golden yellow with towering crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain—celebrated. Three Sweet Poems, and Two Not So Sweet [now in: SPANISH and English] 1) End PoemWherever you are today— Is where you were meant to be; It’s where God, dotted the ‘i’ and the ‘t’…!2) God’s AngelsGod asked his angels: “Why do you look so sad?” Responded one angel: “Sir, we can’t find the shade. Two Poems and a Short Story 1)dying in the bar [sluggishly]yet, I would crawl too upto the bar, it was everything, the dampness the carved wood the zoned-out-ness in my head dreaming; it was better than death? then I took another drink…so many I never moved much, like dead fish. The Poet's Corner [Three Poems with a review] The Poet’s Corner [Three poem/ see review of poetry under the poems]The Poets CondorThe condor fly’s Amongst the hillsIn open skies Of San Jerrónimo, Near Huancayo…Forbidding any To near his path—Lest he dare To risk a attack, Near Huancayo!. Here And There My eyes opened. The Plane from Iquitos [1959-Part One] Iquitos & the Amazon Part OneIt was December 2, l959, I was sitting on a small prop-plane leaving Iquitos, Peru for a trip down the Amazon toward the opening, the mouth of the mighty Amazon,--to Manaus. Biography of Charlotte Bronte Charlotte Bronte (1816 –1855) Novelist and Poet. Ode To Quetzalcoatal [Now in Spanish and English] Ode to QuetzalcóatlQuetzalcóatl the GreatNo one knew his true name, so they Called him Quetzalcóatl—feather Serpent He and his crew of nineteen: faces Strange faces, images of a prince, a lord: King of the Yucatan in the year 986 ADHe was a tall man; long cloths, sandals; White as day, with a long beard, black hair. Expressing an Emotion - The Art of Writing Poetry Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, finding meaning in few words.

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