Out of the eight poems provided here [all previously unpublished], four are Poetic Prose, a few Visionary [what I call Vsionary anyhow], a few Free Verse, and a few with more form and structure, more closely to the Auden style of: stanza, metrical rhythm, and rhyme. In saying that, I do believe all the poems are conveying a rich network of meaning, some of them painfully close bond between pleasure and destruction. They should appeal to the senses and create images in our minds, for poetry is just that kind of language that most complexly and effectively qualifies.
Escape
Let me flee from
My vision, my world
My melancholia
My subjectivity;
My world which is
Now a prison-.
I shall change
My poetic harmony
From flesh to spirit
I shall be? a?
I shall be a poem
Yes, O yes a poem
?eternally!...
Moon-Path
As the fire goes out
And the moon comes in!
The flickering skies darken,
Makes a ghostly moon-path?
With the moon upon my face
A skull-like grin takes place
I choke the roaring dark,
To save the flickering moon-path.
Life on a Finger
If this is life on a finger
Why do I feel so dead?
Why does my soul whisper?
Life is more than this.
What has my life been plotting?
While the world cringes and reeks
Humanity clinging so tightly-
As it hides and silently weeps.
differences
I love fruit
and she loves candy
he loves beer
and she loves brandy
everyone makes such
a fuss?
everyone wants
to please-
and toothless
and hairless?
are most people,
I just want
To leave!...
Prose Poetry
[A view]
Poetic Prose: can be musical, without rhythm or rhyme, and still rugged enough to adjust to the impulses of the soul or conscience; or so I believe, and so saying, here are a few I think may qualify for such a test, four in particular:
First of all, I do not claim to be a critic or scholar of Prose Poetry, but I like writing Prose Poetry when I like to wipe fantasy to the side, for some reason it seems less essential for me during this stage. I'm also allowed-or, so it seems-to be a bit more moralistic, in the brief; my imagination can comb my travels more, people more-spontaneity is fresher with Prose Poetry for me. I'm even a bit reckless or eminently, or vividly uninsightful in the sense of hanging on to-or trying to- make a point. Thus, my prose might be called a critical essay, but it is not.
Even Shakespeare tried his version of Blank Verse with Prose. Victor Hugo, whom I visited his house while in Paris one afternoon, and whom is a great poet, as is Baudelaire-in my eyes, used metrical innovations to create prose, where I use very little. But hope to get the same effect. But I have learned in poetry, and perhaps the hard way, it is what occurs to you, that makes it all worth while, and obviously to the reader, who marks its worth; not what occurs to the other person; we have too much of the copycat crap. So here are a few new, freshly out of the oven poems in prose:
Co merchant Wisdom
[End of a life, cut ups-l997]
"?to glance at me?fine carpets on walls?Fish Fly around the room?the fart?water pills?funerals?age often keeps quiet?order a plate of bratwursts?pass out in the vomitorium?we got old?(and he shit in his pants)?water pills (ease heart stress)?boxer shorts?who is God? (he heard his voice once, it sounded like his)?Ah war bigness addiction?the poet aging on the stool?LSD?MTV?Jackson?Dylan?Elvis?Sushi?FBI? (the poet dies ((l997))?Beethoven?is about one man?Genocide?Skeleton?" In the beginning?:
The Brooklyn Bridge
[3/2000] Prose Poetry
The Brooklyn Bridge: she's on a bike, I'm walking. She screams:
"Get out of my way! Get on your own side! Read the damn Sign!" I say: "Fuck you!" (A pause)
It was a burp (kind of)-first words out of my mouth, out of anger?. Then I moved slowly to the proper side of the bridge, its street like walk; and enjoyed the rest of the March skies-
3/21/05 [#573]
A Tired Kiss
Poetic Prose
A kiss of a tired woman: lips of soapsuds, no lip pressure-; tired so long her mind forgot how to tell her lips to form a kiss?. Now soapsuds dance on her lips: form bubbles-depart like ships on voyages. Her kiss forms into a flabby kiss? then more like a hand-shake. Her husband (firm and frank) no longer looks at them; to him they are like dark-clouds about to rain. At one time her husband said: "You were the best!"
#571 [3/19/05]
Benevolent Furniture
Prose Poetry
I own furniture that dream-you know, like it has a life of its own; they speak their own language-; like everything else that circles the sun.
There is no soul involved though, only some, some awareness, with windows and doors; the cascading of rain and snow; assignment to a certain room, things like that.
I don't know what infuriates them, other than the impudent man. So, idol they remain, each to its own, I suppose; waiting for curiosity or admiration to bloom, anything!...
#578 [3/22/05]
Poems to come:
Girl and the Ox
The Cab
Curse of the Toucan Bird
The Lost Ant
The Baggage Room
Staggering
Dennis Siluk lives in the Midwest with his wife Rosa, and in Lima, Peru where he spends a few months out of the year. He has been writing poetry for over 40-years, and has had his poetry published in a number of newspapers, magaziens,books and in about every corner of the world. In l981, his first book was published, "The Other Door: Poetic Exhortations" now worth several times its original value, as seen recently on Ebay, and abe.books, launched a love afair with poetry. His website is: http;//dennisiluk.tripod.com
best cleaning company Lincolnshire ..Let's follow the poet to his Hell and heaven! Count... Read More
The light of all eternity shines with me now /... Read More
Emlyn Williams Theatre, Mold, North Wales: 20th February 2003Clwyd Theatr... Read More
JOINEDHeart beat of man pounding - yet unheard joined... Read More
Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered, Through eighty per... Read More
When I hear your voice inside my head it makes... Read More
If a happiness poem could bring forth a smile, Then... Read More
"How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning was... Read More
In early fall, in Minnesota, the rain falls, falls, In... Read More
Happy, Sad, Mad and Glad, Moved in down the streetCautious... Read More
War bombs may explode demolishing man and land. Hurricanes may... Read More
Do not be afraid to shine. This world needs what... Read More
Bells for Belphegor!...Where immortal veils never meet Belphegor, Arch devil... Read More
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th... Read More
Growing hurts sometimes; saying goodbye to friends, ... Read More
"To My Dear and Loving Husband" was written by America's... Read More
1) End PoemWherever you are today- Is where you were... Read More
AFRICA (to africans in diaspora)africa here i come, africa africa... Read More
I never met a man, who could shake my hand,... Read More
My eyes opened. I am still alive; Living on... Read More
Since my wife and I are moving, or preparing to... Read More
You cannot make someone love you. All you can do... Read More
I am among those who know that one never recovers... Read More
Part One Midget HistoryI am thirty-six inches tall, that is... Read More
Says Mr. Dennis Siluk, when asked to review his poetry... Read More
custom home cleaning Arlington Heights .."I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to... Read More
What do you do when you want to write poetry?... Read More
Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, finding... Read More
Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered, Through eighty per... Read More
Part oneI see them in the skies I hear them... Read More
Time goes by to quickly to hold your feelings inside... Read More
Poet Stephen B. Wiley's first book of poetry, Hero Island,... Read More
She raised me like I was her own daughter from... Read More
I cannot bear to think of when you will be... Read More
I AM SO GRATEFUL for simpler times. Stores were closed... Read More
If you are serious about seeing your work published by... Read More
Supernatural PoetryHere are five poems,-what I call-death and supernatural poems.... Read More
Phantom of the Rocks[Huancayo, Peru]Night falls deepUpon the traveler!Low, over... Read More
You make me smile like I've seldom done before You... Read More
There I sat, ninety-five degree weatherOutside; the bookstore caf?, was... Read More
Iquitos & the Amazon Part OneIt was December 2, l959,... Read More
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (Peru; in English and Spanish)In what... Read More
Here are three more poems by the author, Dennis Siluk,... Read More
"Song of the Great Zimbabwe"Across the African, winter's skyIn the... Read More
Ole Bulky JeepsThrough late summer's heat These bulky shaped jeeps... Read More
English VersionAnd the Death God said: "Let it rise to... Read More
Man UnbowedUnbowed by sin, the world of man, stands Upon... Read More
Rhymes of an Ordnance Man [Vietnam War: 1971]An eleven part... Read More
1)dying in the bar [sluggishly]yet, I would crawl too upto... Read More
The funeral rite concluded With the pastor shaking hands, Offering... Read More
Poetry |