Thick Men of War

((Poetic prose) (an anecdote, with figurative language, and intensity))


Afghanistan and Iraq

They are all dead now, once thick men, now dead and bloated, a little pale about the face. Their wives and children in rural and suburban homes, not nearly paid for, with long green lawns in which they need mowing.
These hard, lean, thick men, who drank and fought hard, which because their country found a war for them to fight, became dead, was not quite as they had thought, or perhaps heard war would be. That is why this story is amalgamated.
Thus, with a brief look, glimpse, one with little depth, no perspective, there they stood in sight, these thick men of war—doing for all what the country could bear, and become in the flash of a weapon pointed at them, somewhere—not perhaps even knowing where, within an instant, became dead.


The Bored

Whoever, or whatever started these events, that lead to war, those folks that offered their country bodies to carry us for little or nothing—through war, who never saw these thick men wail with solid liveliness, now dead bodies, these men that run around the sides, I pray they get bored with it all, and whoever they are and whatever they’ve become, take control of events and end it all.


Vietnam

These same kinds of thick men were with me in Vietnam used a vocabulary of perhaps two-hundred words, yet I daresay it was enough to tell: where, how and sometimes ask why—save, that they lived long enough to spit it all out.
That’s the bad thing about war, you just never know.

No: 459/8-28-2009••

A life who repeats itself

Poems by: Dennis L. Siluk

Copyright © August 25, 2009 by Dennis L. Siluk

The Drawing to this booklet (or pamphlet) of poems
Illustrated by the author, Dennis L. Siluk

Two Hundred Copies Printed


Poems were written while in Huancayo, Peru, in one afternoon
at the Mia Mamma Café, as an unusual project, for the future
To be given out as a gift to special friends…




Index of Poems


City of Twigs

A Life Who Repeats His Self…!
(or: Poem of Witt)

When all Meet in Unison

At Times I Hear Voices

The Roosters: “Cock-a-do-doe-do!”
(Surrounded by the Andes)





City of Twigs

Rising, the bushes cover the ears lifted up of the dog—
A puddle of water where the cat drinks
is hidden from the hound…!
A mother cries out of a tenant window
(a baby will soon be born).
Who is this in me that notices’ it all?
There must be three sizzling men in me
(this city is like a tree of twigs).

No: 2620





A Life Who Repeats His Self
(or: Poem of Witt)


Where is this part of me?
That is practical, witty
I think as years go on,
That part of me, will soon be
Long gone…!
Buried, almost too deep to find
Buried below the bold and cold
wet grass
of some foreign ground.

His eyes shut.

Where is this part of me?
That was once practical, witty…
“Long gone…long gone…!”
someone says.
“He lays his coat, on rocks, boulders
Buried, almost, too deep to find
He was the practical one,
Once cunning, now…
Buried below the bold and cold
wet grass
of some foreign ground.”

His eyes open…!

No: 2661





When All Meet in Unison

A man is not a woman. A woman is not a
man and a hummingbird is neither. When
we feel in unison (amongst others) life leaps
out like a frog in the night. Alone in a
mountain cave, once unoccupied, a man and
a woman, and a hummingbird, sit side by
side. Outside in the deep night, deep snow,
and sleet, raining down upon the cave—out
in the outside, resides the unknown, inside,
all are concentrating on survival. Those areas
beyond understanding are quietly set aside,
as every one stretches out in one common
goal—to sleep in peace.

No: 2662





At Times I Hear Voices

I feel I have wings in my ears sometimes
and that the mountains around me,
echo all the voices, therein…

I seem to hear the voices of birds,
and insects, dogs, cats and sheep, cows
and horses, all singing, therein…

Behind all this, is a world still darker
That watches, and gazes at us…,
I hear them too!

No: 2663





The Roosters: “Cock-a-do-doe-do!”
(Surrounded by the Andes)

The Roosters ruffle their shoulder feathers—wings!
The dogs sleep on sidewalks and streets, on sunny
days.
Due from the Andes nearby, seeps down, throws
wetness on the grass, dampens the ground, as well.
The Roosters ruffle their shoulder feathers—wings,
repeating their awakening sounds, their:
“Cock-a-do-doe-do!” and this earthly cycle,
continues to go round and round.

No: 2664

The Galleries at Babel

English Version

The Galleries at Babel

I looked up; saw a crack in the heavens,
Saw inimitable ancient words once written:
Then I looked down upon the galleries at Babel
From broken balconies –I saw that there resided
Great books and works, once inaccessible
No reasonable mind could doubt the truth
The indefatigable ladders of words and stories
That this ancient library contained—perhaps those
Hidden words from the crack in the heavens:
It all was as if my mind was full of stars
A strange awakening befell me.
Once I started reading, book after book
Page to page to page, endless words—
Nothing but God, God Almighty Himself,
Would ever suffice me again…!
And then a noise filled my chest
Like everlasting steps, besieging me
Until I turned those pages, again:
One by one, word by word, book to book,
To no end…!


No: 2650/ 8-22-2009



Spanish Version

Las Galerías en Babel

Levanté mi mirada; vi una grieta en el cielo,
Vi las inimitables palabras antiguas una vez escritas:
Luego miré abajo sobre las galerías en Babel
Desde balcones derribados—vi que allí residían
Libros y trabajos grandiosos, una vez inaccesibles
Ninguna mente razonable podía dudar de la verdad
Las escaleras incansables de palabras e historias
Que esta biblioteca antigua contenía—talvez aquellas
Palabras escondidas desde la grieta en el cielo:
Todo esto era como si mi mente estuviera llena de estrellas
Un despertar extraño me ocurrió.
Una vez que empecé a leer, libro tras libro
Página a página, por página, palabras interminables—
Sólo Dios, el mismo Dios Todopoderoso,
¡Siempre me bastaría otra vez…!
Y entonces un ruido llenó mi pecho
Como escaleras eternas, asediándome
Hasta que volteé esas páginas, otra vez:
Una por una, palabras por palabra, libro a libro,
¡A un infinito…!


#: 2650/22-Agosto-2009