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
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
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 2:26 PM
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