Introduction by the Author:
Poetry wishes to
express one’s deepest feelings, it can elicit in us a wholeness and depth, and conflicting
emotions. Poetry can be transcendent if one can connect with the poem’s
essence, its spirit; more often than not attached to the poet’s world, if not
the readers. It is best to read what you like, and what you don’t like, don’t
reread, and toss it in file 13, that’s Army talk for the basket. My selection
of poems are in my books, these poems are not, but represent those that maybe.
Sometimes the poems I settle on to put into my books are because of my readers,
those they like, when you press the button that says “Like” but seldom are
there revisions because someone felt it needed one. So what you have is not the final version, I
may have to take away a few nouns, to unclutter a line here and there, to
increase the flow and movement. We are looking at deletions, and rewritings as
well. But should I put the perfect product, that is to say, the complete poem
in your lap, why put it in a book?
Dlsiluk
1
Today’s
Forecast
(July Poems)
Today
I feel like an old warplane—
Rusting
at the edges;
Paint
flaking.
My
engine, spiting and sputtering.
My
heart pounding slowly,
My
exhaust pipes flaring; they
Actually
flare danger every night
I
get into bed.
My
eyes today are rain-clouds, blurred!
My
will, is becoming inflexible.
I
think my blood is either too thin, or
Perhaps,
too thick, like molasses, today.
I
feel like I need to be camouflaged; I
Think
it is all part of old age.
No: 4446 (7-5-2014)
2
Teenage
Years
(July
Poems)
In
my youth I was deceptively armored,
So
I would not be deceptively vulnerable—
If
that makes sense….
To
be tough, and to always be the same—
To
carry that hard appearance,
And
to stay in one’s own place—
Wherever
that maybe… and
To
smile in great quantities!
To
carry no words, but poems.
I
was more like a tree, than a teenager,
So
it would seem—;
Unnoticed
by most, but I always knew the
Nature
of things.
No: 4445 (July 5, 2014)
3
Childless Hell
(July Poems)
Know this,
There is a Childless
Hell as true as one knows:
The eagle does not
wed the duck!
In this Hell, Manticores,
— their blood,
Is cold as church
bells, in winter-time.
I will tell you more:
Should you stand too
close to the door— it
Will be ill for thee!
Step no closer, the
crypts are of yesteryear—
And the treasures
therein, you may see,
Are rubies dark as
Satan’s blood!
Amongst pearls and
topazes-stones.
Stop! Step back lest
a devil or imp, shall plunge
You in, deep into
those moonlike pearls,
Forevermore, that
seems as innocent as one’s
Youthful flow’rs, —
Yet are bathed in
satanic plasma.
And once there, there
is no escape from those
Chamber walls, made
of opal,
In a rainbow maze.
No: 4445 (7-5-2014)
Lilith
4
The
Jackal:
A
Mirrored Reflection?
(July
Poems)
It
is the devil that moves the strings, this way and that way,
And
you already know who the puppet is!
The
world, round, is his stage.
He
makes no claim, but it is.
He
tries to have us occupy his mindset, and does a pretty
Good
job of it.
Having
us feed on his lice like mice.
Sinning
freely, believing prayers will wash away all the black spots,
So
as to sin again at will.
Yes,
Satan’s bewitched mind is endlessly rocking—
Transplanting
his chemistry, making out of us, lustful paupers,
Wishfully
thinking for clandestine pleasures.
We
squeeze and swarm like a billion maggots, wailing for crime
On
television, as if it was a consecrated pyre.
Being
fed by: rapes, murders, poison, war or arson—
He
tells the soul, they are no more than chicken bones, be bold,
Or
a pitiful coward.
He
is the jackal, more foully than all.
You
know him, he maybe your twin.
No: 4447 (July 5, 2014)
5
No
Merits for
Christianity!
Christianity’s
humility forbids homosexuality, even if a nation does not.
Matter
of fact, Leviticus proclaims, such behavior defiles a nation;
as well as the cross (Christian or not!).
Thus,
it is always vulgar, to a Christian, and should inspire disgust—;
but the Christian too often says
otherwise, as if he needs to
be decorated…
As
being, nonjudgmental, impartial, and recognized.
I
state, therefore I have a purpose.
I
need no merits to dignify my existence; a Christian has a right to
Voice
to a Christian, and if it be a Christian Nation, likewise, of
this defilement.
If
it be not a Christian nation, then it should not proclaim to be one;
Lest
it fall, for that very reason!
Leviticus 18:22-234.
No: 4449 (7-6-2014)
6
Song of the Ancient:
Praise Singer
(Bard)
We are the ancient Amazons
And I am one of many
With our long hair
and dark eyes,
We have conquered your city.
Your city’s door was
wide open
And we were not your guest—
The soldiers we
killed, we left
May’st your ears ring tonight!
We held our swords arched
high
There was a demon in me:
“Kill them all!” it
cried with pride:
As your swords fell, indigently.
The city Yort,
jeered, us Amazons
But she could not change her fate,
And thus, spoke your
ancient seer:
‘They will lay the city to waste!’
Below your temple
stone walls
The city with its water filled canals,
Did we swim, with
pig-gut skins!
To emerge: crushingly to triumph!
The sun came up when
we left,
Back to the Black Sea, we went—
Lower and lower the
moon fell,
Over the hollow city’s breast.
Cries the bard: ‘Red
with blood she lays!’
As the populist, roams aimlessly:
Nodding their heads
as she burns,
As the savage sings in merriment!
And now the storm is
over
And you are no longer absolute:
For we struck hard
with our spears
And much harder with our bows.
But there will come
another day
When flies and blood will mix:
For we have not
killed you all—
Like ice you walls will crack again!
‘God save thee, thy
ancient city Yort,’
Cries the praise singer, afar—
‘From the demon’s plague,
that comes;
Alas, yet, no need to look so sad!’
Then the Amazon’s
yelp’s echo:
“Hide in the mist if you can,
We shall climb your
walls once again
Should you be so, arrogant?”
Sinned, he hears the
sounds of a harp,
The praise singer’s by the canal:
He’s singing of the
days now past—
And those yet, to be forth coming!
No: 158 (7-2002)
This poem, is part of the Tribology, “The Tiamat” Series, written in
2001, and published in, 2002, this poem never published, and reedited twice
since: once in 2004, and most recently,
in July, of 2014. Thus, 12-years
in the cradle, original name: “The Amazon Queen” changed to its most recent
name, ‘Song of the Ancient Praise Singer,’ which seems to make it more
original:
7
Sonnet
of the Black Beatle in
Sandalwood
The
beetles have drunken the undying wine
The same that spirits in obscurity sups.
Hidden above nests the black beetle
slides,
Snubbed
the unwean, of a mammal whimpers;
The
owl has found a calm-abode, sublime.
The waves’ in the void, in the beetles’
lips.
O Troy, they are in your retuning ships!
The
collapsed summit, an unhinged symbol!
Yea! Agamemnon, hear your voiceless wife!
Hatred sweet as sandalwood, infinity—
Her cry of avenge for bane, unfinished—
She
stands as one whose heart at midnight wanes
On a cold shore; whose needs her soul set
free,
And hears the blind waves hissing the
finished.
No: 4450/ 7-7-2014
