Recognition to be given by the Congress of the Republic of Peru,
from “DestAcados” Magazine, to Dr. Dennis L. Siluk, for “Promoter of the Culture
of the Mantaro Valley of Peru”, 17th April, 2015
April Poems
(2015)
...by Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. h.c.
International Latin Poet Laureate, and Poet Laureate in Peru
(Recipient of the Gran Cross of San Jeronimo)
Poems
written from the roof top of poet’s Lima home
Copyright,
© March, 2015 D.L. Siluk
One
Minnesota Sleep
From
out of a lair, herded with old dew dipped years
Comes
fathers and mothers with muster-seed hair;
Black
beast bent backs, from old windy spit years…
Days:
dying, dying, faster than a seesaw can swing.
Whose
children could love or leave, wooed by nights
Of
a gibbous moon, no more than bits in a wick!
With
blush, sultry skulking coal red wicked-eyes!
The
wolf, in the cotton white hood, watches his prey:
To
rip his heart out of sandalwood, if need be.
Sleep,
the good sleep, forever sleep, and sleep deep:
Cries
the youthful rajahs, wolfs of backyard hamlets!
Wooed
and starved for their old hobnail fathers to die!
They
tell the innocent lie, fast and smooth, honeyed.
Rooting
out, the goose-tale swine, they call Father!
The
devil-bird lauds their wickedness: animal-eyed!
Sleep,
the good sleep, forever sleep, and sleep deep:
The
wolf in his baaing white cotton hood cries under a gibbous moon, frolicking the
latch of the coffer:
“It’s
taking too long for him to croak!” —beware, the
Crook
will seek a way, sly and sure, meek and mellow:
To
place a Camel Spider under his pillow, the sly devil.
No: 4743/ written
March 31, 2015, completed, April 1, 2015
Two
The Happy Henchman from:
‘Hoot Owl Hollows’
The
Happy Henchman
From
“Hoot Owl Hollows”
“Come and be killed,” howls the ISIS deviants.
Cutting
people into fisher-bird slabs—
Their
death is as clear as a buoy’s bell:
Their
souls in a viperish shell!
“Dilly,
dilly,” says the devil, and calls the lot
His
green chickens of the bay, that cluck
In
the bushes, when he says “Dilly, dilly.”
And
as his Henchmen cry, they obey:
“Come
let us die!” and the blithe birds in the
Elm,
hail their retreat to the fiend, with
Spur-of-the-moment
cracking of feathers,
And
sparrow hail of bird drops, and astray
Bird
whistles. Now the Henchman hides in the
Weeded
edge, between hell, heaven and earth:
Leading
his IS deviants, like green cocks or hens
To
“Hoot Owl Hollows,” in Tartarus, otherwise
Known
as: The Great Chicken Coop.
No: 4744/ April 1,
2015
Three
Pulled from the Darkness
He went
tender into his death, a midlife death,
Old age should have burnt him out, yet it
didn’t!
It was love, love, against the trying of
days.
And there he sat idle, father to child, a
sad plight,
Sorrow against the thriving of the coming
darkness.
Trying and cursed with tears nonetheless,
he prayed.
His words forked, burned and raved against
death,
For his infant, as if to grieve it on its
way—
From the dying of light, he pulled at darkness:
His life given instead, at the last upsurge
and billow
A prayer answered perhaps, for a dying
infant!
A life agreed, for a life taken, in less
than a breath.
No: 4744/ April 1,
2015
Four
Belonging
We all want to belong
We all need to belong
Belonging has a voice like a horn
Love is blown through it
Because love says “You belong!”
No: 4745/ April 2,
2015
Five
Mucker Plumbers
I’ve
two men—in my garden, working on my water
Pipe, you’d think it was the tomb of a
millionaire—
Working on their knees, bending
every-which-way
Running back and forth to get a part they
forgot
Or thought they had and didn’t, or to
replace and
Reclaim!
All over a simple water pipe break!
Stabbing the earth to make a ditch—
The clay gleams brown, it’s Good Friday,
and we
Had guests, they had to leave, no use of
toilets!
The two men are driving their shovels,
deeper and
Deeper into the ground, wiping sweat off
their brows,
No hats, no bandannas, dirty sweatshirts—;
plumber
I doubt they are, more like backyard
mechanics:
Muckers who have done such kinds of work
before.
They started at 7:00 a.m., its going on
7:00 p.m.
I think they’ll have to finish tomorrow,
it’s getting dark!
“I know it’s a hell of a job,” and a job
is a job and
They want to live, but twelve-hours, plus,
I could have
Drank a keg of beer in my younger day and
cleaned
The stalls of a dozen saloons. —the day is shot!
Tomorrow who knows what? I guess, when you
hire
Muckers, you get what you pay for,—best to
crisscross
Your fingers, and pray to God Almighty!
No: 4746/ April 3,
2015
