Friday, April 3, 2015

April Poems 2015

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) 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


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


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


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



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

 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