The Lieutenant

The lieutenant told me long ago—told me so, that I couldn’t do it!

How he looked, so grand and noble, so long ago—lean and oval!

Oh, how funny, I think now—: I’m sure he’d be quite alarming…

should he know, I became a General!

#3862 (4-21-2013)

Note: in this poem “The Lieutenant” more philosophical than not, the author is expressing an experience that took place in the past, he tries to say what he needs to say with impeccable poetic dignity, that sometimes the one you most least expect to achieve—or out of inflexible arrogance—as with the Lieutenant—one surpasses all expectations, achieves the highest rank or grade possible, passes even the Lieutenant. It is a positive quality, and written to inspire.

Life is a Psalm

We can make our life’s goals, this I know, for I’ve done so.

And in departing, leave behind, something that will endure time.

Make life honest, make life brave, from the cradle to the grave—

From dust: to dust we return, yet the soul, death does not recover.

Thus, let us be doing, doing, with heart-fullness, faith and love—

Let us be pursuing, pursuing—and let the dead bury the dead…!

            #3861 (4-21-2013) 

Note: Poems for me, or part of a poem, that will come back to me as a reader, come back in a flash, here or there, when needed is what I call true poetry: it is in the “effect”.

The Old Poet ((Robert Bly—a Minnesota Poem) (Poetic Prose))

Dr. Siluk, with Robert Bly, 2005 (World Theater, St. Paul, Minnesota)

Death throws a shadow on the old Poet, Robert Bly—who lived his dream of poetry, unevenly, per near a century. He’s a rock turning sand, like all old men: now with hollow legs, and arms like bacon.

       When he is gone, the trees and the leaves and the grass and the wind that rustles through his old farmlands, will recite his poetry: and all of him that will be left will be those old warn out paths, he once walked. That will be his legacy—like a chimney with no smoke.

#3852 (4-18-2013)

Note a: here we have figurative language: meaning, words used for something you don’t really mean “…hollow legs, and arms like bacon” and of course other forms of language are used here as in trees and leaves and grass reciting his poetry, which we know can not.  Here the poetic prose is centered on a poet, as the mind spontaneously expresses for effect, layers of his meaning—in essence, an elegy before its time; let’s call it a tribute. . People get obsessed with structure and in doing so, lose the soul of the poem, or the effect which is the main event. Here the poem says what the poet wants it to say. We see 21-words with o’s, and the poem is only 87-words long. Not it, its or it is, which makes often times for a jagged read.  The er, ar’s, re’s, ra’s make for a strong read also (ten words; six of the seven sentences)—connecting from one line to the next.  Note 2: the poet here uses personification, and reverses it: thus, giving natural objects attributes represented of person, where normally it is the reverse: “the trees…leaves. Grass…will recite…” Also the author, poet uses a figure of speech, that represents death “…a chimney with no smoke,” perhaps we can call it the making of a simile. Both poets have met on one occasion, in 2005.

The Dog’s Longing ((Poetic Prose) (a poem out of Lima))

Gray Dog Sleeping 8:00 A.M., Wednesday Morning, across

the street, by Cherry Park, Lima, 4-23-2013

I don’t know why the huge gray mutt sleeps in the street by our house, as if guarding us, and our two neighbors, waiting for an invader, intruder or another mutt to trespass (only God knows for sure). But there he is nonetheless with his heavy tail wagging to and fro, his big head hanging low, what’s his brain thinking, his brain not thinking? That in some odd way he is protecting the image of God? Or perchance, he just likes the chicken and turkey bones my wife provides for him. The eyes of the mutt glows when my wife feeds him; to him she’s like a handsome priest, I suppose.

       I wrote this poem with the Holy Spirit happy in me—I guess that means I’m having a heavenly morning.

#3844 (4-14-2013)

Note: Poetic Prose and the poem:  first, in essence the poetic prose poem is a short story, I believe. Second, an image centered on an object: expressed in layers, in this case, a dog. Third, the mind does not leave the subject, as you can see by reading “The Dog’s Longing” and forth, the tone is set in the first sentence: “…the huge gray mutt…”. One must remember, it is not the stanza, but the sentence we look at.  The author also uses metonymy in this poem, mutt, for dog, for instance.