Three Poems [Lima; Judges and Evils Creation]


Evil's Creation

Thou knowith evil clings
To tender peace-;
Nor does it heed one's drowsy
Un-enthralled grief?

But softly it darkens
Twilight's dunes-;
With sprinkling shadows
Straight from the moon.

O Night! Who giveth birth?
To Evils plight?
As mighty murmurs
Reached my breast?:

"His name has no beginning
And no end?!"

But why?! O why?
Everlasting King,
Have you created?!
Such a thing?

As mighty murmurs
Reached my breast?:
"To see, whom you love
The very best!..."

#609 4/1/05


City with the Stretched out Wings

It's an ink-black night: no stars: no moon in sight
Just dots of: red, green and white-white lights
As the plane descends, descends, slides down
On the long-drawn-out-flat lingering city of lights
Flat as a pancake, lit up like a Christmas tree-
The sleepless city, with its stretched out wings
Stretching from the mountains to the sea-
Winding through the valley's, forests, and streams
Stretching, stretching its naked wings-endlessly

I'm descending, down, over and around the city
The city with stretched out winds-endless lights
Down, down, behind, downward, it's immune to me
I'm just part of its evening, a baptism in its inky, sky

Invisible: people, cats, dog, birds, and rats, infinite
Uncountable: dots, dot-streams of lit, dot-lights;
People: walking, talking, sleeping, eating by the dots
People: waiting, killing, robbing, praying by the dots
For tomorrow, tomorrow and another tomorrow

They say-:
You are ruthless, and I know this can be true
And they tell me you have thieves, and murders-
And this, I dare say, but shall, is also true, very true
But show me a city to the contrary of eight-million-?
I shake my fist and say: '?show me, but no one does'
So alive, so brave, with strong and hungry hearts:
I say, show me one that sings in poverty, and smiles
Prove me one that, celebrates year-round of its heroes
Show me painters that are as good that sell on streets
And that welcomes the world with stretched out arms
Show me all this, or some of this, I will say no more

And so,
I descend to its streets, it's crowed, winding streets
And to its neighborhoods with dust and soiled air,
And hear the laughs of the children, the dogs on roofs
The Shoe-shine boys, men, and numerous food carts
And with its naked featherless wings, covering all
Under its wrinkled aged men, women, standing tall
From drudgery, and toil, sweat, strive, grinding away
Each and every day, praying in the Christian way-
You are like a mighty ship that sails and never sinks


Rose's First Poem:

Minnesota Judges

By Rosa Siluk

In Saint Paul, good judges are rare!
their judgments are personal,
and they don't care.
To stimulate virtue,
they shake their hips.

In due course of time
I hope they're replaced,
And all Saint Paul will have a new face.

For the "Cussedest Rascals," in all the city
are those big horned judges
-legal, but sissies.

And so I remark,
to the little and big?
to the claimants they skip,
and nitwits they give.

Dennis L. Siluk is the author of 29-books, and has traveled the world 25-times around. His wife has been trying to catch up, but has only made it 10 times, and this is her first poem. I hate to see her next year, she will have me beat.

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