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Three Poems [Lima; Judges and Evils Creation]

May 30, 2008

1.

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

2.

Lima, 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

As, 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

3.

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. http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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