Breathing-in, Minnesota [a poem: now in Spanish and English]

In early fall, in Minnesota, the rain falls, falls, In buckets, buckets and more buckets-: drops Likened to music from its many streams-land Of ten-thousand lakes; moistened gravel, gravel Everywhere?

Grandpa sits on the porch-daydreaming of, of Something, perhaps winter around the corner-; As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes? Leaves will soon vanish, shadows will come early

Maybe he's thinking about summer: miles and miles And miles and miles of cornfields; his childhood now Long gone, he hums a hymn, a song; looking at the Metal-piped fence, he made, with three poles, on the Embankment, leading up the steps to the porch; It's worn-out like him.

The winds in Minnesota smell fresh, fresh from all The foliage, there's a lot of it. The eighty-three Year old man looks about, on his screened in Porch -fetches his pipe, lights it up, sucks in a Drag, pushes out some smoke: it drifts and drifts In the corners of the house

"Ah!" he says-proud of his life events-I say to Myself (I'm but ten): "No doubt He's already lived this?"

There are many stories he wants to tell, but first he Wants to smell the fresh air, the burning of autumn Leaves-He, never intended to have lived this long of A life, I believe, the old bear, came from Russia in 1916; He accepted life-adjusted to it

He hears the sparrows, their feathers flapping, faintly Soiled feathers, flapping, covering every inch of their Bodies- He notices frost on the nearby tree. It seems to Him, the sun is bouncing off of the ground, he gets bits And pieces of it on his face, it warms it, somehow, Thaws it out?

He's breathing in, frail like,-like reading Faulkner, slowly Does it, a ting uneasy. He never left Minnesota once, once He arrived back home from WWI (1918), "?no need to," he Says-he's happy? The fields are clean, animals in the barns; in the city, People getting haircuts-everything shutting down. Winter is now-it came last night, a Minnesota winter Is like no other. He just woke up, his bones chilled. The Wind blows, now it whistles, no foliage to stop its echoes.

"There are only a few left like me," he murmurs. The Flavor of winter he likes; warm biscuits, hot coffee, a Smoke from a pipe or cigar. Black branches that were Green a few months ago-: it's 10-below zero.

He sees the beauty of Minnesota in a glance here and There-It makes his brain swim with life; it is nature at its Finest!...

For Kathy [#800 8/14/05]

In Spanish Translated by: Nancy Penaloza

Respirando en, Minnesota [un poema]

Al comienzo del Oto?o, en Minnesota, la lluvia cae, cae, En cubos, cubos Y m?s cubos-: gotas Comparadas con la m?sica de sus muchos arroyuelos de Diez mil lagos; grava humedecida, grava por todas partes?

El abuelo se sienta sobre el p?rtico, so?ando despierto, de Algo, quiz?s el invierno rondando la esquina-; mientras las moscas desaparecen, con los mosquitos?Las hojas pronto desaparecer?n, las sombras vendr?n temprano

Tal vez ?l esta pensando en el verano: millas y millas y millas y millas de maizales; Su ni?ez ahora, hace mucho tiempo ida, ?l tararea un himno, una canci?n; mirando

La valla met?lica-entubada, que ?l hizo, con tres postes, sobre el Terrapl?n, Conduciendo los pasos hacia el p?rtico; Esto esta desgastado como ?l.

Los vientos en Minnesota huelen fresco, fresco por todo el follaje, hay Mucho de ello. El anciano de ochenta y tres a?os mira alrededor, sobre su protecci?n En el P?rtico ? trayendo su pipa, encendi?ndolo, aspiran una Rastra, eliminando el humo: esto va a la deriva y llega las esquinas de la casa

?" Ah!" ?l dice - orgulloso de los acontecimientos de su vida- me digo a mi mismo (pero yo s?lo de diez): Sin duda "??l ya vivi? esto?"

Hay muchas historias que ?l quiere contar, pero primero, ?l quiere oler el aire fresco, la combusti?n de Hojas de oto?o - ?l, nunca tuvo la intenci?n de haber vivido esto a lo largo de una vida, Yo creo, el viejo oso, vino de Rusia en 1916; ?l acept? la vida- adaptado a ello.

?l oye los gorriones, su batir de plumas, plumas apenas Manchadas, batir, cubriendo cada pulgada de sus Cuerpos - ?l nota la helada sobre el ?rbol cercano. Le parece, el sol esta saltando en el campo, ?l consigue a?icos y pedazos de ello sobre su cara, esto calienta, de alg?n modo, Lo deshiela hacia fuera?

?l esta respirando, fr?gil como, - como leyendo Faulkner, despacio hace esto, un tintineo dif?cil. ?l nunca dej? Minnesota alguna vez, una vez que ?l lleg? a casa de WWI (1918), "?ninguna necesidad", ?l dice - que el es feliz?. los campos son limpios, los animales en los graneros; en la ciudad, la gente que consigue cortes de pelo ? todo cerrando abajo. El invierno esta ahora ? lleg? anoche, un invierno del Minnesota no Se parece a ning?n otro. Justo cuando el se despert?, sus huesos enfriados. El Viento sopla, ahora esto silba, ning?n follaje para parar sus ecos.

"Hay s?lo unos pocos dejados como yo " murmura ?l. El Sabor del invierno le gusta; bizcochos calientes, caf? caliente, fumar de una pipa o cigarro. Las ramas negras que eran Verdes hace unos meses-: esto es 10 bajo cero.

?l ve la belleza de Minnesota en un vistazo aqu? y All? - Esto hace a su cerebro nadar con la vida; ?esto es la naturaleza en su fineza!...

Para Kathy [*800 8/14/05]

You can see Dennis Siluk's many books at http://www.bn.com or http://www.amazon.com

---

The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins

Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your mistakes, and you cant unravel time, you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self serving crime, to send others... Read More

Five Poems

Poems have different cores, or so I believe, and can only be structured well for certain figurative language-heart beats; like all counselors are not made for all clients, so all poems are not... Read More

Its What She Didnt Say

When I hear your voice inside my head it makes me think of you every single day as I fight back tears of sadness and wonder if you're okayMy life is empty without... Read More

The Spirits de Copan

Part oneI see them in the skies I hear them in their hells They whisper and they moanAnd never are alone- The Spirits and the Ghouls? The Spirits de Copan!They are shadows in... Read More

Memoirs of a Wastelands Rim [a Poem: now in Spanish and English]

Memoirs of a Wasteland's RimIt still was light when she paused at the wasteland's rim- Over, the rim rest like a sleeping brute, a wooden frame Adjacent to the blue where early stars... Read More

Three Sweet Poems, and Two Not So Sweet [now in: SPANISH and English]

1) End PoemWherever you are today- Is where you were meant to be; It's where God, dotted the 'i' and the 't'?!2) God's AngelsGod asked his angels: "Why do you look so sad?"... Read More

Two Poems with Triggers [and a commentary]

So Many Einstein'sThe morning mist, insists there is a God. The earth remains faithful to its orbit. The comet cries out to a hundred planets.The sun ascends over the horizon. From eight to... Read More

Five Poems from Home [And a view on the planet vs. the poet]

Five Poems from Home1) Remembering: Dorothy Parker [Dedicated to the 1920s Poetess]Let it be said, Dorothy Parker lies dead, cremated to ash and poetry; thus, she died at the ripe old age... Read More

Chan Chan and The Gorriones (Two Poems in English and Spanish)

The following two poems, one in English, the other in English and Spanish were done during this ongoing trip in Peru, while in Lima, although the poem concerning: Chan Chan was oriinally started... Read More

Rocks

Take some time to stop and look at nature. Pick up a rock or two and think about where it might have started out and what it might have gone through to end... Read More

House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three/with notes]

House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three]Here is where, where the air is stillAnd the mountains shadows disappear! Here is where, unnumbered spirits dwellWhere harp and memory expire?Where the rainbow-leaps, from itsStoreroom-keep,... Read More

Beautiful Dreamer, Stephen Foster, Americas First Folk Song Writer

"Beautiful Dreamer" was written by Stephen Foster just before his death in 1864 at age 37. The song became one of his most famous and most popular. However, as with the approximately 200... Read More

Life is a Fantasy

LIFE IS A FANTASY!A pink-eyed rabbit, fuzzy whiteHops in bedrooms filled with frightA child of six with much to knowHer father's basest feelings showShe knows of LOVE, only through himHe satisfies his every... Read More

Shadows of the Andes; Ollantayambo; and Cesar Vallejo [Poems in English and Spanish]

1) Shadows of the Andes [or: Song to the Andes]I shall blend-in, into theMountains- Into the faintest thinShadowsof the mountains! Like the moss on moistenedStoneLike a leaf blown far fromHome?(freshly fallen)!I shall blend-in,... Read More

Elizabeth Barrett Browning: A Discussion of How Do I Love Thee?

"How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning was written in 1845 while she was being courted by the English poet, Robert Browning. The poem is also titled Sonnet XLIII from Sonnets... Read More

Eds Poem

Ed Gallagher Dec. 11, 1907 - Sept. 5, 2004This poem was written for Ed Gallagher, a good friend and neighbour on the day his wife called me to let me know that he... Read More

A Case of The Fears

Chicken Soup is good for a coldSleep is good for the FluWhen I get a case of the FearsWhat is a person to do?It is not bacteriaAlthough it can eat away my soulIt... Read More

Song of the Great Zimbabwe, and Silver and Inca Blood [Poems and notes]

"Song of the Great Zimbabwe"Across the African, winter's skyIn the Southern edge of Zimbabwe Looking down from the Hill ComplexFrom on top, of an Ancient Rock O'er the mountains steep-:A, vista I've longed... Read More

Tsunami Day

A Poem - By Lorraine KemberIt was a day like any other and mother, father, sister, brother, were carrying out the customs of their land. When suddenly without warning, Mother Nature came calling,... Read More

Ode to: The Ice Maiden of Ampatos Summit [now in: English and Spanish]

Ded?cate to Antonio Castillo. L. Of. Los Andes UniversitarioOde to:The Ice Maiden Of Ampato's SummitEnglish VersionPart One The ClimbIn the spring of my life, in my villageBy the Andes, I awoke one morningTo... Read More

Ceasar Vallejo: Black Roses [In English and Spanish]

Cesar Vallejo: Black RosesBow down your head ol' poet- To face God's grace ahead There are no more trenchesTo dig today? In the forest of your head,So-: Bow down, bow down,Ol' barbaric poet!... Read More

Tsunami -a Poem Dedicated To Help Aid and Awareness and Encourage Future Harmony. Make Peace Not War

Real Power.One Tsunami, and all our armies, Seem belittled by their wars, What Animals fled, and tribesmen read, Finally Arrives with crushing roar, Wholesale slaughter, purely by water, Makes us seem an irrelevance,... Read More

Choices

You can do and you can be whatever you want. You have the power, and the right, to make the changes.There are many choices to be made as daily life goes by. There... Read More

Bleed

now is not the time to open open that great door again not the time to be more tolerant not the time to play to winnow is not the time for justice evolution... Read More

Learn About Love From Poet Rumi

Learn about love by reading poetry by a long dead poet named Rumi. No need to look for ancient texts hidden in caves...Search the Net.In this modern age of technology, busy lifestyles, and... Read More

Anne Bradstreet, To My Dear and Loving Husband, A Discussion

"To My Dear and Loving Husband" was written by America's first female poet, the Puritan, Anne Bradstreet. In fact, Anne Bradstreet is one of only a handful of female American poets during the... Read More

Storm Rising along the Lima Coast

Storm Rising along the Lima Coast [Summer of 2002]?wind was blowing furiously It never left for a moment Bursts of fury I found it difficult to keep My feet placed, thus, I... Read More

Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait]

the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of their child growing up without it is part of the phenomenon! (the choice of the day). fanaticism,-- with a powerful ideology are seeds... Read More

Grandpas House & From Iraq with Love [Two Poems]

Grandpa's House [The ole Real House]The house needed painting Sun-blistered and flaking Grandpa started to have us Boys-Mike and I- start Doing some scraping-While he, pealed off the ole Paint, and started painting?Just... Read More