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Death & the Supernatural: Poetry/Five Poems
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Supernatural Poetry
Here are five poems,-what I call-death and supernatural poems. Perhaps a bit bizarre, a few stanzas may be, but with unfailing subtlety of course, and a ting of acuteness, but we have to hag on if we want a good ride:
1.
Evil's Creation
Thou knowith evil clingsTo tender peace-;Nor does it heed one's drowsyUn-enthralled grief?
But softly it darkensTwilight's dunes-;With sprinkling shadowsStraight from the moon.
O Night! Who giveth birth?To Evils plight?As mighty murmursReached my breast?:
"His name has no beginningAnd no end?!"
But why?! O why?Everlasting King,Have you created?!Such a thing?
As mighty murmursReached my breast?:"To see, whom you loveThe very best!..."
#609 4/1/05
2.
The First Depth
Struggling against unrestful skiesThe warlords of eternal darkness-unseen to life's obvious eyes-Ebb and seek the prize, dominion!
'The First depth,' the silence of the deepEternal legions with unrestful eyesThe Abysses storm, uncircumcisedThe colossal ramparts now untied
'The First Depth,' with rival skiesHere, gathers demonic and divineNow with storms, once hidden beyondArmies of defense, build their saga
And I saw dreadful swords like sunsThunder and lightening by OrionThis was the tidings of cosmic doomIf only man could have seen the gloom.
And the echoes I heard from the starsUnnamed, immortal flames cast downGathered on earth for the final countdownArmageddon's titanic onset!...
#610 [4/2/04]
3.
Satan's Daisies
Walk slowly, he is nearAbove the clouds;Talk softly, he can hearOur venom mouths!
With his dark charcoal hornsAnd plotted lust,He that was once fairIs after us!
#612 [4/3/05]
4.
The Iron Raven
"You cannot escape, debased death(Says the axiomatic, Iron Raven,Who delivers the dead)-My imperishable Icons?!Die, you shall, exhumed someday-."Fame is no exception, to the Raven,He seals fate, in ignoble ways!
#611 [4/3/05]
5.
The Marble Tomb
'Twill be the same, the same(I told him, when he was living),A wood or marble tomb-In a hundred years, let's sayOr a hundred so called daysWhat matters to he,(He will be dead)-?A pompous monumentWill be of no good-yetHe built it out of Marble(Nonetheless), not wood!
Your name will be forgottenAmongst the rubbish and rootsO'er rotting dampness; andWho will clean your tomb?(I asked him all these thingsBefore he died; and he neverDid reply-and built his tombOf marble, admiring its size!)
You-in there, in that tomb?!You cannot hear a thing-!!!!!And out here they're buildingYes?another mausoleumFor another rich man?!
#613 [4/3/04]
Poet and Author, Dennis L. Siluk: will be going to Lima, Peru tomorrrow [and the mountians],and to Central America [Copan] thereafter, for a month to find more poetry to write about...and the secrets that reside in its soil...!
