?A Poetic Adventure
The Road to Unishcoto
The Great Wanka Warrior
Ancient Wanka Ceramic
Hawks over the Valley
(An Introduction to the Wanka Warrior)
All men who live by war, present
A kind of hawk-like appearance
(as well as, a steadfast stance).
His, whose body showed strength,
Combined with endurance
Smooth shaven, features being more of
The sun, than of nature?
He was the Wanka Warrior.
His dark eyes were cold,
Under his feet, the land moaned.
He was once told, ?In the ranks of the
Wanka Warrior, there is always a place?
(for a Saber-warrior like He).
?Yes!? the Wanka Warrior exclaim
(with an elastic voice) ?…but what do you mean??
?You cried out in the stress of the fight
(battle)?you smote your enemy,? said
the chieftain, adding, ?you?re quick
To anger (there was an instant of
breathless tension).?
?Very well,? said the veteran warrior,
?I seek an enemy!?
?Whom?? inquired the Chieftain?
?The plague of the Valley!?
?You know, this man is a mighty general??
?It matters as little as if he were a
brickmaker,? held the Wanka Warrior.
(It would be another year before the Wanka Warrior would take the road home from his last great battle, The Road to Unishcoto.))
Unishcoto, a familiar way of spelling the ruins, can and has been spelled in a number of ways, for example: with two words and a ?k?: Unish koto, and/or with an ?H? Hunishcoto)).
First Faction
[1 thru 4]
The Warrior
1
The Warrior
I was born in the Mantaro Valley
I came from an old Wanka stock?
Race whose characteristics
Were inclined towards violence?war
We battled against one another?!
In the mountain country?I lived
A valley surround it, it is where I spent
My boyhood, a physical contest it was!
Yet all one breathe of life to me?;
A restless life, thus, I became a warrior.
One must understand the risks,
The uncertainties as a warrior;
You must be utterly fearless, wild,
Primitive, and so I became, I was:
All of this, aloof strain, and more!
2
The Blade
As a warrior I could expect nothing,
Only fury from my aching muscles:
Grasp, raw skinned knuckles, aching,
Staring down my victims, doom:
My murderous blade sharp at its point.
I learned death in a thousand forms
And due to this, I was partly dead.
In my life, at this time, I can but reply:
Continual violent action: imposes!…
Oversimplified, and now I die?!
3
Captured
I was captured once and left to die
My wife (but not then)) I shall not name))
Fumbled vainly at my feet: I had been
Physically tortured, she held me upright
She cried, and prayed and cried?!
Worthless, yet she had pity for me
And now she waited vainly, hoping?
Wringing her hands, knowing I was well
No more a shield, thus, I was free to:
Fight again; whoever saw such a woman
You will say perhaps, it is not possible
For a man like me, to fall in love?
She was indeed a blinding flame,
A deafening sound in my chest?
A sound I could never put to rest.
For a long time I was senseless, lifeless,
Longing, but healing in my sleep, to love
Never really expecting to find it, yet:
Once found, she disrupted my life?
Yet, somehow, we became one.
4
The Vanquished
I always thought I?d return to her
My little yellow flower of the mountain
?I shall return,? I decreed?! Freed
But vanquished, bloodstains kill?
They do not play favors for anyone.
In my mind, as I came to her?
I could visualize through my eyes
Her features dazzling, floating;
It is but now a transcendent vision
Yet strangely familiar as I walk?
5?Interlude
Death Shadows
As in any war, he found his minds-eyes upon the dead, his eyes trying to close (from the demised, the dull, the dead that laid now behind him, ? leaning on (whatever he could), forward and quietly he advanced: he tried and tried to wipe out their memories, the battle, the blood, the gloom, yet he recalled, remembered all the shapes, shadows and colors of shades of doom?his lot in life)!
Stiffly in their cast mode, bold and cold, immortal faces shrinking: he got away from them? shook his head, kept his eyes straight ahead!
He called it hopeless surrender; he would have to learn how to be un-cold, for the world could not afford a warrior with true affection (sorrowful it would be in battle)) but he was coming home)).
In his journey back, he lost all account of time, dead feet walking, un-hurrying, he clinched his hands, a snarl on his face: one way or another, he was coming home to his wife.
Their features showed?teeth, faces bleached white: incapable of further movement, he made odd sounds (shaking his head up and down)) he was dying)). His breath hissed almost equal to the wind, as he recollected, all the death smells: wordless, he sank inside, to a silence of crudeness, yet he kept walking talking, wailing.
Second Faction
(Parts one thru five)
The Great Wanka Battle
Part One
By the Teeth of the Moon
Four thousand warriors battled this night
Two-thousand Wanka warriors would die
Along the Mantaro Rio, in the Valley
And they had equal weapons and all
And many of the warriors were hidden
On both sides of the Rio were Wankas
The Wankainos and I (the ancient ones)
We, kept up our incessant fires, spirits
But with scant avail, for we all knew
Slowly the enemy, the foe crept closer…
Closer and closer they crept for accuracy
To the edge of the Rio?spying they came
Hid in the ditches along the Rio, and trees
Held their positions, waiting, just waiting:
In short order?, hoping to wipe us out.
Suffering terrible, in the cold winds
It would have been madness to swim
Across the Rio at night, but we did
Suffering terrible from the cold winds
Slowly we crept closer to them?!
Thus, we crossed the Rio at night with
Only the teeth of the moon for light;
Arching down now on the ground
Blue blades by our sides?determined
Bizarre figures?spears at our thighs:
Part Two
Battle along the Rio
Once on land we rushed the camp
In-between fires, dogs and cats?
I heard voices vaguely familiar:
?Then I slashed off heads?they rolled
Grinning down the hill to the mud??;
Panting, blood stained, fierce faces
Led only, by the teeth of the moon?
Flamed eyes, fumbling in our haste,
?Back!? I heard someone say?
Instantly my ears heard a distant roar!
The shooting of porras snarled by?
Fire arrows singed my hair
I was the last Wanka warrior to die:
In this chaotic war: blindly we fought
Some bodies smoking?burnt crisp?
I saw the remnants of my comrades
There was no escape, none?none at all!
We walked into a devouring path ?
I and I alone, escaped to the Rio?
By the teeth, and face of the moon!
I raced through the water?s blackness?
I suspect, I was confused, mumbling:
The erratic moon, bobbing above me
Then I reached my side of the Rio?
There was the spy in the hollow log?!
Part Three
In the Midst of Battle
In the midst of the Wanka battle
Massed thick with Wanka bodies
We were all fighting like demons
The battle was a gasping deadlock
They could not thrust us back?
We slashed, heaped high their bodies
Then when we were exhausted, they
Came in full force?hand to hand
Men stumbling among the dead?
Flesh and blood, and thunderous roars!…
Wanka warriors?we were everyplace
Everyone madden to a frenzy (hidden)
They?our enemy Wanka brothers,
They were hidden high in trees, logs, ditches
Desperate melee, we gave way!..
The battle streamed out, throughout
The camp, and down to the Rio,
Trampling feet, shouts?with blue steel
Hand to hand, came the vengeance:
All foes in the same Valley and Rio…!
Part Four
Death (in the Midst of Agony)
On we died like locust, so thick in battle
So broad we could not spread our arms,
And once tried, our: wide, busted wings
Fought on (with broken arms and knees
We fought on); consequently, being
Repaid?we died in pain, agony.
Red, red blood was the repayment?
I could not pity them, or they us?
The battle sight dazed us all
Some cowering in terror, and me, me?
I was in the painful midst of Agony!…
Hacking and slashing?warriors!
I avoided chance blows?somehow,
I slashed and gashed, a path to the Rio
I swam swiftly through the currents
My bronze limbs against the water-walls;
Now across the Rio, glaring in on me?
I found a path, where the wind blew?
The dome of the moon ?shattered
In the semi-darkness: my bronze limbs
Crushed, with pain and now the rain?!
I heard in the distance, Wanka iron lungs,
And pounding feet like triumpht drums?
They said, ?We conquered the fools,? yet
They, like us, are from the Valley?too,
And some day they will be conquered also.
Part Five
Stone Walls
Of this past cataclysmic frenzy
That took place a day ago?
The death of howling humans,
Brought me memory crushing walls
A ghastly roaring through it all?!
You think before a battle, and during:
Your body can blast through it all,
How many fell yesterday, I do not know
But I was the only one to escape?
Across the rio, through the river?s flow
What I expected to find or gain in war
Is different than what I found?
Like blind and brainless monsters
We fought?a blinding white flame
Enveloped in a frantic oblivion.
You my say, perhaps it was all in vain,
My only reply is that I was part of it,
Senseless as it is, was, and will be?:
Again, afterwards, one becomes vested
In delirium, paralyzed with it?!
After the Battle
(Parts six and seven)
Interlude
(to: After the Battle)
Ascension
The road (from the Rio) traveled relatively straight to the mountain; the Wanka warrior identified with it, it curved upwards and to the right sharply ascending to the top, part of the way, would be easy?he knew, yet painful, for he had his wounds, as a result, when he climbed it, he zigzaged his way to the top; cupped on top was his ancestors ruins, the old bins for harvest time year around, and beyond that a small stone house, his home.
As he climbed the mountain, some 5000-feet upwards, he thought not of dying or battle (not yet anyways) or the conveyance upward, but of the small stone house, Unishcoto itself, and he did not want to forget it, it was his drive.
He looked up (the countryside behind him now), the top could not be seen, it all looked steep, yet he climbed it a hundred times before, it looked like a waterfall, ready to cascade ontop of him, broken rock and all, like an ocean of earth.
Each breath he took, was like the last bit of breathable oxygen; the night clouds were dreary, moved across the moon like windblown waves, ceremonial looking; they had shapes of stiff looking corpses, with necks twisted about like wooden crews, holding them together. (Death was waiting?)
?Part Six
By Lantern of the Moon
I struggled now up the side of the sierra
The old creek bottom, behind me now
My mind in a scanty obliviousness?
At last I saw, from afar?
A silhouette standing in the darkness?!
As I walked towards my home?,
Thinning tree branches loomed at me
From the dark hushed vague sky?;
A dog started barking ahead:
Guided only by the sky?s lantern?!
I felt a sad, gloomy, and faintly chilled
My wounds?told my body it was dying
Fading among the living sierra trees;
The dog heard me, he barked again,
His shadow trying to listen: ?Who is it??
My wife stared off into the darkness?
I saw her, heard her voice ebbing my way
?Come down this path,? I wanted to say
But motionless I lay, like a broken branch
Off a living tree, I was but a silent echo.
?Part Seven
I Died
I died, went into a condemned silence
I died, and the silence swiftly rippled
It was neither night, nor day?but still
I wanted to follow the path ahead,
You know the one to my house!
But I was dead?among the living trees
The house seemed to leap before me
(a different dimension perhaps);
Then I found myself beside her?
I whispered her name?stirringly!
Her lips were cold, or were they mine?
She tasted fatality, doom?didn?t know
Her head bowed between her breasts
I was now above her: she was so brave.
(And I died, and she went to bed.)
And I thought then, about the times
She and I, held each other?abreast:
And we would lay in the meadows,
And quietly in the darkness?she?d
Make me warm, and she was soft.
(But this doom, I could not escape.)
Interlude
(Last Kill)) Or Battle of the Jackal))
(Last Thoughts 
?I remember now??Dog? as we called him,
Stood there in the haze, as I came upon him:
My eyes ablaze with fight, with an old hate:
?He is all jackal,? I thought, now in battle?
The leader?the Jackal, slow as an ox, came
Towards me?I gathered my feet, below, I
Leaped, struck, I sheared through his neck
Cords: blood flowed from him, like the Rio.
It was my last kill. I jumped over fires, swift
?I wasted no time, seized him by the knees,
Cast him over my head?how dead is dead, I
Thought. Next, I jumped back up, onto my feet:
Then bending low, like a sweeping condor, I,
I howled like the enemy, like a pack of hounds,
As the fires dwindled down: now the blood of
The foe was on my blade, but I was alive?
For the moment: like the wind that follows me.?
?Part Eight
Spring and Decay
There were no intimate things in her room, empty?; the entire house remained still? with a chill of desolation, spring had come, with a bright blue sky, she saw flowers lying on the ground, as if forgotten?
?She walked further into the wooded area, there?withered and dead laid her husband. Crumbled in his fingers, flowers, she touched his hand, they had left a stain she noticed; yet, disgustingly, he smelled: reeked with decay?!
Soberly, in the chill of the morning, she paused (leaning over his body), fretfully relieved, and alarmed, her fear and bewilderment had come true: then trying to remember what little they had done together, and her worrying now over, she sighed a long, long sigh.
The gist of it was plain enough, she had never understood him or war, but she did today, it meant?detachment. It all implied?one must put it behind them, to stay alive, to survive, yet shocked and curious?she didn?t appreciate it.
She asked herself? ?What are the words to this?? there was nothing to do [perform, carry out] save, hope for a new husband, yet that brought back distaste, and dread; she had to trust to a stranger (she?d put this aside for the time being).
?Part Nine (conclusion) Interlude
The Ghost of Weeping
(Grieving) She stood sluggishly by her fireplace, her hands cold to the bones?she stood before it, then turned towards the window, there she could see the drooping trees, her heart leaped a little ?You fool!? she exclaimed; his shadowy shape came leaping unto the open sill of the window?, ?You idiot,? she exclaimed; the shadow seemed to stare at her, with a wild repose.
Her wet face, lighted up ?Don?t,? she cried, and then she tasted her own tears?she clung to the window, the shadow showed saber intensity ?Have I gone crazy?? she asked herself.
She had been hoping he would have come home, I mean, come home for good (long ago)) not like this)), she had waited?so she said aloud, ?? longer than a thousand fires?in my stone oven?? and perhaps had she not found his body, she would have waited longer. ?No,? she answered, ?wishful thinking!? That is what it was. ?What?? she said; a voice said, ??you?ll find someone soon?? she stared quietly (it was as if the voice was annoyed).
Her chin now in her palms, looking into the fire, ?You don?t want to!? She said ?Surely for what it?s got to be.? She added, ?Whatever you think, it is because it is what you want to believe.?
She picked up a cup, drank its contents and sat back, her face rosy in the firelight. She closed the window, ?People smell bad because of the things they do;? she said, ?living corruption, flags the flesh, all soiled.? She felt clean to the bone?then the fire went out, as she fell to sleep.
She murmured ?He gave half of himself to me, and the other half, perhaps the better half, he swapped for war?that part, I could never find, until now.?
Stone Oven
Beside the stone oven?she slept
One bronze woman, half-grieving
Her face shining with heat
And rolling dark eyes; by her
Feet one dog and four puppies,
Scratching and bumping?
As they ate?their meal?the
Fire reflected: flashes of teeth;
Curiosity had vanished?.
#1453 (9-8-2006)
Stone Window
Outside her stone window
In the sky no stars showed,
The earth was a deflated swell,
The sky was sagging its dark shape,
The trees beyond like chilled ghosts,
And the moon shown a cold
Corpse-like light?ascending; a gray
Chill seeped through the stones.
In her seeping lifeless mind,
She said, ?How long must I grieve
For the dead?? As if pleading in
This gray like silence, for it
Quickly to dissolve, and end.
#1454 (9-8-2006)
Afterward (Epitaph):
The House on Unishcoto
Weep for the one so strong to die
Who war has taken at last!
Mourn for his wife that sings no more
And the ruins called Unishcoto?
This was he who had a flaming heart
And heroic breath,
Whose weapons are laid, and hung
In the House by Unishcoto;
It was he, who grew mighty in war,
But her war was otherwise:
Thus, weep for one so strong in war
Whose war is now, of the night!
#1451 9-7-2006 Note: Unishcoto is a ruin on top of one of the mountains in the Mantaro Valley of Peru.
#1450 ?The Road to Unishcoto?, 9-6-2006 (First parts written the first and last week of August, and the last parts written the first week of September, 2006)) drawings also drawn during the same period.
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See Dennis’ web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
January 28, 2008
The way that I?m feeling is hard to describe
I feel lost and alone in this unbearable life
My emotions are twisted, my stomach in knots
I wish there was something to erase my thoughts
I feel so desperately clingy I feel so free of heart
If you could please just kiss me that would be a great place to start
I do not like the feeling of not knowing how you feel
I don?t like looking in your eyes and seeing all my fears
I really feel so empty searching for the light
Maybe if you could please turn it on tonight
My head is all clouded my eyes full of tears
I can?t hold on to this feeling for years
I hope that is passes, maybe merely a phase
I am ready to be out of this daze
I am going to try to fake my smile
Maybe that will last for a while
It you think you see a smile on my face
Look a little deeper you?ll see I?m out of place
Maybe someday soon the sun will shine
Even through the bad you are always mine.
Mothers Day
What is a mom?
A mom is hot chocolate when it?s cold
She gives you just what you need when you need it the most
A mom is a feeling of happiness and love the friend you always need know matter what
A mom is always being by your side wrong or right she?s there for you for life
A mom is knowing just what to say when your down and depressed or having a bad day
A mom is compassion tenderness and concern and she is there to help you learn
A mom is the strongest one of all she cries for you when you take a fall
My description of a mom is you, without you I don?t know what I would do.
You?re the perfect example of how a mom should be
You?ve always been the PERFECT MOM to me.
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Continue
January 14, 2008
Release the emotions that hold you back
From being the person you should be.
Let the healing wave bring to you what you lack
And help you more clearly to see.
The path may be hard and steep,
But you know it is the right way.
At times you may even weep,
But on the right path you must stay.
As you surrender the pain
You make the best gain.
Towards the goal you must work ?
From this path you dare not shirk.
As you feel the release
So you gain a new peace
And the vision becomes clear
As you let go of the fear.
For that fear is an infliction
Which causes you restriction.
It keeps you away
From your true pathway.
Disappointment you have known
But to you has been shown
That you must not stand still,
You must climb up that hill.
You need to be healed
From the thick walls that you build.
Such walls make you repressed,
And you may become depressed.
You can change, do not fret,
From this path of regret.
The way that lies ahead
Is the path on which you are led.
So give up the ways of the past
For true riches that will last.
With positive thoughts firm and strong
You can life that way life-long.
November 21, 2007
You were never born into this world.
However, that?s not to say I didn?t love you ? I still do.
1997 and 1999 ? both conceived February ? two years apart ? exactly.
Ironically, you both died at 8 weeks into my two pregnancies.
And I so grieved for you - both of you.
I think it was even worse the second time.
I grieved for the first all over again ? the loss was unbearable.
Was it something I did? Why did you both die?
I?m a spiritual person -In so many ways
And have been to see many clairvoyants in my lifetime.
Several have told me that you were both girls.
That my Nan is looking after you both - as you grow up in the spirit world.
I think of you both frequently - Thinking of the ages you?d both be now.
What you would look like, what you would wear?
What things you?d like to do, the colour of your hair.
Would you be stubborn, shy, or extrovert?
Would you be creative, sensitive - maybe tomboys?
Would you look like me? Be similar to me in your ways?
As you know, I?m no longer with your Dad.
I know you watch over me ? and you see it all.
You saw how he treated me ? the mental and physical violence.
You were best off not being a part of that situation.
He may have turned on you, my lovely girls.
And you know, although I took the violence that he dealt me
I would have killed him if he had harmed either of you.
You would have loved Peter ? my wonderful Husband now.
He would have treated you as he treats me ? with love and respect.
It must be hard for him to listen when I talk about you both
Another man fathered you ? (if that?s what you can call your dad)
But, he would love you as his own, had you been here with us, in our world.
I just wanted to tell you both that I still think of you ? often.
You?re not forgotten - just because you are not here physically.
You probably already know, but it?s always nice to be told that you are loved.
Don?t give your Great-Nanny too hard a time, girls!
She?ll tell you off, and be cross with you both!
I know, from personal experience, when I was your age!
I also know that her heart will swell with pride when she looks at you both.
Say ?hello? to her, my Dad too, give them a hug and a kiss from me.
There are so many others ? your family ? you must have met up with them.
Say ?hello? to everyone ? and I hope you will all meet me when I arrive there.
There is no time, not where you are. So however long it takes me
I will see you, my daughters, when it is my time. You?ll know when that is.
This was meant to be a poem for you both, but it?s turned into a letter!
But just expressing myself, to you both, like this, has helped me feel better.
(See, some of it rhymes!!) ? God Bless Girls. Lots of love from Mummy xxxx
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I have been writing poetry for many years and regularly have it published in print. My poetry is published by Forward Press and in many other publications. So I’m now putting my poetry online. I’m married to my husband Peter. I publish my poetry on my Blog jo-hale-poetry at jo-hale-poetry.blogspot.com/ and on 8hop.com My poetry on 8hop.com. I also have information about my poetry at www.squidoo.com/jo-hale-poetry.
He was born at 3.30 in the morning
A difficult birth, must be said.
The labour lasted just short of two days
So, he is hungry, and demands to be fed.
Several years have now passed
And he is 5 years old.
His first day at school, it is looming
He?s excited, he?s brave and he?s bold.
And now he is heading to college
He wants to get himself a degree.
And then he?ll join the RAF
What an adventure that will be.
He?s fighting for his country
Who have got tangled up in a war.
The casualties, they are heavy
He?s losing comrades he has known from afar.
His plane is shot down and he?s wounded
He awakes in a military bed.
No more flying for him, he?s told
He?ll have to have a desk job instead.
But that?s not for him ? not why he joined up
A pilot was all he?d ever be.
He?s fighting again now, a personal battle
To get back in a fighter jet, soaring and free.
His persistence, it works, and he?s got what he wanted
And a long, worthy career he does have.
He?s retiring now to live in the countryside
Enjoying what his comrades died to save.
It?s just passed his 85th birthday
And he is so tired right now.
His life?s had its ups and down - he?d agree
But, he?s got this far into it, somehow.
They said that he died whilst he was asleep
So peaceful, just as he had yearned.
They buried him alongside his Mum
And he was wearing the medals he?d earned.
In memory of those who have died in service and every hero and heroine in the world.
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I have been writing poetry for many years and regularly have it published in print. My poetry is published by Forward Press and in many other publications. So I’m now putting my poetry online. I’m married to my husband Peter. I publish my poetry on my Blog jo-hale-poetry at http://jo-hale-poetry.blogspot.com/ and on 8hop.com My poetry on 8hop.com. I also have information about my poetry at http://www.squidoo.com/jo-hale-poetry.
November 10, 2007
1) The House on Unishcoto
Weep for the one so strong to die
Whom war has taken at last!
Moron or his wife that sings no more
And the ruins on Unishcoto.
This was he who had a flaming heart
And heroic breath,
Whose weapons are laid, and hung
In the House of Unishcoto.
It was he who grew mighty in war,
But her war was otherwise:
Thus, weep for one so strong in war
Whose war is now, of the night!
#1451 9-7-2006: note, Unishcoto is a ruin on to of one of the mountains in the Mantaro Valley of Peru.
2)Stone Oven
Behind the stone oven?she sat
One bronze woman, half-grieving
Her face shinning with heat
And rolling dark eyes; by her
Feet one dog and four puppies,
Scratching and bumping?
As they ate?their meal?
Fire reflected: flashes of teeth;
Curiosity had vanished?.
#1453 (9-8-2006)
3) Stone Window
Outside her stone window
In the sky no stars showed;
The earth was a deflated swell;
The sky was sagging its dark shape;
The trees beyond, like chilled ghosts;
And the moon shown a cold
Corpse-like light, thus, a gray
Chill seeped through and upon the stones.
Trickling like water all around her,
Halting at her breasts, her unimpeded
Bones: her breath, flesh was without
Sensation. ?How long must I grieve??
She pleaded in her gray like silence.
Then the gray above her head
Began to dissolve.
#1454 (9-8-2006)
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See Dennis’ web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
October 26, 2007
I love you in the morning
When you take me for a walk.
Even when you stand around
With people, when you all talk!
I love you in the afternoon
When you give me my first meal.
And even though its beef, or lamb
I don?t want you to buy me veal!
I love you in the evening
When we lounge and watch TV.
You in your armchair, me on the sofa
Casualty ? who cares, as long as you?re with me.
I love you in the nighttime
When you let me roam the place.
And if I feel a bit insecure, or lonely
I visit your room to look at your face.
I love you all of the time
Because you are my wonderful Mum.
And you look after and protect me
When you?re with me ? I?m never glum.
I?ll love you even more and more
Until my life is through.
But until that time, I know I?ll just
Keep on loving you.
A poem about man’s best friend the dog, about loyalty, devotion, friendship, companionship, trust, love, and caring, and about what a dog would say if he could talk. This is inspired by my mum’s dog Jasper, and his devotion to my mum.
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I have been writing poetry for many years and regularly have it published in print. My poetry is published by Forward Press and in many other publications. So I’m now putting my poetry online. I’m married to my husband Peter. I publish my poetry on my Blog jo-hale-poetry at http://jo-hale-poetry.blogspot.com/ and on 8hop.com My poetry on 8hop.com. I also have information about my poetry at http://www.squidoo.com/jo-hale-poetry.
October 24, 2007
A metaphor is a figure of speech that describes one thing, concept, or action in terms of another one. A metaphor interacts with language intimately, creating relationships between things and ideas not recognized before. When a metaphor is the exact opposite of what it describes, it is called a collusion or a collision.
Although a metaphor is quite like a simile, it does not use words of resemblance such as ‘like’ or ‘as’ when it describes something.
Metaphors are either plain or implied. ?A whirlwind of ideas? is a plain metaphor. ?The numbers rained on him,? ?His smile sinned when he looked at her,? and ?Jane knifed my wound? are implied metaphors. Implied metaphors are cherished by poets and writers more than the plain ones. Since they are usually made with verbs, they bring life and excitement to an expression. Yet, plain or implied, all metaphors can be overused or abused like other good things.
At the beginning, when I tried to write poetry, I had a run-in with metaphors, only because I loved metaphors a lot. I thought they worked wonders, and since I believed metaphors were my strength, I used them too often and too indiscriminately.
Imagine a Christmas tree with decorations building up to a single shining star, which has a beautiful meaning in its fundamental nature. Well, my Christmas tree had many stars all around it with all of them fighting with that star on top for brightness, so much so that my poems became disorientated in a traffic jam of metaphors.
I stopped my romp with metaphors when a wonderful teacher pointed out to me, ever so gently, what I had been doing. I will forever be grateful to her as long as I use metaphors. She told me to use one master metaphor, and if I felt like adding extras, I should make the additional metaphors work under that one master.
Now, I go with her formula especially in a short poems; one central metaphor with all the other less significant ones building up to it. In other words, for each Christmas tree there needs be only one very bright star on top.
With a metaphor one can express an idea more pointedly and more delicately than one can express by using a roomful of adjectives and adverbs. For example, an amateur could be saying this:
?When he moved the position of his cap, it was visible that his head was covered by white hair, which was holy, sacred, saintly, distinct, untainted, not dirtied, much adored, spiritually aristocratic, and shining brightly with a circular light.?
Here is how a great poet has said it with a metaphor so eloquently.
?And white the unpigmented
Halo of his hair
When he shifted his cap:?
from Night Game by Robert Pinsky
Let us look at the word metaphor. Meta means across, phor means carry something like a ferry. So, a metaphor must ?carry across? a meaning by using a physical image which stands for an abstract thought.
The poet Jane Yolen–in an interview–said:
‘In Greece the word metafora is a kind of moving van and so as you drive around, you see trucks with METAFORA on the side. They are shifting a lot of stuff under the watchful eye of the stone-draped ladies of the Parthenon. There’s a poem there.’
Jane Yolen was so right. Where there is a good metaphor that is wisely used, there is a poem there.
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Joy Cagil is an author on http://www.Writing.Com/
which is a site for Poetry. Her portfolio can be found at http://www.Writing.Com/authors/joycag
October 21, 2007
So, you want to learn haiku. It’s no surprise. Many people are attracted to this elegant and economical poetry form. In just a few words, an entire scene is captured.
To learn haiku, you need to forget about what you’ve heard regarding writing it. The notorious 5-7-5-syllable rule no longer applies to modern haiku poetry. This is a good thing for it frees you up to focus on expressing yourself without worrying if your syllables fit a predefined pattern.
The most important thing you need to know about learning how to write haiku is that it’s a very short poem based on a present moment experience. This is the point where newbies to the art form mess up. They want to write something that’s, well, western for lack of a better word. They use western poetic devices like metaphor and simile while the humble haiku requires neither of these. For example, take a look at this haiku poem by the author:
August moonlight –
on a thin branch
the sparrow rubs its beak
Notice that the 5-7-5-syllable rule does not apply here, yet the haiku ’sensibility’ is retained. Why? Because this is a short poem about a present moment. In this case, the present moment has to do with what a sparrow is doing. It’s not sophisticated nor is it ‘trying’ to be prosy or poetic. On the contrary, it’s simple and quite elementary yet it contains all the elements we need for successful haiku making.
After learning how to create phrases that are in the present, it’s necessary to examine the method most modern haiku poets use to construct their poems. And this has everything to do with something called fragment and phrase theory. This really isn’t a theory at all but a way of describing how 99% of most modern haiku is constructed. In the above haiku, the fragment is line one ‘August moonlight.’ The phase consists of lines two and three.
Most modern haiku poets consider the phrase to be the most important part of the poem. This is the specific ‘present moment’ part whereas the fragment’s purpose is to set mood or place. Combined, fragment and phrase create something called juxtaposition. It is this juxtaposition that makes a haiku a haiku. To learn haiku, don’t bother yourself with syllable counting. Instead, focus on writing descriptive phrases about a present moment. Do this and your haiku skill will grow in leaps and bounds!
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Edward Weiss is a poet, author, and publisher of Wisteria Press. His 2 books ‘Bird Haiku’ and ‘Seashore Haiku’ are now available and he is currently working on a third. Get haiku in your inbox! Sign up for our FREE daily haiku service at http://wisteriapress.com and get a fresh haiku in your inbox every morning!
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