"Divine Sunlight"
1
Scars and Wings
I will sleep beneath my scars, and they above me,Somewhere in-between we shall touch:Oh, God, oh, God, who knows our minds And hearts—our thoughts, our damaged brows,Our-sour mouths, troubled stomachs—Where is the sound body? You once gave me—Give it back please, it had wings you see,And now I have only scars…scars, scarsScars to offer Thee.
Oh, God, oh, God, how I love Thee—I would take death tomorrow, to have them back,To wear a crown of victory, on my head.
#1549 11//19/2006 {Written in Lima, Peru, Café EP]
2
Old Jealousy
When I was a kid, I asked my Grandpa, “What is old jealousy?” because once I had heard him mention it, in passing—“You’d not understand, go about your way, and play….” He told me in no kind way. Later on that very same day, I heard he say to my mother, “When I was young, I had not the courage to ask such questions (to grownup), as does your son, and now I’m too old and feeble I suppose, nor the opportunity have I, to accomplish the power to do whatever.” I remembered that clearly now, now that I’m close to sixty, perhaps because I’ve lived a full life, and somehow along the way, I buried all those old jealousy’s, that might pop up in old age.
#1552 11/19/2006 Two poems given by "Divine Sunlight"
Note: Here are two new poems Dennis wrote during lunch at El Parquetito's, Cafe in Miraflores, Lima, Peru, while the sun was upon him. He seems to think deeper at certain places, as in St. Paul, Minnesota, he has selected the Coffee House, in Har Mar Mall, it is not called that, but it is that. A poet needs a place that he feels comfortable in, and quiet. I often just leave him wherever for hours while he does his thing; he reads and writes some five to ten hours a day (between 300 and 3000 words a day, he reads and writes). These two poems, I kind of think they are somewhat divinely inspired, or as he called them, "Divine Sunlight." It can't hurt I suppose. Rosa

Dorland’s Ghosts

The road separated when
I found my appointed way:
”Your poems shall ring as chimes
In ancient ruins…” a covert
Storm from an irretrievable island
Carried this Echo: Dorland’s Ghosts!
“There is a hexed bounty
On love and peace,” they inserted
Into my dreams: perhaps (thinking,
Someday I’d be one of them) entrenched,
Long ago in those rose-colored marble stones,
Vine-vindictive pillars that cling like
Phantom cords: these dreams and
Echoes are flowers that never can be,
Laughter that never will be: from
These ardent, amorous Ghosts
(The penitence ghosts)) That knows me.
They cling to the earth’s tumult
To women, or men, with lutes and
Songs, and play fountains of affection
Until they fall—and fall they shall
These seedless Beings exhume and faint:
Long-dead, now wanting lovers;
I say: cast them to the winds, and flee
Or thou shall know their greed—
Pale and sweet they can be...!
Their muzzling pleasures never glow:
These irrelevant ghouls, play
Tyrant, blushing as if the breasts
Of lovers are Satisfying….
Forfeit, they did—such colored grapes;
They are caught in-between,
Neutralized and scattered

Notes 1: Written 11/1/2006 [Lima, Peru]; a dedication poem to Clark A. Smith, and inspired by him.

Note 2: Dennis has written something like 10-volumes of books on poetry, one and only one on Macabre Poems, Volume III. This is an area he has explored, and according to The Mango Tree Magazine, in India, and other magazines in Australia, and Internet magazines, he again does well according to them. But he doesn’t write exclusively this genre. There have been editors whom wished he had. So here’s a selected poem, he just did he considers Macabre, to a certain degree; you may not see many of them from him in the future so this is a treat. Rosa Penaloza de Siluk