The Eldritch Poetry of Dennis L. Siluk's II [2006]



1) Devil Music: Red Laughter

White demons, with red laughter
Dreams lost to demonic masters
Souls in the drifting years
Footsteps during proud halls of Belshazzar


Flee far the phantasms of the fire
Swift and sudden they appear
Seizing all by hand and man’s desire
White demons, with red laughter


They weave their thoughts through ours
With goblets filled with charm and wine
Then roar and shake the earth
With their strange enigmatic minds


“…go back to sleep!” a dark night
I tell my weary, unwell wife
Afar I hear red laughter:
Devil Music, demonic Masters!…


Note: Written at my Casa [home], in Lima, Peru, 11:40 PM, 5/11/2006, I was on the third stanza, second line, of the poem “Devil Music: Red Laughter,” and the earthquake came, shook the house, like a roaring train the earth murmured under me, the foundation of the house trembled, and my wife was in another room, came to the library where I was, and I told her (she was ill) to go back to sleep,all would be all right, shortly, and she did, and it was. #1347

This poem is dedicated to the Carmel Group of writers of the 1900s, at the turn of the century: George Sterling, Clark A. Smith, Robert Howard, Jack London, Ambrose Bierce, Nora May French, H.P. Lovecraft. There will never be another group like i

© 2006 Dennis L. Siluk



2) To Clark A. Smith [Arriving in Hell]


When CAS, made his decent,
(Paid his toll, before he left—
Earth’s crust)
Proud he was when he appeared
At dock #666 Hell’s Northern Pier.


There stood Satan himself—
Opening the gates, “Drop the oars,”
He said, formal and brief: “You are
Amongst friends, the Dead, who
Never die, nor ever sleep…!” And
His ten-wings snapped insanely.


There was the Henchman, Agaliarept
Ruler of an army in Hell; he leaped to
His feet, held out his hand—saw the
Scorn on his face, said:
“Welcome, your are home my friend!”


His eyes—vile, a hoary-red; he
Stepped up onto the dock, over the
Ash-dark canopy (called a sky)
Saw Satan taking off his ten-winged
Ring, said: with a whisper to CAS:
“Wake thy eyes, and make me a
poem that will never die…!”


© 2006 Dennis L. Siluk


3) Ode to the: Lurking Ripples


Here, ripples the wind Did the song of hell pass?
The abyss-door was open
Something trampled in the
Grass!
A shape, a shape—I see,—
Vivid as the veins in me;
Evil lurks (sublimity)!...

Note: dedicated to (both): Clark A. Smith for opening the vaults of hell with poetry, and George Sterling, for decontaminating them; both whiz kid’ in their own right. Each reading one another (the old and the new), and both providing great poetry, if not phenomenal. [#1099 1/25/06]