Dreaming Attic

Dreaming Attic

1) The Flower of the Field

One day when I was walking

In the fields of Ol' St. Paul,

I glanced upon a flower--

And asked three questions in all

I said with wonder (and creed):

How do you grow, Little Flower--

Amongst all the suckling weeds?

How do you grow, Little Flower--

With the Sun baking your knees?

Then responded the flower

(pleased):

"I was planted with a Good Seed.

Notes: Dedicated to Ximena from Huancayo, Peru; written 1981, in West Fargo, North Dakota, and St. Paul, Minnesota. #80

2) The Dreamer's Castle

I told you I was a dreamer,

You told me I was a fool:

Yet from dreaming I built my Castle

(I know)

From scheming you built yours, too.

Now our castles stand adjacent--

Made of stone, wood, and glass:

But--the difference between our castles--

Is that,

Yours lies in quicksand.

Note: Originally published in 1982, in the book "Eternal Echoes", Vol II, by Poetry Press.

3) The Vision

(The Stepping Stone)

He was lost one night in wonder,

Thinking of the world and its foes

When, on a peak, two thousand feet,

He saw it, in the falling snow.

It was a city beyond all reason

Made of illuminating crimson gold.

He wondered how to each it--

Beyond its skies of blue.

Then he saw a falling rainbow

With colors of velvet hue--

Two angels softly laid it

Over this city of golden hue.

Then he cried, "O Lord! let me enter--

For this world I dwell in, is blind."

Then he heard a golden voice say,

"It's a stepping stone to mine."

Note: Originally published in "The American Poetry Anthology,"

Volume I, Number 2, summer of 1982.

4) The Messiah

Like pelts stretched from side-to-side

On a wooden cross, undressed, alive--

The Messiah hung, like a wild beast,

Uncouth, uncrowned, no dignity.

Deboned--like fish--His body hung;

Lifeless, deformed, in silent pain.

Dried blood upon His ransomed face,

Eyes decaying, hardly seen.

Pores hemorrhaging with a gloss of sweet;

Skin like mounds of inflamed tar

(like boils reflecting off dark shaded ice).

Deep distress around His soot-covered veins,

A mixture of Saliva, Dirt and Shame;

Ugly as sin, beyond recognition

(like open incisions of an autopsy).

Acquainted with grief, yes, oh Yes!

As the prophets foretold, long ago.

A new scene, we became REDEEMED!!

Notes: Originally written in 1987; published in the book, "National Library of Poetry," (won Editor's choice Award in the North American Poetry Competition of l988, out of 10,000 entries) also published in the book, "Siren," 2003.

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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