http://www.samsilva.homeip.net/
Sam has several books of his poetry published through a small press in Parkdale Or. These are listed with some of the large internet bookshops - click on the title to go see:
De la Palabra
Art
as Anyone's Salvation
Love
Against the Grey Winter Mean
Making
a Sacrifice Like Art
Sweet
Harvests On
WISHING TO FALL ASLEEP
Death
decimates the years!
Children, parents, lovers
abandon us
and break our hearts
and run away!
We are so cheap with money and with pride.
Are we the drowsy dimness
for which golden stars, once come,
have met their hours and died?
Love that sleeps beneath the covers
like a million buried fears!
Love that looks into the night!
Coins in the face of sorrow
made to cheat their grief
with tears
...wishing to fall asleep
until...daylight!
AS TO THE LIGHT WITHIN US ALL
He is...a God of mercy
...the light within us all!
Born down from the sky
like suffering charity
returning prayer for somber prayer
...yes! Spring murders deities
whose fleshly form belies the Fall.
And virgins kiss such children
sired to purpose there.
Yet these temporal affinities
in the sky' s reign
barely matter
....in a choir
of angel hymns
support themselves like monkey chatter
meant to imitate the master's whims
Therefore justice
in a mortal life that dims
is more an issue meant
to likewise flatter
...sore pleadings from the flesh
of the beastly
and the ill informed.
For we are given
to stay alive forever
in the manner
that the work is always done
and the nails are always driven
...in that manner, so we will!
For, in this we are alike,
he is first and foremost
a god all powerful
and a spirit poised to strike
even should he choose
to hold the cheek back once again
in evil's way.
Forget the root, my boy!,
and the flower
blows from the stem toward the chaos of the rain!
As to the light within us all!
...there is....a price to pay!.
CHILDREN OF IRELAND
How fortunate we are
to linger
in that morning of our lives
in such caves and caverns
in the mountain's hills,
or in a harbor leading out to sea
but in that misty silence where the skies
rock and wash the very gift
that such a silence stills.
My Lord was born in darkness
and beneath a snowy star
...and yet
I always felt him most
days that wait for school
in the morning twilight
where the hills of Ireland
kiss the Irish coast
at a time of day too early
for the boats to sail for sea.
So why do we spend a lifetime
trying to figure who we are?,
rather, let me die
a lazy fool,
a child of mercy
whom the Holy Ghost
kissed once and only once
like shimmering sunlight
in a mindless pool
whose ocean stretches out
at Dawn's eternity...