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Details | Russian Poem | |

Recalling Her

It is thirty six years ago, and I am with her in the garden,
where July is a picnic of egg sandwiches, cress-stippled,
the fuzzy down of peaches, acid-yellow tang of lemonade.
Her fingers have the delicacy of dancers
as she deftly mixes paint on a palette blue as the sky -
blobs of acrylics bright as sweet shop candy.

Summer is a sizzling colour wheel, spinning in its heat hues -
cadmium orange, pyrrole red, gold ochre -
those fever flames that blaze across her page.

My small world is warmed by the sun in her smile.

Russian vine stitches a delicate doily over the shed roof.
The heat-glazed garden shimmers and buzzes.
There is a twilight world under sweet clusterings of lilacs:
a cool shock of shade, pendulous-legged black flies
hovering in the murky mauve.
China white stars of jasmine light my way.
Please keep me close. Let me stay.

*

It is twenty six years ago, a morning of mourning,
and the notes of the dead bells toll
as, mist-muffled, they roll
through November's sleet streets.

I close my eyes and the sun in her smile parts the clouds.

Sober-suited people crush and cluster in pews;
row upon row of perylene black, winter-pale faces titanium white.
Stained glass windows filter and warm the ash-grey light
until her coffin is a vibrant palette of rainbows.

There are stories - lots of stories - anecdotes,
a crimson-backed journal she wrote,
a painting she painted, coffin-propped,
a poetry reading - one of her own -
Tapestry is a wondrous thing, in it the lovely colours sing. . .

Creamed rice-colour roses heap sweet
on her stone - a slate plate serving up a dead name -
and carnations splash cadmium scarlet
like blood throbbing from the gash of grief's raw wound.

*

It is now, and I am alone, taking a short cut home
through evening's rich palette.
Elegiac elms shed viridian tears,
and the sky is a burnt sienna explosion.
October's umber seeps into November's sepia tones.

My mind is coloured with her and then.
I hold a small cameo box that held
the colourful spill of her pills: kaleidoscope planets
orbiting my loneliness, spinning off into nothingness. . .

Dark figures fill the park: silhouettes, shadows
following me home; spirits stepped from her portraits,
faces pushed down into coat collars, crinkled with frowns.

Paint-pinned people in their primaries and pastels,
on canvas, under glass; stopped heartbeats of the past.
Trapped moments on paper and boards.

I close my eyes and see the sun in her smile,
recall how, since her passing, life has become a free fall,
a parapet leap without parachute.

And the smudged charcoal lines of memory
are beginning to blur, fading like her watercolours. . .





in memory of my grandmother

Details | Russian Poem | |

Russian Roulette


          Playing
          Russian roulette
          With fate

          Fateful
          The hand that tempts
          And flirts

          Flirting
          With the shadows
          Of death

          Deathly
          Silence that lurks
          And creeps

          Creeping 
          Through cobwebbed paths
          Of doubt

          Doubtful
          Uncertainty
          Sets in

          Inner
          Feelings torment
          And gnaw

          Gnawing
          At self belief
          Bleeding

          Blood flows
          Slowly in drips
          It ends

          Ending 
          Russian roulette
          With fate 

--------------------------------
Contest: Mussetle Train
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
Placed: 1st


Details | Russian Poem | |

When Hell Froze Over

When Hell Froze Over


 Trees shed their leaves,
 the worms dig in deeper
 Mothers cry and grieve
 woman is the best weeper

 Cold blasting each night,
 birds froze on the ground
 Sad hell was the fight
 no hope was ever found

 Winter ate their souls,
 the keepers of evil hearts
 Soldiers fought epic goals
 the dead filled the carts

 War or cold killed more,
 dead is dead, hope gone
 Wasted prayers to implore
 heroes frozen all alone

 Trail, path frozen dead,
 winter sent home too soon
 asleep but not in a bed
 never to sing another tune

 Retreat frenchmen knew well,
 as their army frozen there
 Now germans found this hell
 in the frozen land of the bear!

 Robert J.Lindley, 09-20-2014
 Note:
 Hitler's armies were frozen out just as were Napoleon's in the previous century. Russian winter was an enemy that killed mercilessly.The winter of 1941-42 was one of the worst in  recorded history. Daily temperatures fell to 40 degrees below zero. German soldiers had not been issued with warm winter clothing as Hitler believed that the invasion would be over by the winter. Soldiers froze to death in their sleep,
 diesel froze in fuel tanks and food was in very  short supply. Russian soldiers had been issued with winter clothing and did not suffer as badly as their German enemies....

Details | Russian Poem | |

Dmitri Mendeleev


Dmitri Mendeleev of Russian descent
Designed a table for each element
Periodic symbols he inserted for flavour
Was his a chemical or human behaviour?


----------------------------------------
Contest: Periodic Table of Elements
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen

Details | Russian Poem | |

EXERPTS FROM HITLER'S DIARY 1941

EXERPTS   FROM   HITLER’S   DIARY   1941

"I never travel without my diary, one should always have something sensational to read . .
 . " Oscar Wilde, 1891 

Tues    May  9:   
Just when I was busy with plans for Russia, Rudolf Hess dropped by with  crazy notion of
flying to UK for peace.   Said he bought  some new boots yesterday   for the trip  - 
dead   shiny .  I’d like a  pair like that.    I told him  -  forget the trip   and tell
me where you got the boots. 

Wed     June 22:     
Invaded Russia.   Eggs for lunch  -  hard boiled again -  I hate that. Must speak to Eva
about it.

Thurs    June 23:      
11:00  am - heard Chamberlain on radio again – that dreary voice!  that paper-waving 
droopy-moustached  old gopher!   My small black moustache  is much neater.     
12:30 pm -   inspected new bunker in East Prussia  with smoother concrete walls .   Eva
wants  to wallpaper  them    (nice little red flowers) and why  not?    
8:00pm -  after dinner,  practised  arm-gestures for  big Nuremburg speech  on Saturday. 
 Rehearsed a few ad libs. . . .  Eva liked them.

Fri    June24:      
Rained all day.   Slow day  (almost invaded Egypt) - stayed in and read.      Eva dyed her
hair  creamy-yellow.    ( I’m gonna start calling her Blondy.)           That new german
shepherd Bormann   gave me  -  I took her out for walk. . . . she's called Blondi  too  
 (Joke there  - the guys will like it) .   After dinner we all  listened to Franz Lehar’s
“Merry Widow” again.  I love it.   Eva fell asleep;    so did the dog.

Sat   June 25:   
Nuremburg speech went ok. Got all the ad libs in except one.    Rommel was on the phone
talking about Africa and Libya, and some place called Tobruk. Must make a note – where is
Tobruk? P.S. Must find out where Libya is.

Sat    Dec    6:  
Just read the latest in the newspapers....almost four million Russian prisoners  now.
 
Sun   Dec  7:  
Those crazy Japanese have  gone and done it. . . . oh  boy, they’re gonna be in trouble! 
               
Thurs   Dec 11:   
Oh, what the hell. . .  in for a dime in for a dollar :  this Russian war is too  easy,  I
need a bit of a challenge. Think I’ll whiz down  to the  Reichstag tonight  and tell ‘em
we’re declaring  war on the USA.    Might  get a pair of those shiny boots there too.  

……………………………………
Written by Sydney Peck  
for Constance La France ( A Rambling Poet )  -  Contest Name:  The Diary

Details | Russian Poem | |

Inappropriate Attire

It is the evening I have waited for, 
stiletto heels three inches high adorned my feet,
real nylons hung from garters beneath a
skin tight, leather skirt of maraschino cherry-red.
A blouse of white silk, with a cascade of ruffles,
played peek-a-boo with my décolletage.
Outdoors, the rain pounded the asphalt  
making the reality of his arrival even more bizarre.
A Harley barrels into the driveway.
Apparently, he thinks 
he is Marlon Brando
and I am Stella?

I stand on the porch, a black umbrella
covering my new do, and watch as he
saunters through the puddles on the concrete walk.
The color of the umbrella my only 
non-incongruent element in the frame, the scene made.
His smile was like a box of Chiclet's
on his clean shaven face.
He kisses me.

I lick the raindrop
from the tip of his Roman nose
and take hold of his Russian fingers.
He tosses my umbrella on the porch,
throws his black leather jacket over my shoulders,
lifts me off my feet, and carries me to the bike.

The sun breaks through the clouds and the rain stops,
just in time for the neighbors to glare at the sight of my legs 
reflecting on the bikes chrome work.
Shake their respective heads
and donate a few wolf whistles.

Details | Russian Poem | |

Leaves of Parchment

Times of old dwindle throughout captured in leaves of parchment sewed individually into bounded Moroccan, Spanish, and Russian Leathers, seeping the smells of old centuries wisdom enclosed. 

 Taking the mind into the beyond where great stories are forged and fantasies made. 

 Smells of musk, vanilla, and tobacco fill the air with the sweet hymms of melodies playing from a far.

 Dripping wax from candles burnt fall upon parchment, and the taste of whiskey near the crackling of the fire leave one's mind lost between worlds.

 The setting of the sun glides down in an array of colors throughout the land, sweeping all that is, all that is known, and all that was, as the crinkle of every page turns.

Details | Russian Poem | |

ROULETTE

ROULETTE

My twisted mind
Had everyone blind
No symptoms
Not a single sign!
 
I want to forget everything,
Living a life of no regrets,
Facing the sun
Ignoring my debts
Wiping of the cold sweat,
Taking another drink from my sweet tea set.

My life, a game of “RUSSIAN ROULETTE,”
there is no positive or negative.

A game of slip and slide,
Opened wide
Put a gun inside
Staring down the barrel
A quick pull trigger, gone sterile 
I give thanks to another day.

Madness, I've gone insane
Lots of money down the drain.
Initiated gum pops,
Broken lemons drops,
Tainted temples,
Upon another turn,
I dream of no shame!
Always saying 'NEVER!'
To this life, I scream “WHATEVER!"
HIT ME AGAIN! 

by;p.d

I wrote this poem, 
and dedicate the poem to my gambling addiction... 
ha ha, I miss it... he he he.... JK 


Details | Russian Poem | |

Best Feet Forward

I thought I could love a Russian Girl.
Her lips were divine, pretty like a rose
She was lovely, with the cutest curl.
Why couldn't I stop looking at her toes?

I swear they were twisted, not one was straight.
Sure her dress showed off her sexy form.
Those open sandles, they didn't look great!
Within my mind, I was completely torn.

I may be shallow, a horrible guy.
My foot fetish is far from a joke
Staying with her I would surely die.
If I sucked those toes I'm sure I'd choke

Some like big boobs that flop all about.
For me it's a foot, perfect and petite.
Still others prefer a woman more stout.
I'm cursed to be a man attracted to feet


For Dr. Ram Metha's Chastuski Me contest.  ABAB form

Details | Russian Poem | |

Legendary Lady Leaders I salute you

I am like
Cleopatra
embraced by serpents many
fear
always trying something new
and dramatic with my
hair
I am like
Eva Patrón
growing up with a painful family
getting lost in movies
thinking of my own
hypnotizing when I speak
First lady of Argentina
meeting you, after death
would be a treat
a nervous habit, of nibbling
on my jewelry
the similarities, between us
gave me a sense of foolery
I am like
Wilma Mankiller
Chief of the Cherokee Tribe
for ten years
fighting against Native stereotypes
despite such distress
enemies did stress
promoting to ‘be of good mind’
you were a leader, of your time
an advocator for women
that they may grow up
and become chief
as a child, you wondered
the forests, like me
not the streets
I am like
Aung San Suu Kyi
wearing three types of 
flowers in your hair
feeling at times like a 
‘splinter of glass, sharp, glinting
power to defend itself against hands
that try to crush’
winner of a Nobel Peace Prize, 
for courage, was
a must
I am like
Catherine The Great
a love to laugh,
coffee, and feeling compelled
to always fill abandoned blank
sheets of paper
you were a Royal Russian Empress,with
not one red drop of Russian blood
and her people, were blessed
to have her
I am like
the Queen of England
longest royal lifetime in history
strong built, from a miserable childhood
toughened her
this is no mystery
preferring candle light
to electricity
handwriting over typewriter
and poetry
I am like
Indira Gandhi
dreaming to live as she did
riding elephants and having
tiger cubs as companions
your own Sikh security
killed you, the story
a sad one
secret dreams of being a writer
angered, by the imbalance of
power
between men and women
listening to beat poets
like Ginsberg
as a great Prime Minister of India 
you were heard
and understood
I am like
Rigoberta Menchú
drew the worlds attention to 
native Indians rights,
because of you
your goal, to be
a drop of water on a rock
dripping in the same spot,
eventually in the world, you
may leave a mark
wearing many colors
‘because it gives you life’
insisting men and women be equals
you fought this fight
to relax, as I do
writing poetry into
 the night
I am like
Joan of Arc
French Military Heroine
burned at the stake at just
age nineteen
known for keeping your cool
even on the battlefield
being a courageous and inspirational
rare jewel
Legendary Lady Leaders
I salute you



Details | Russian Poem | |

A Cloud

A grey cloud in holes
flew in the sky alone,
headed for its dole
all the time along.

Brilliant sunlight spots
fell onto the ground.
Jumped as little balls,
run as a greyhound.

With the insects brittle
rushed along the meadow,
an’ there a May beetle
made another circle.

An’ sounds everywhere
rang out as in a jungle,
the guests in the air
lavishly got jumbled.

Fondly dandelions
crowded all together,
organ-grinders – flyers
played in fair weather.

Suddenly black clouds
gathered in the sky,
blew away round dance
in the near dry.

Soared in the bounds
of the vault of heaven,
the cloud on the ground
fell to form forever.


My page on a Russian site: 
www.stihi.ru/avtor/boreaus

Details | Russian Poem | |

Wishes

(on the basis of Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata)


Be calm, because it's vanity of vanities,
reach harmony taking a truce.
Be generous, despite “in vino veritas” 
all in the world forget the truth. 

Remember that all have their rights –
an ignoramus here or there a fool.
And are you right with all your stereotypes?
So, take then theirs in blood cool.

For evil leave that everlasting fall,
obsequiousness and arrogance – a fuss;
As all affected will be ground at all
by millstones-years first or last.

And give yourself up to a labor of love,
depends itself on you your destiny.
In lieu of victor's wreath a head above
will be a crown of thorns eventually.

But if one day some utter fraud
floods flourishing in blossom land,
let it not devastate your soul  
with all abstracted from your bank. 

Remember, love is never bought,
you'd better flirt with haughty divas,
in style be good at getting old,
as all the beauty fades with years.   

Enjoy the time not passing by,
this moment's not reversible.
Strengthen your spirit to be high,
your fears all alleged impossible. 

At last a child you're of the universe,
as those trees, stars and our heaven.
You're given to explore your place,
though you take all for gospel ever.

Your God – it's peace within your soul,  
you, cherish as the apple of your eye. 
Let it be love here in a cottage small,
and be vivacious till you die.




There is a war on for your mind: http://www.infowars.com/

My page on a Russian site: http://www.stihi.ru/avtor/boreaus

Details | Russian Poem | |

Zippergate


He should have gifted something else the gifts brought her an instant fame as she saved those on her 'blue dress', Zippergate was the scandal name! ==============000================ Placement: 6th;(March 2012) Contest:Chaustushka Form-Russian Poetry Sponsor:Gwendolen Rix By:Kash poet

Details | Russian Poem | |

Shotgun Lovesong

Let's play a game
of Russian Roulette.
I'll go first,
you can pull the trigger.
Look me in the eyes
as the muzzle 
nuzzles
the temple of my skull.

Fire.

I'll probably be fine,
more than alright in fact, 
as I watch you
watch me
remain alive.

It'll look like you love me.
It'll look like you care.

Details | Russian Poem | |

Addiction

This feeling dragging myself to the lowest standards 
the horrible feeling of being ruled by the man who has me face down on the mat
and when i give in,, the craving go into the deep dark abyss..
i only see one way out and the cold steel is in my hands,,,,
playing Russian roulette with my emotions..
not knowing when my next craving is going to hit me over the head.....



But then i realize that i have a purpose on this earth,, and i don't have to give in to
"the father of all lies" and that i do have a way out, and i do have people who love me
so what can i do??

Let the pen bleed out onto the papers who have no way of judging my defects of character

and take it one day at a time

Details | Russian Poem | |

Shot down

blazing overkill
attacking inner depths
savagely i ride
weathering 
the storm

galloping 
on the crest 
of waves
unfurling high winds
battered and torn

russian roulette
revolving
rolling in the chambers
lead heavy
spinning circles
upside down 
pulling on feelings

emotions explode
burning fire
in depths
shot through
the heart

death 
to a lovers emotion
love lives
in you died


Details | Russian Poem | |

25th October 1854 Part 2

Left And Right

Either side the cannons roar
Took of blood and wanted more
Salvo after salvo into the valley
Point blank range to deter the rally

Water poured over steaming muzzles
Russian gunner at this sight puzzles
Tis madness against this cannonade
Tis the sacrifice of the Light Brigade

The quicker they fired the faster they came
Under billowing flags and the Queens name
Torn and shredded they carried the fight
And many a soul, never saw that night

The Redout

The Russian generals looked in wonder
Stood in awe at the total squander
The cannons barked and took their toll
Removing horse from man, man from soul

Rifle, cannon, spoke the same
The Light Brigade on they came
Thundering hooves and yelling cries
All for the sight of the Russians eyes

And at the distance of a lance
The Russian soldier in a trance
Sabres cut and slashed in violence
All was death in the cannons silence

The Russians fled in disbelief
Last shot fired to the Brigades relief
Bleeding soldiers and tattered flags
Stumbled, tottered, like wizened hags

Down The Valley

Looking back along that mile
Bodies, horses, pile on pile
Wounded men lean on lance
Said a prayer in skyward glance

On the ground a sleeping parade
Remnants of the Light Brigade
Depleted souls but not of honour
Yet a picture of battles squander

On the conclusion of this battle
Fingers wag and tongues will rattle
But nought should be put to shame
The Light Brigade and its day of fame

At Night

When the moon shines that longest mile
Hear the hooves on lush green pile
The rattling sabres and rippling flags
And how he rode the horseman brags
In the night the ghosts they ride
Full of honour and full of pride

Details | Russian Poem | |

Steamed Ferret

Steamed Ferret

Very steamy hot thoughtful stuff
get me hotter sure enough
getting hard to  keep it down
feral  ferret will swim or drown

would you like to eat a chop
as i'm fumbling at your top
lamb is good but tiddley's better
cannot get the catch unfetter

can we have a cuddle now
moving closer to the chow
tween your thighs I could slip
panties dinna wanna slip

things are damp its getting harder
no way to get  between
in a  rotten Russian Lada
gear stick jabs me so obscene

finally i'm in the passion pit
plunging driven just to it!
yes i'll make you moan a bit
but i'm only dreaming :)

Don Johnson

Yes Trace :)


Details | Russian Poem | |

LAND of the LOST

Land of the Lost

Time in time out
What's it all about

Got no freedom
Drunk on rum

Russian roulette full of fun
Empty barrel, trigger gun

Bust a cop
Prison mob

Modern warfare
Lord's prayer

Life's a steal
Keep it real

Living will 
patients bill

File for divorce
Marriage course

False image
True discourage

Hating phase
Finger peace trace

Murder case
Birthplace

Where's my justice
Religion practice

Body full of lies 
the truth dies

Overdrive
Sex thrive

Driver licenses
Fatal expense

Public enemy
Hermit disease

Auspice unity
Combined greedy

Foot prints
Heart dent

Failure to communicate
Achieve to hallucinate

Judged by hypocrite
3 seconds, 3000 kilobits

Every minute matters
For jugglers and gamblers

Every life has a cost
Land of the lost

By: P.D...

Details | Russian Poem | |

Year of the Wig

(This is a true story from 2001, when I let my
hair grow back to dark, and I fooled a few people
who thought the wig was still my own hair but with 
a different shade of blonde!)

Growing roots meant bad hair each day;
bought a wig to stay blonde at school.
One guy loved my color that way.
Said, "Your hair's never looked so cool!"

For Rick Parise's "A Bad Hair Day" Contest
using Chastushka (Russian form of poetry
with trochaic tetrameter).


Details | Russian Poem | |

This Poem May Kill Me, or Not

Notes: I am putting the notes upfront, suicide is no laughing matter, however, anything that makes it something that can be discussed I think is a good thing. Humor really is an aid to many an illness. Note the poem starts with a reason, when someone is at the point of suicide, there is NO reason. It is an illness like any other. Also inside humor  and innuendo is meaning. Enough said.

I went to the casino of love last night
I placed a bet on romantic seven
Lost all my chips, ain’t going to heaven
Broke me heart
Lowered head, I walked back to the car park

Next morning I woke up
Put a gun to my head
Click
Click
Click
Click
I can’t even win at Russian roulette

Need a change, to get away
Mending the pain or soul, some might say
Took a plane to Bengal
Ended up in beuruit
Walked right into the middle of a war or 2
Explosions all over, around me head
Thank god, soon I shall be dead
I saw a terrorist with a real mean look
I waved hello, shoot me, shoot me!!!
I am sure he would have given a chance 
But someone else tossed into him a lance
Seems even in a war I can’t make myself dead
Sadly I lost at even this deadly dance

Then an explosions tossed me sky high
Was i going to heaven, was this my grand demise?
No, I landed in the sea and just on time
For a cruise ship to save me, soul and all
Off too Florida it seems
Death sure has some gall


I was walking along a sunny beach
When all of a sudden two gangs appeared
One Cuban, one Mexican, they sure looked mean
Two gangs known as killing machines
Here is me smack in the middle
My lucky day, for how could I lose
Suicide was assured, come on, you know it
I yelled to both of them
I am DEA, and I think all of you queers are very very gay
That out to get me the bullet I wish
What the hell, they all dropped their guns and surrendered
I admit I was starting to be mighty offended

So now I have this Medal of Honor
For saving a community of drugs and plunder
I just can’t win at the casino of life
I can get myself killed no matter the plight

So back home I go
What the hell
I’ll fill the bathtub
And give that a go

You think I’m bragging or boasting of death
I am serious, this will work, why drowning for sure
What could go wrong? with such a fine plan?
All I want to be is a dead dead man

So yes, I fill up the tub with water and suds
I down some pills, some booze and some bud
I am drifting off, to my purgatory bliss
When I hear an alarm the wakes me
What’a darn bitch
The buildings on fire, ok I can burn in my sorrow
Except the bathtub collapses and doses the fire

I am a loser, this is for sure
They gave me Medal of Honor again
For saving all the seniors by making it rain
I am not dead, and I am not happy
Seems I can’t accomplish 
Even my death
Even this task I make a mess

Now I am curious, I have to ask
Have any readers killed themselves yet?
This tale that’s a mess, being alive is giving me stress
If not read on, it’s gonna get better
Someone I will succeed at this suicidal adventure

OK now a bridge I hear is a good place to die
Not to hard, you jump and say good bye
I can do that, doesn’t seem hard
So now I stand on a Golden Gate Bridge
Happy at last that life will be over

All of a sudden a huge shaking occurs,
An earthquake , oh lucky me maybe the bridge will collapse
Not to be and you know that now, it tosses me infront of a car
The car brakes and halts and honks its horn
Till it sees the crack in the road just up ahead
If not for me falling right right there
That car would be the one drowning in the ocean of despair

They jumped out and hugged me and kissed me with thanks
Apparently I saved an ambulance full of pre mature babies
You know what happens next, and don’t you go crying
Another Medal of Honor for me, a hero without trying!

What the hell I give up
This suicide profession is harder than you think
Hell I might as well go back to my whiskey and drinks
Live in the darkness, and pray that one day
Life has enough meaning that I wish to actually stay

So now that these ideas so dark and so deadly
I have discarded without hope, so now I will be friendly
I will join the world of human souls and laughter
Even if inside I still lack such basic character

No more silly ideas of death
I need to move on and make life the best
So off to the store, to get me some groceries
A new leaf I have turned and I confess to a smile
When I am crossing the street, I see to my horror
That I am hit by a bus, and finally no damn tomorrows

Details | Russian Poem | |

Waste Of Time

A long time he has hung on
It's about time he gets the boot
The rest would be glad to see him gone
They'll team up to say good-bye to Newt
Chastushka Form-Russian Poetry contest of Gwen Rix With visiting Judge Andrea Dietrich co-judging 7th Place Winner

Details | Russian Poem | |

SHE IS LADY ZOYA

SHE IS LADY ZOYA From rich bucket bills of grandeur bliss Dawns wobbling chills from cruel treachery Harsh is the murmur of the night, my Lady Has Aidos spang slain as disgrace ink reign? Swarm of bees threats and afire the days Seems... to live life, one must be on break away Gowns and golds gone like a storm Tears a rain clouding the seeds of reform Never-say-die attitude the tarring rock Ah! The Lady Zoya got this trait in blocks Shut down on countless turbulent thuds Still, she arise like a Monarch from the mud Royal blood dance viscous to her veins But to burlesque shows, she swayed in vain For her children: Nicholas and Sasha. Her picturesque-like the late Princess Diana. Huge fire almost killed her children She changed. Later became, a fashion designer Simon Hirsch saw a diamond from a spread of roughs He married and dressed her in lovelier stuffs The tambourine music of war took her husband life Penthos again bathe her ever wounded thrive Yet, love abounds never did she succumb She strive to strum melodies from the crumbs ________________________________________________ **Zoya Konstantinovna Ossupov is a Russian countess, a young cousin to Czar Nicholas II during the Russian revolution and World War I.. Terms: Aidos: shame, can range from a sense of respect Penthos: grief, suffering ©O. E. Guillermo 9:38pm; November 11, 2014

Details | Russian Poem | |

Krasivaya (Beautiful in Russian)

You shine like the stars in the sky,
You are the sparkle of my eye,
Like the rays of the sun,
You give life with your touch,
And with a slight brush of your cheek,
You make me weep,
I weep for your presence,
At the base of a lone dark tree.

I slump,
But when I see you get close,
I give it all my strength,
To be perfect for you is all I seek.

Krasivaya,
I have waited for you my entire life,
and now I will never want to leave your side,
Nourish me with your loving touch,
And I will shower you with the sweet scent of my nectar veins,
With your care krasivaya,
Your red rose will never die.

Details | Russian Poem | |

GEORGI THE BOY FROM RUSSIA

On a quite Saturday morning, I decided not to take the usual stroll,
instead I took my nephew Claudio to the neighborhood's playground;
so proudly, he carried his brand new basketball;
delightfully crisp was the spring air...
there were pleasant sounds from everywhere...
I did not see a kid who was alone or sad.


Georgi, the boy from Russia, 
was very tiny, but had a gorgeous face
a witty smile and seeing Claudio
and a black kid play basketball, 
he asked his dad, a military guy
so confident and tall,
if he could join them...
he agreed and that kid sprang, 
taking the spot that was mine.


To my surprise, Georgi didn't speak a word of English,
but spoke Russian; he must have arrived 
to the Unites States recently, and he communicated 
with gestures very well...
making words unnecessary. 
I noticed, children don't have to speak the same language
to understand one another 
and express love through their innocence, isn't it amazing?




Entered in Nathan A. contest, " Poems about Nationality "
Written on May 28/ 2013