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Ariana Kulikov Poem
The children at night;
They cry,
For their loved ones are ill,
From the fumes our hunger produces.
They dream of a world for happiness,
Joy and imagination;
For many memories could be created
From this electronic wasteland.
Think of the things we could make;
Planes that fly.
Think of the things we could do;
Metal that talks.
Don't kill our home,
Our family, our hope,
For we can do many things
With this electronic wasteland.
-Ariana Kulikov 2015
Copyright © Ariana Kulikov | Year Posted 2015
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Ariana Kulikov Poem
For Christmas
I like boats and planes and trains,
But for Christmas I want candy-canes!
No dogs, no cats, no acrobats;
For Christmas I want fancy hats!
I want it all; ribbons and wrappings,
To be carried by pigeons, of course not lacking
In holly and jolly and jingly bells,
With candles and flowers and things that smell.
The fairies will fly by my window,
With dresses and gowns of deep indigo,
Their sparkly trail leaving wishes for centuries,
Their soft charm blowing spirit through the trees.
For me; I wish that what I could give,
Would fill Christmas with happiness so magic can live
But for Christmas, all that I want is quite plain;
For Christmas I want candy-canes!
-Ariana Kulikov, 2015
Copyright © Ariana Kulikov | Year Posted 2015
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Ariana Kulikov Poem
My wings may be tattered,
That doesn't mean I can't fly.
I may be small,
That doesn't mean I can't reach the tallest mountains.
Dead might I be,
It means not that I cannot live life to the fullest.
It means not that I cannot have love,
Friendship and knowledge.
If no one was left,
No one at all,
I would still be here
Standing proud and tall.
But If I were to lose you;
Tattered, my wings would be.
Small, dead, lonely inside
Would I be.
-Ariana Kulikov
Copyright © Ariana Kulikov | Year Posted 2015
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Ariana Kulikov Poem
Storm Poem
As the sound of my heartbeat drum
Scrapes across the land,
I know that the thunder comes,
As you hold my hand.
Although the storm consists of might,
It may become quite beautiful,
The flashing colours and bright light,
Across the land becomes plentiful.
As the wind strums the lightning,
Like a golden harp,
To some it might seem frightening,
To some it warms a heart.
For me, a storm always is,
And never fails to be;
The way the sky and clouds live,
Among people like you and me.
-Ariana Kulikov 2015
Copyright © Ariana Kulikov | Year Posted 2015
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Ariana Kulikov Poem
The ocean is strong,
The ocean is beautiful,
But if you abuse it,
It could become hell.
It's full of life,
It's full of colour,
But there is only one,
It could drag you down under.
You could be surviving,
You could be thriving,
You could be at the tip of lightning;
But we all know the ocean is strong,
So please don't treat the ocean wrong.
-Ariana Kulikov 2015
Copyright © Ariana Kulikov | Year Posted 2015
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Ariana Kulikov Poem
The Mask
A craftsman crafts such a beatiful thing
To hide himself away,
From the true soul that lies within,
That is rotting and shall decay
Not shall he realise what trouble he's in,
Unable to mend a broken heart,
He is guilty; aquired a sin,
But such a golden harp
From which he plays apon,
One of these days,
His mask starts to kick in now,
For his cries, they certainly pay
We all begin to ask him; "How?"
But none of these thoughts seem to park,
I this coarsely descended state of mind,
From which he did depart.
"Take it off" they begin to say,
But the craftsman simply replies;
"My journey is not over yet;
"So I shall be on my way."
-Ariana Kulikov 2015
Copyright © Ariana Kulikov | Year Posted 2015
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Ariana Kulikov Poem
You hear the wind through the willows,
Like you've never heard before.
You realize each sound has its own independence,
Like autumn leaves on the forest floor.
It's like a puzzle, not clear;
But you can still make it out.
Independence should be a right,
No one's soul should be in doubt.
The mask you paint to hide away in,
It's yours to create;
So you must decide for your independence,
For your personality mustn't be late.
Independence... what does it mean?
People with minds of their own; free.
You do not need to hide from the truth,
Don't lock away your personality.
-Ariana Kulikov 2015
Copyright © Ariana Kulikov | Year Posted 2015
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Ariana Kulikov Poem
Spider's Silk
Stealthily and silently, the spider waits,
For its well-deserved prey.
In its web it sits and creates,
A figure that'll sway and sway.
But when the right time comes for a spider to rest,
When it's completely, only for the best;
The pixies and elves come out to play,
As if the dawn of a new day.
-Ariana Kulikov 2015
Copyright © Ariana Kulikov | Year Posted 2015
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Ariana Kulikov Poem
The leopard sleeps, for the time isn’t right,
to strike upon the small butterflies.
He sleeps among the sky fort,
so deadly, yet beautiful.
The leopard leaps down
from his leafy canopies,
Ready to pounce upon his prey;
the small
butterflies.
The sky explodes of colours,
the fiery flash of light,
explodes like fireworks,
in the night sky.
The growling and the screeching
awakes the sleeping thought,
of thunder by your window,
striking the
helpless butterflies.
Why does it have to be so violent?
It seems so lonely and beautiful.
The leopard swipes its paw one last time,
before the big sleep begins.
This poem won the award for the under 13's district for the Young Writer's Awards, 2014.
-Ariana Kulikov, 2014 - posted 2015
Copyright © Ariana Kulikov | Year Posted 2015
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Ariana Kulikov Poem
Adventuring through the unknown world,
Beside you is where I was.
Climbing up the towering mountain peaks,
Desired to reach the top.
Emptying out my doubts and sorrows,
Falling through the sky.
Gradually building my strengths and hopes,
Hoping to never drop.
Icebergs and mountains stopped me in my paths,
Jungles and lions too.
Kings and queens from all around the land,
Loyal and fair they were.
Many adventures and fun did I have,
No doubts to be there.
Orchestras of birds and chirpy insects,
Pollute the fresh. fresh air.
Queen bees attack the bright-coloured flowers,
Robbing the pollen away,
Scorpions may have stung, but I didn't feel,
Tell me, you were there.
Umbrellas may have protected my soul,
Venturing far and wide.
With or without my trusty supplies,
Xylophones of joy were here.
You and I, in boats we sailed far and wide,
Zebras wouldn't be any different.
-Ariana Kulikov 2015
Copyright © Ariana Kulikov | Year Posted 2015
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