Best Famous Stubbly Poems

Conversation with Comrade Lenin

 Awhirl with events,
 packed with jobs one too many,
the day slowly sinks
 as the night shadows fall.
There are two in the room:
 I
 and Lenin-
a photograph
 on the whiteness of wall.

The stubble slides upward
 above his lip
as his mouth
 jerks open in speech.
 The tense
creases of brow
 hold thought
 in their grip,
immense brow
 matched by thought immense.
A forest of flags,
 raised-up hands thick as grass...
Thousands are marching
 beneath him...
 Transported,
alight with joy,
 I rise from my place,
eager to see him,
 hail him,
 report to him!
“Comrade Lenin,
 I report to you -
(not a dictate of office,
 the heart’s prompting alone)

This hellish work
 that we’re out to do

will be done
 and is already being done.
We feed and we clothe
 and give light to the needy,

the quotas
 for coal
 and for iron
 fulfill,
but there is
 any amount
 of bleeding
muck
 and rubbish
 around us still.

Without you,
 there’s many
 have got out of hand,

all the sparring
 and squabbling
 does one in.
There’s scum
 in plenty
 hounding our land,

outside the borders
 and also
 within.

Try to
 count ’em
 and
 tab ’em - 
 it’s no go,

there’s all kinds,
 and they’re
 thick as nettles:
kulaks,
 red tapists,
 and,
 down the row,
drunkards,
 sectarians,
 lickspittles.
They strut around
 proudly
 as peacocks,
badges and fountain pens
 studding their chests.
We’ll lick the lot of ’em-
 but
 to lick ’em
is no easy job
 at the very best.
On snow-covered lands
 and on stubbly fields,
in smoky plants
 and on factory sites,
with you in our hearts,
 Comrade Lenin,
 we build,
we think,
 we breathe,
 we live,
 and we fight!”
Awhirl with events,
 packed with jobs one too many,
the day slowly sinks
 as the night shadows fall.
There are two in the room:
 I
 and Lenin - 
a photograph
 on the whiteness of wall.