Best Ukrainian Poems

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New Ukrainian Poems

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George Gordon Byron Ballad Ukrainian adaptive translation by Tchianova, Maryna
Ukrainian Human Demise by Schumacker, Earl

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The Best Ukrainian Poems

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I Love Horses: A--Z

I Love Horses: A--Z

A is for... Appaloosa. They have 
blankets on their rumps. 
B is for...Belgian. They work 
hard and can pull up stumps. 

C is for...Clydesdale. They're 
BIG bays with white fluffy feet. 
D is for...Dartmoore, a pony 
from the moors--so sweet!

E is for...Egyptian, the finest 
horse on desert sand. 
F is for...Fresian: Big black War 
Horse--a Knight's demand. 

G is for...Gypsy Vanner, a rare 
beauty like fairy tales. 
H is for...Hanoverian. The best 
all-round from England hails. 

I is for...Irish Tinker. A loyal 
horse that's black and white. 
J is for...Java Pony. He's 
Indonesia's working sprite. 

K is for...Knapstrup. He's a 
horse full of leopard spots!
L is for...Lipizzaner: Grey 
leapers known in the Big Tops!

M is for...Mustang. Wild and 
Free--roams America's West. 
N is for...Nonius: Big-headed 
black and drives the best. 

O is for...Oldenburg. Dressage 
ribbons just get bigger. 
P is for...Palomino. Roy Rogers 
named his, Trigger. 

Q is for...Quarter Horse, 
cowboy's fav'rite! Does 
R is for...Racking Horse. His 
ride's so smooth it will make 
you sing. 

S is for...Spotted Saddle Horse, 
Gaited beauty everyone loves. 
T is for...Thoroughbred. Racing, 
"The Sport of Kings", he does. 

U is for...Ukrainian Riding 
Horse: Beautiful born after 
War's end. 
V is for...Vlaamperd: Flemish 
black stallion and true friend. 

W is for...White (Albino) Horse.
The Lone Ranger's 'Silver'--of 
X is for...Xilingol. He's 
Mongolia's riding draft horse. 

Y is for...Yonagui, a chestnut 
pony from Japan. 
Z is for...Zebra: African wild 
but tamed by man. 

A personal therapist long past 
the end,
The love of a the 
love... of a Friend. 

deborah burch

Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2013

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My Life In Different Tongues

Ancestors had fore-planned 
My whole being in Spanish
Yet, my concerned parents wrote 
My rhesus A-plus blood in Tagalog

I was born, they said 
To enjoy my own life, not theirs
That I took slowly my first steps in Ilocano
Only to be held captive by a beast, a stranger

My Dad, lover of math, thought I got his brain
So, he slaved himself working…and sent
Me to a Catholic private school, but
I found myself reading in Russian

‘Cos I was granted summers bathe in Dnepro 
Where I spied the future in a Ukrainian accent
Thou, alone for years, I managed to earn happiness
As I learned friendship and peace in Arabic

But, I was best-loved in Chechen 
And I’ve lived my dalliance in French, my lovers
For me, my inspirations; they half-influenced 
Me, to become words whisperer in English

Oh yes, life is strange 
And full of twists, yet, I saw the sliver
Of hope in Modern Greek, when
I met my other half. She spoke about….

Xristos, in whom I now dwell
For his language of love I learn to speak
And I try to live it in perfection
Till I breathe my last

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2007

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I am surrounded by death’s
unmerciful stench, 
its sounds,
its unrelenting determination.
I cling to the nothingness
of hope,
feel the emptiness of
bloated belly,
the gnawing bite of hunger
cannibalizing itself.
My children died first,
too small,
made too weak to linger -
in death’s grip -
for long.
My wife
held the lifeless bodies
and slowly followed.
Looking into her
hollow, empty eyes
I knew that death
had come
long before her
love succumbed
to the hate.
A hate
that refused
to the hungry,
to the children.
I pray 
to forgotten gods
for an end,
my end.
one more time,
see the gray haze
of one more day,
gaunt shadows
of men,
of women,
into blackened memories.
I, we,
have surrendered
yet this war
this hate,
this fear,
this terror
I will rest now,
allow the darkness
to envelope
what little is left

of me,

of my life,

of my family,

of us.

John G. Lawless

for the Genocide: Speak for the Lost contest

Holodomor, the Ukrainian genocide.

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014

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The Escape from the Turkish Slavery

The Escape from the Turkish Slavery
(Ukrainian historic folk song)

There broke into the Tartar sprites,
And they captured my daughter, nice,
Marusyna, my daughter, dear,
I remained with one son in fear.
And there came others- my son was enslaved,
And a widow, a poor orphan, I remained.
The third time, they took me too, an old soul...
... a Turk took me to the service,
I began to toil and slave
Serving the foe every day.
The daughter didn’t recognize her nurse
Having given her the works, the worst:
With the hands- to spin the yarn, fine,
With the little feet- to lull the child,
To watch the flock- with the eyes…
They found themselves in one place
All three meeting face to face.
When the daughter was recognized by the mother
And, when also confessed the brother…
They were united with one another.
Then the daughter began to tell the Turk,
That's my brother, this is my mother,
Then, the Turk began to trust them.
He entrusted them with all his goods.
They did everything, not to delude
Thinking, dreaming of their home.
When the Turk and daughter were going to the ball,
They handed the keys from the houses, all;
The son and the mother were taking the golden keys,
The souls of the slaves from the cellars to release,
Saddling the horses to start their way
To travel back home again.
Oh they were crossing the Danube, Dunahj,
The Turks, low-natured, were on a catch-ride.
On the other bank, they shouted:
"Oh Ivan, Ivan!
You know and you know,
And take the infusion of wormwood,
And, you will know even better for good! "
Chieftain Ivan Korsun began to narrate:
"I crossed the Danube River -
Denied the enemy forever! "

(Translation from Ukrainian into English by Ivan Petryshyn)
The Escape from the Turkish Slavery

Copyright © Ivan Petryshyn | Year Posted 2016

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Copyright © Ivan Petryshyn | Year Posted 2016

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To Your Majesty, One Big....

...Hoender - Afrikaans, Pulë - Albanian, ???? - Arabic, ?????? - Belarusian, ???? - Bulgarian, 
Pollastre - Catalan, ? - Chinese (Simplified), ? - Chinese (Traditional), Piletina - Croatian, 
Kurecí - Czech, Kylling - Danish, Kip - Dutch, Kanaliha - Estonian, Manok - Filipino, 
Kana - Finnish, Galiña - Galician, ??t?p???? - Greek, ??? - Hebrew, ???? - Hindi, Csirke - 
Hungarian, Kjúklingur - Icelandic, Ayam - Indonesian, Sicín - Irish, ?? - Japanese, 
??? - Korean, Calis - Latvian, Vištiena - Lithuanian, ??????? - Macedonian, 
Ayam - Malay, Kylling - Norwegian, ???? - Persian, Kurczak - Polish, Pui - Romanian, 
?????? - Russian, ???????? -  Serbian, Kuracie - Slovak, Kuku - Swahili, Kyckling - Swedish, 
??? - Thai, Tavuk - Turkish, ????? - Ukrainian, Gà - Vietnamese, Cyw Iâr - Welsh, 
????? - Yiddish, Huhn - German, Frango - Portuguese, Poulet - French, Pollo - Italian, 
Pollo - Spanish, Chicken - Maltese, Chicken - Slovenian, Chicken - English.,...-=.....-=..-=..-
=......HA! HA! HA!...for old times Kidster, Your Majesty.

Copyright © SillyBilly theKidster | Year Posted 2010

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The augury of him in Crimea was so
That Ekaterina said she was tired of sandwiches
But I did have black tea, black Latvian bread with her black Ikra near Black Sea
Hundreds of kilometres from Kiev and from Moscow in Odessa where heresy breaches

I beated her wings in no confinement,in no vituperation
She flew flower to flower to no destination
She knew I was a drinking son of pride straightaway
And I apprised me that she was a drunk daughter of arrogance having me in sway

At night on table when Putin came with my rassolnik
And said that he had seen many earthquakes being not born a Japanese geek
I felt in my bedroom her shenanigan moves
A carefully preserved time capsule in grooves

Rubbers burnt got her season
and wheels vulcanized got his prison
Dudley Castle and Kremlin cannot be friends
With Timoshenkos pillaging appetites in trusses and bends

Keep your red gown for the right time Ekaterina
For I have eaten all meats-that of a pig, of a cow,horse and bear
And eschew my emotions like a ballerina
A square,a quadrilateral,a rhombus and a parallelogram are not the same when each buccaneer

Vladimirs have always condescended bloody Mirs of Dagestan
In the duel between Russian charlottes and Turkish harems
The fishing villages of acrimony and Satan
I will not count Ekaterina`s eggs for my child`s Ukrainian mother in tandems

Vocabulary used
Ikra-Russian caviar in poetry`s context its the black caviar or fish eggs.
Rassolnik- is a traditional Russian soup made from pickled cucumbers, pearl barley, and pork or beef kidneys. A vegetarian variant of rassolnik also exists. The dish is known to have existed as far back as the 15th century, when it was called kalya

Copyright © Amit Ray | Year Posted 2014

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No Sleep Till Death

No Sleep Till Death
Some Russians are like insomnia. Always there and always evil. No let up on the pressure. A wave bursting out of your skull. A physical presence so real it becomes surreal. Invisible, not there, not existing. 

But eight thousand nuclear warheads, massive human rights abuses, Crimean annexation, Ukrainian invasion and a delusionary paranoid dictator give pause for thought. Let us touch reality. When sleep does come, its broken. 

You awake feeling bad, unrested, on edge, that something is up and bad things will happen. That's Russia peering over your shoulder. The bit of sleep you have is punctuated by dreams, bad ones. Nightmares of unseen imagery, enemies too evil for words. 

For insomnia is Russia, Russia is insomnia. And when Russia blows, it'll affect every single one of us. We'll all be wide-awake then. Only sleeping as the final nuclear curtain falls.

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2015

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Another Special Sweetheart

You might think that I just have sweethearts
That come from the United States
But that is where you are wrong
Because I have an international sweetheart too in Lilia Podkopayeva! 

She comes from the country of the Ukraine
And really bursted onto the scene at the 1996 Games
Where she won three medals: two gold and one silver
And today she's another special sweetheart of mine. 

I know you're probably asking how she became a sweetheart of mine
Well I will tell you the story behind her
It was that I was watching the Rock 'n' Roll Gymnastics Challenge
Of course, she was there performing
And I began to think of how "cool" it would be
To have an international sweetheart too
So my heart opened up and let my fourth sweetheart come in! 

She became the first woman gymnast
Since another Ukrainian did it in 1972 named Ludmilla Turischeva
To be both the reigning World and Olympic All-Around Champion.

At only seventeen years old this young lady
Is also known as the "Queen of Gymnastics"!

Copyright © Michael Reaves | Year Posted 2011

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Never for preserved peach or tomato  -  only for cucumber:
Always steaming lots of big jars and sterilizing lids,
Ukrainian Inna lived for the pleasure of the shiny green rosids,
And dreamed of them whether awake or at slumber

There was no real cuc harvest,  except in  her mind, yes.
She lived in the big city like a single cucumber in a barn,
Needing something significant in her life: living should not be in vain.
She sensed when it was cuc harvest-time even in the city cuc-less. 

From farming village, family tradition, for work she was a stickler,
But finished all jobs fast, allowed nothing to encumber
Her jarred supply of cucs, even in a winter devoid of ‘cumber. 
Her mum and grandma had been devout picklers.

In her farmer’s mind an earthy animal instinct, 
Like birds smelling the breeze from  the south
And flocking, even in their cages.   Or drooling at the mouth
Like doctored cats, howling in March for theoretical fulfillment. 

See them,  amass  them,  pickle them without number
Stick to something you’re used to:  if you see it, pickle it.
Give to friends, neighbours, but no real demand for it: can’t quit. 
Medical definition:    Atavism, terminal, cucumber. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 


Charming true story about a young girl, Inna,who worked with my wife years ago. Inna's  main pastime for relaxation in the huge city of St. Petersburg was pickling cucumbers, which brought back her happy family memories of the farm in Ukraine years before.

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011

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It is gratis,
I can help mention not saying so,
But I say and I play now this important role!
Because in Ukrainian language it means: to play,
Children can gratis all day long - anyway!
That is the same: children can play all day long,
In the supermarket in Holland in 1993:
Gratis and my friend - with big smile
Like a child
Told me the story
About free
Of charge in this new supermarket for him and his wife
It's not pity, it is Glory!
Not one bottle of wine
Especially for family life:
Second bottle was gratis
And they play this game when they see it again!
And win - Oleg and Olga from Ukiraine,
Grazio, thank You, my dear George Bush
For America, for your big and very pleasant smile,
Was also the teddy bear and free
For a child, that can't help mention saying
That it is good temper not only weather now, agree
That it is our sky is mirthful not only thoughts
About gratis Christmas gifts for all those - lots
Who are on Earth but children,
And without money,
And are not happy,
But can play with weapon
And play, and win, but die,
It is not good, it is bad
To have so big enemy as Iran,
But I ask you, please, be also glad
And careful with East,
Because it is not only the credit list,
But also gratis friend of American people!

Copyright © Atour Tamrazov | Year Posted 2007

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Translation from Ivan Kotlyarevsky

Why is the water so much roily?-
Hasn’t it been shook up by the wave?
Why am I sad and not jolly,
Hasn’t my mother chastised me to save?

Yet, my mother didn’t trouce me-
From my eyes, there pour th’ tears of bad,
No matchmakers come from my sweetheart,
But are sent from the unloved lad .

Where’re you, dear? Take a look,
See my anguish stand;
Oh, fly over, my truelove,-
They’re taking, now, my hand.

Faster, darling, bring me off
From the fierce misfortune:
If I am to live with an unloved,
I’d rather perish in a torture.

Translator into English: Ivan Petryshyn

Traduzione dal Ivan Kotliarevskij

non e' l'onda che ha sbattuto
il fiume ch'era trasparente?
non e' la ragazza triste, infelice,
perche' la mamma ha svegliato la sua mente?

non mi ha battuto la mamma-
le lacrime cadono da soli:
non ci sono i sensali dal mio caro,
arrivono i mezzani dal uno che non voglio.

dove sei, mio tesoro? guarda-
come io soffro;
vieni, vieni, mio cuore,-
un odioso uomo mi offron.

sii veloce, caro, mi salva
dalla sfortuna piu' grave:
se dovessi vivere con un odioso,
meglio perire con uno che amavi.

Ivan Petryshyn, traduttore dall'ucraino

Translation from Ivan Kotlyarevskiy

???? ???? ?????? -
?? ????? ?? ??????
???? ?? ? ????????, ????????,
?? ??????? ?? ?????

???? ? ???? ?? ???? -
???? ????? ?????:
?? ?????? ????? ???,
?? ?????????? ?????? ????.

??? ??, ?????? ???????? -
????? ? ?????? ????;
??????? ??, ??? ??????, -
????? ??? ????.

??????, ?????, ????? ????-
??????? ????? ???????:
??? ? ????????? ??? ????,
?? ????? ????????.

Translation from Ukrainian into Russian by Ivan Petryshyn

Copyright © Ivan Petryshyn | Year Posted 2016

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The church bells rang out in Eastern Ukraine. Up and down the land. In towns and cities, in hamlets and villages. Putin's tanks and guns crossed the border at numerous points. The war was on! 

Advancing from so called 'exercises' in Russia. An invasion force in all but name. Backed up by similar forces further along the border. Subdue the east then move elsewhere. 

There was only one way to stop it: a former Ukrainian KGB spy smuggled a small package to the Kremlin. It was a suitcase nuke, Hiroshima size bomb. Missing since the Soviet Union collapse. 

A weapon strong enough to send a message to Neo Soviet Russia: Don't invade Ukraine! Putin will soon die in a war of his own making. Moscow will be irradiated. 

Will his army pullback? Will another hardline nutjob replace him or a 'dove'? In the meantime, war rages and people die. All for Putin's Neo Soviet empirical dreams.

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2015

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George Gordon Byron Ballad Ukrainian adaptive translation

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours - can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, - 
We will part, we will fly to - unite it again!
Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me, adored one! - forsake if thou wilt;
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it - whatever thou may'st.
And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be;
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee at my side, than with worlds at our feet.
One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove.
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign - 
Thy lips shall reply, not to them, but to mine

?? ??????, ?? ????? ? ?? ???????? - 
? ??????? ? ?????, ??? ?????? ??????.
?? ??????, ?? ?????? ?? ????, ????????
??? ??????? ?????, ???? ? ????? ???????. 
????? ??????? ?????????? ??????? ??? ???,
? ???????? ???? ????????? ???. 
??? ???? ?? ?????? - ?? ??????? ?? ?????
?? ???????, ??????????, ???? ????????
?????'????? ?????. ????? ???! ???????! 
?, ??????? ???? ?? ???????? ????!
?, ??????, ??? ??????????. ?? ????? - ??????! 
? ???? ????? ???? ??????????? ????,
? ???? ?????????. ??????????? ????
???????? ??????? ???????. ?? ?
??? ?????? ? ??????? ?? ???????? ????,
? ???? ? ????????. ??? ? ?? ?????! 
???? ??? ????????????, ? ???? - ?? ???. 
?? ?? ??????? ????? ???? ????????! 
???, ??????????? ???? ?? ??? ?????? ?????.
?? ???????? ??????? ?????????? ????. 
???? ????? ????, ?????? - ?? ?????. ? ????.
??????? ?? ???????. ????? ?? ??????! 
??????????? ????????, ?? ??????? ????. 
?? ????? ???? ???????? ?? ???? ????! 

(?) Maryna Tchianova 2016

Honourably devoted to George Gordon Byron, 
The UK, the US and Ukraine, 
with deep respect for all the aforenamed literatures and faith in the Ukrainian nation through the thick and thin.

Copyright © Maryna Tchianova | Year Posted 2016

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My Sweet little pie,fresh on my plate,
The breeze took its smell,down those sleepy lanes.

Church bells rang, lilies bloomed,
Tale of my pie,made my town alive.

Then came a fatty Russian,who lives next door,
Broke in under darkness and took away my pie.

By Abie 

Dated : 19.03.2014

This is dedicated to all Ukrainian bro & sis who are under Russian invasion.

Copyright © abie jayan | Year Posted 2014

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A man lies dying, a victim of a cause
his name not important, nor the time of his fall
Impaled in Romania, or crucified for the glory of Rome
cut are the sinews of conscience, dangling from a soulless abode
How many have bled, in reverence to a god or a nation
holy aren't thy waters, baptizing an armada of Spanish creation
For every 95 Thesis, must we have a 100 Year War
October bled Stalin's revolution, a red epitaph of Leningrad lore
Blame pernicious leaders, for cajoling fear and hate
yet whose firm handshake slits the throat, of civilized debate
A Ukrainian famine, a Jewish holocaust, a Japanese city eerily still
the killing fields are always fertile, beneath the city on a hill
Ignorance and greed, gorge a leviathan corpulent and crowned
cannibalism is its creed, its ruddy chains writhing unbound
How many voices were silenced, that sixth day of June
history too often forgets, to seal a tyrant's tomb
We are blessed with reason, the ability to discern
is life not a precious gift, impossible to return
Could you steal the last breath, from your child's loving kiss
would a god give you a righteous sword, to kill one of his

Copyright © Xavier Keough | Year Posted 2005

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Ukrainian Human Demise

          Ukrainian Human Demise

Infants should not have to die on airlines
Parents should not have to cry
Aeroflot should be stopped from landing in our country
For a start
It’s all about the money
Hurt the Putin’s and friends in their pockets 
Leave us time to mourn for our lost ones
But forceful to stop this humanity decline
What are we as humans
If we don’t respond
All nations need to carve out a path to gather up our dead
All armies should respond
Bring back our 298 loved ones to bury them with respect and honor
If not…. What are we but complacent, complicit in this crime

                                                              7/22/14 Make Me Cry contest

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014