Best Alexander Poems
(Honor Sent To Great Bard, Alexander Pushkin
Second Tribute Series, Fifth Poet)
(1.)
Poetry Gave Its Deep Rich Brilliance Unto Thee
Bard, what bright Light graced thy soft serenades
In late midnight hours, moonlight streaming down
Alas! With Time's fleeing flight, thy fame fades
Yet thy verse treasures gave thee world renown.
Bard, thy prowling ship upon open seas
Delivered thy Art, to this sad world please
Fate, its dark hand did thy youthful life take
For thy wife's honor, thee would not forsake!
Bard, from thy glory this poet now feels
Pains of sorrows at thy early demise
From thy fruited verse, this world so oft peels
In its beauty, words so precious and wise!
Poetry gave its deep rich brilliance unto thee.
As thy muse sent thee magnificent melodies.
Robert J. Lindley, 11/23/2019
Sonnet, 10,10,10,10 (Closing verse 12, 12 )
Second Poets Tribute Series, Alexander Pushkin
(2.)
New Dawn, New Life, To Heaven Rose My Cry
Pray I, to One that made ground and blue sky
Giving us earth's beauty for Heaven's sake
With bounty that mankind can not deny,
Thus fallen on grassy greens so, Pray I.
By heavens, Life caresses soul in me
Yet in blackest blackness of darkest night
In my wayward youth, this I sought to flee
And into black blackness of darkest sea.
Pray I, for salvation before I die
And true to His grace, faith was reborn true
With promise of dear life a bounding tie
Thus dark went away and sweet thanks, Pray I.
New dawn, new Life, to Heaven rose my cry
And soon I heard an angel chorus sing
Into its sounding midst, I did thus fly
With sweet teardrops that fell from misty eyes.
Pray I, others this blessing from blue sky
And Love and Peace such gift, God truly brings
Dastardly road took, I shall not deny
As bowing my head and with joy, Pray I.
Robert J. Lindley, 11-22-2019
Rhyme, ( When Darkness Lost Its Wicked Grip )
Alexander Pushkin Tribute
Alexander buffalo can’t dance even for grass.
His imbecilic jitterbug keeps leaving many nimble organists perplexed
Quickstepping really scares the unprepared viewer
While Xander yells, ‘Zumba!’
Sir Alexander Fleming
Caught many a lemming
To try his Penicillin
On the bacteria that was killing
African-American and abusive, my late step-dad
was a reverse racist:
an army sergeant; a Vietnam vet; and, a backhand,
face-hitting sadist.
I once bemoaned that I was a white child
(as if it were my fault!?)
and that he was black and resentful of me.
So, once in reckless revolt
against his ongoing abuse,
I rebelled under my breath
and uttered the "n" word at him
(so he beat me nearly to death).
Bruised, I never uttered that word again;
then mom and he divorced
as I grew older (which freed us at last!):
now unrivaled (with no remorse),
I suddenly was the man of the house; and life
for us seemed less stormy.
For the first time in years we lived without abuse;
and, at last, we were a family.
Then I got religion and met God;
and gave myself to Christ.
It was the best thing I ever did!
Born again, I thus was sufficed.
So the scars of my step-dad's abuse which
for years I had repressed
began to heal and disappear; and so I became
less and less oppressed.
Now old, my erstwhile step-dad developed
advanced swelling of the lung;
I had not forgiven him yet (back when
I was still angry and young).
Not yet able to forgive him for the abuse that
made our lives so unbearably grim,
I nevertheless still realized that the weight
of still having hatred for him
was far worse than my pain. I recognized
that in life we all transgress
and come short of God's glory: so, moved by
His grace and forgiveness,
I made the right choice to forgive him;
for me a daily, ongoing process,
I at last began to let go of the anger
and truly begin to move past the mess
that was my step-dad's legacy to me. Also, I
began to forgive God;
for He was not to blame for him (whose own
father, too, did not spare the rod).
Still, tho' I had chosen to forgive (him) and let go,
he was unmoved and unchanged as ever:
but I, however, realized that what truly mattered
was that forgiveness set me free forever!
When at last he died, I had already completely
let go (so that he was forgiven).
Now I can only ask of God whether my step-dad
was changed from his glimpse of heaven?
In desert that is poor and dull
On soil that is scorched with fire
The Upas-tree stands as a hull
as guard who's one who knows no tire.
The prairie's nature had a thirst
begetting Him in day of fury,
It filled dead green of branches first,
It poisoned roots these give no curing.
The poison flows through pale bark,
Noon smelts with heat His poisoned dripping,
The Eve congeals Him like a mark
as limpid pitch on trunk - He's sleeping.
There are no birds to fly to Him,
No tiger walks to tree, just swirl
embraces tree of death with scream
and runs away with toxic evil.
And if the cloud will irrigate
His ancient leaves and pause its motion,
Its fallen rain flows down as fate
along the branches like deadly potion.
But crafty man had sent a man
to Upas-tree with glance of power
And man had walked according a plan,
He brought the bane in morning hour.
He brought the bane - the deadly pitch
And branch with faded leaves of Oro
And sweat ran down the brow and bleached
it with cold streams in silent sorrow.
He brought. He's weak, he has laid down
under the arch of the tent on flooring,
The slave has died in feet of crown
that knows no loss that knows no longing.
The Lord fed arrows with this bane,
They are obedient to his power,
He sends the death, he sends the pain
to neighbors in decisive hour.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Alexander Pushkin
There're frost and sun, the day is fairy,
You're sleeping yet, sweetheart, you're merry,
It's time, wake up, my pretty lass,
Open your eyes that are so tender
towards Aurora and her splendour
Rise like the Northern star to bless.
The eve, remember, evil blizzard,
Sky's full of mist, sky was imprisoned,
the moon was just like yellow stain,
It shone through clouds that were so gloomy,
You were so sad, your room is roomy,
But now, look in the window, hey...
Under the blue-blue skies of glory,
under the sun without some hurry
the snow that like great carpet lies,
Transparent forest blackened truly,
The hoarfrost covers spruces coolly
And river's shining through the ice.
I see the room is full of amber,
Room's bright and stove sings with great temper
of burning firewood.
It's good to think near bed, but maybe
order to harness horse, my lady,
to slide, it would be good.
We're sliding on the snow of morning,
My sweetheart, let horse runs to dawning,
There is no time to wait.
Let's visit empty field, let's visit
thick forests, oh, I really miss it,
And shore that's sweet for our date.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Alexander Pushkin
O what a man, so bold and brave,
Could do, his mighty hand could save.
This noble warrior was a relative of Zeus himself
Or so they say
His kingly proise remains today,
A standard figure of Persian frays.
Lightning crashed and thunder rumbled,
Signifying that this man would become well-known,
Not one to be humbled.
He was said to have tamed a wild horse,
By the fullness of his brain, of course.
His athletic records, no one could break,
For they remained for his pride's sake.
He became a briliant man, built like a tower of steel
That led some to believe he was unreal.
One every man would have yearned to become,
His power, his splendor, an unbeatable contendor!
Until only by a fatal error, his well of talents stopped flowing
For once in his life.
No one could save him from this horrendous plight.
The face of death reared its grotesque head,
And only to the path of enternal stillness it lead.
However, his name, emblazened by his noble deeds, very old,
Will retain its place in history in its priceless weight of gold.
Alexander Graham Bell
Fell under a deep spell
Got a call on the line
Believed it was the end of time.
10/3/12
I hated you twice: that second hate has yet
To lie down a much longer within my heart;
Sure it will bother you not for awhile,
For I’ve wished to give you all the sorrow.
I hated you so much; you without a hope
To calm my anger or ease the pain you caused.
I hated you to the end of the ocean
And pray God grants you not to be hated that way again.
--
Inspired by TD’s RSVP Poetry Contest.
In response to A. S. Pushkin’s poem "Ya vas lyubil" (I loved you once).
Author's Note: Oh, it's not Alexander I hated...
...and no one is hurt nor injured, except my fingers
typing this poem...lol!
When conflicts raise its ugly head real soon,
our nations won’t inevitably swoon;
a time that real détente and peace attune.
Some people still record the slights most ever stored.
Thus escalate discord, their armies can’t be bored.
But bearing painful past in mind, endowed
ensuing loss with angst, so many bowed
with hidden resentment and furrow browed.
In corners hide the past, persistent ghosts which last.
The indiscretions vast: those overboard and fast.
It shan’t depend on inner child if strewn:
‘To never stand against the wisdom roared.’
Do kowtow when rambunctious children vow
t’ ensure revolt replaced by great repast.
Alexander a Tsar of ideals
A man of heart and noble thought
His mentor, Swiss, Monsieur La Harpe
From childhood, molded to play histories part
He built his armies, to defend his land
His imperial crown and noble lands
Serfs and soldiers, all as one
Napoleons fodder, yet they won
A kind soul, with Christian heart
Ideals inspired by youthful dreams
La Harpes moral guidance did play
Mystical as a musical harp
Onwards in life did this Tsar March
Napoleon was exiled, to an island of defeat
As Cossacks marched along Paris streets
They danced both sides, in freedoms hard won
Josephine and Alex, in the night, dined alone…
The Tsar became Frances golden light
Bringing reforms and Senate into the light
Who would have thought, so long ago
The Tsar of Russia, in Paris did go?
He defended the lands, borders and rights
Giving the Nobility and England a terrible fright
What he feared at home, he endeavored abroad
He was the beginning of visions to be…
Vive la France
La liberté
Peace and Fraternity
Our Holy Alliance
Notes:
The Tsar who defeated Napoleon, written by Marie-Pierre Rey
Where to begin? She did a wonderful job on his biography as well as uncovering original documents in archives, shedding new light on his life.
Yes he marched to Paris
Yes he befriended Josephine the wife of Napoleon, much to the dismay of all.
Yes he endeavored to create a constitutional monarchy
Yes he fought to protect much of Frances borders, feeling that France was a counter weight to the other European powers at the time.
Frédéric-César de La Harpe (born April 6, 1754, Rolle, Vaud, Switzerland — died March 30, 1838, Lausanne, Switzerland) was a Swiss political leader and Vaudois patriot, who played a leading role in the creation of the Helvetic Republic. Was the tutor of Alexander the 1st, and played many would say a key role on the future Tsars actions during his lifetime
Alexander Graham
Rang a Bell when he said
Mr. Watson, come here
In 1876
With no earthly idea
Of what was to come
How we live today
With cell phones up our butts
Wherever you turn
Someone's talking or texting
At every red light
While the green one is resting
And let's not forget
The in your ear bluetooth craze
People talking out loud to themselves
Like we all care what they say
Or out and about
At a table for four
Where each cell phone in hand
Is the only thing not ignored
It does make you wonder
What Alexander would do
If he saw his seed planted
Producing this rotten fruit
Perhaps then Alexander Graham
Would ring that Bell in history
And say Mr. Watson, come here
Help me destroy this thing!
I love you, so I'm getting mad,
let my ado and shame are vainly
And all my foolish thoughts aren't sanely
in feet of yours I bow my head.
It's not my face, it's not my age,
It's time to be just little smarter,
I see my symptoms and they change
my soul with lovesick, they are harder.
I yawn without you I am bore,
I'm sad I stand when we have meeting,
I cannot say I wish you more,
I love you, Angel, have some pity!
When I can hear from dining room
your quiet steps and sound of gown
your virgin voice, oh, very soon
I lose my mind and I feel down.
You smile - I am happy so,
when you turn out - I am in longing,
your pale hand's my desert for
my torment day for torment morning.
You're careful with embroidery frame,
you're leaning casually and flame
of eyes aren't seen with fallen curls -
It's sweet, I'm quiet, I gaze with shame
like silly child who still fools!..
Can I discover jealous woe,
Can my misfortune be discovered,
when you go out and close the door,
when weather's bad, oh, my beloved.
And all your tears when you're alone
And our very secret speeches,
Trips in Opochka and the song
by the piano, loving creatures.
Alina! have some pity now,
to ask your love I am not daring,
Perhaps, my sins are heavy, how
can I be loved by you? I'm scaring!
But just pretend, just give a glance,
it's very wonderful, I'm missing,
deceit me, ah, it is so easy,
I'd like to be deceived not once.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Alexander Pushkin
*Opochka is small town in Pskov region
*Alina is Pushkin's beloved.
Alexander Rise
Strap On Your Golden Armor
The World Shall Be Yours
Your synaesthesia danced the air, my feet the floor
And bounced again and with a scream and more
I fell down to my knees and screeched my dance
Against walls and unseen windows without a glance
Beyond the yearning to charm public I cannot see
Your tone atonal to my shins and knees
In utter up-tempo perspiration centrifuges tears...
Music intrusive within my skull burst wide
So many visions and words floating inside
I need to be where once I used to be
Your style misunderstood, they did forget
My mind remembers, if my body would let
Me dance your dance instead of forging dreams
I sob in silence, bursting at the seams
Tears immersing in this endless agonizing sea
But with eyes closed my feet are at will
My dreams rule, my body in this bed lies still
You blended genius with near untimely sin,
Alexander Scriabin...
***
February 13, 2017