Best Balalaika Poems
Coming back home – wounded, skinless
Slowly sliding through ghosts of trees
With hums of Balalaika in his candid eyes
And withered leaves – caresses of the wizards
He squeezed through Life’s Fall like a chick
With wings torn apart by ether
With flights of smiles of cranes
And dreams of Freedom – ephemeral
If I could see him among the scattered leaves
Was just because he taught me to be silent
Be one with memories of bronze
And long for Spring through frozen hopes…
For Carolyn's Contest
Relaxed and warm I'm feeling
under this warm blanket,
I can sleep out from the cold.
Sometimes I wonder
if others are so lucky,
I guess many don't,
then I get upset about my luck.
A hurting winter is here.
I wish it didn't hurt so much
for the ones that don't have a blanket to sleep under.
I wish the snow fell everywhere to fill dry fountains,
to keep happy every child
making angels on the snow.
Lara I am, a humble dog
with big wishes in these difficoult times.
I don't play a balalaika,
but I can play the sound
of every mind when is knocked down or when is above the moon.
I am Lara, a dog that feels
every second of your life,
I am the one that I am,
always there for you.
During the time of the lustry preen,
Searching through the sea and land behold,
Beside a floating river,
I found a pretty queen,
Listening to the orchestra in green,
In her arm,my heart were fold,
Looking through her retina my soul mow,
For her loves makes me batty and pow,
Yet saved me from the awful snow,
By her love my tears blow,
By her kiss my smile grow,
Let's switch the balalaika sound,
While our fragile count,
Like a hound,
In the journey of love relay,
She stretched her hands to protect my heart through belay,
You are so precious than a diamond stone,
For my love to you is an adze hone,
In a ward of love,
I'm brew,
Even when the wind whack like whet hew,
The sky still remain blue,
When the love breeze blew.
There's a town in Switzerland called Euthanasia
It's a happy place very much like Fantasia
With pretty flowers
Singing songs by the hour
Where you meet your maker to a balalaika
There's a town in Switzerland called Euthanasia
It's a happy place very much like Fantasia
With pretty flowers
Singing songs by the hour
Where you meet your maker to a balalaika
There's a town in Switzerland called Euthanasia
It's a happy place very much like Fantasia
With pretty flowers
Singing songs by the hour
Where we meet our maker to a balalaika
To jitterbug and jive, perhaps to feel alive;
Dreaming that I too could dance as well as you;
Strutting to a tango in Chichicastenango
Touring a veranda edged with jacaranda.
Four eyes eagerly dancing; engagingly entrancing
Above paired swaying hips and rippling tender lips.
When the musical combo broke into a mambo
Our hearts began drumming to a secret thrumming.
We did a conch horn conga on the isle of Rarotonga
Balalaika strumming, we tried romancing as we were sabre dancing
I waltzed you like a rube along the Blue Danube
And when we danced the line, I kicked my boots up just fine.
But when I awoke, I knew my dancing was a joke;
Just a stutter stepper or a sneezer inhaling pepper.
2/24/2019
There's a town in Switzerland called Euthanasia
It's a happy place very much like Fantasia
With pretty flowers
Singing songs by the hour
Where we meet our maker to a balalaika
There's a town in Switzerland called Euthanasia
It's a happy place very much like Fantasia
With pretty flowers
Singing songs by the hour
Where you meet your maker to a balalaika
There's a town in Switzerland called Euthanasia
It's a happy place very much like Fantasia
With pretty flowers
Singing songs by the hour
Where you meet your maker to a balalaika
Delusional scimitars
festive daggers
soft balalaika
captive sword ...
Mandolins,
hot nights
harps, wine
poison,...
dangers
daggers
Banjo and
boldness,
gypsy waltz,
ruby joy ...
I desire
of life,
The beauty,
arpeggios
Utopia...
the art
for art to fight ...
be craftsman
of delights
live life in
complete
Bohemia......
Oh, how sweet you are, Russian poetry! How unapproachable! Let the poet up to your balcony while no one's looking. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, that…* But why don’t you send your nurse for a rope ladder? Why do I see doubt in your eyes? I swear, I’m not going to tease your bear, drink your vodka, play balalaika and shoot Kalashnikov. And even if they say that love is too rough, too rude, too boist'rous** - I'll be gentle, delicate and quiet: Russian poets don’t pick kisses by force.
you won’t then maybe
your english speaking sister
will take poet in
*The tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene II
**The tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Scene IV
Gypsy heart
Delusional Scimitars
festive daggers
soft balalaika
captive sword ...
Mandolins,
hot nights
harps and wine
venom of passion, ...
dangers
daggers
Banjo and
boldness,
gypsy waltz,
jubilant joy ...
wish of
of life,
The beauty,
arpeggios
Utopia...
the art
for art to fight ...
be an artisan
of the delights
live life in
fully
Bohemia......
Adventurous gypsy
Mild Balalaika,
harps and wine
...daggers in the heart
dragostea illusion...
or the spoons
but read it accompanied by something
the French horn
the harpsichord
the balalaika at the bus stop
the burping of a favourite uncle
on the runway as passenger planes take off around you
the Saturn V rocket launch was a clanger to the metal munchies
i mean i could go on
but i won't, because going on would be going on
the soul, the guest of the body,
needs nourishment, and calls for a poptart dad;
but i will go on, because this poem, read, as in a reading,
would be good to read out loud, accompanied by or standing alongside
the eruption of Krakatoa