Best Odessa Poems
About many famous cities we can talk:
London, Paris, Naples or New York,
But when you walk along Odessa
You will love our principessa
If you are wise enough and not a bore.
The fact is such,
The fact is such:
There’s no city in the world
I love so much.
You will smile to the famous Duke,
From the second hatch at him you’ll look
And if he gives you the welcoming hand
You will have to understand
That Odessa is the smile of God.
The fact is such,
The fact is such:
There’s no city in the world
I love so much.
The girls in our city are the pearls,
God gave them sense of humor and a charm.
You come here and you will see
The beauty of the bluest sea
And you will be surprised but not alarmed.
The fact is such,
The fact is such:
There’s no city in the world
I love so much.
And Sasha Pushkin was an odessite,
As here he recalled a wonderous moment
He cursed and praised our and his Odessa
Because he really loved principessa,
Which was and is and always bright.
The fact is such,
The fact is such:
There’s no city in the world
I love so much.
You can go any place you like
To New York, Paris or even London,
All of them are really so nice,
But in Odessa you'll be surprised
By the smell of sea, acacia, cherry, linden...
The fact is such,
The fact is such:
There’s no city in the world
I love so much.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
Odessa. Early morning.
Sonia is yawning.
Her dressing gown is satiny.
This night was just a symphony
in a company of her Antonie.
She was sure he was her destiny.
All they did was in such a harmony.
With those thoughts she went to the balcony.
But … suddenly she has heard a noise.
It sounded with an irony.
It was her neighbor’s voice.
- Listen, Sonia!
Are you sick?
At night I saw the doctor
leaving your place so quick.
Do you have anything chronic?
- Oh, dear Bella!
What are you talking about?
I am not a Cinderella,
but would like to be logic.
You have to admit that…
your tongue is a culprit.
One day you’ll pay for it.
And now I’ll tell you more:
When that colonel your place parted
I didn’t shout that the war had already started.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
My world spins round
too fast most times
from Greek deep roots
on Black Sea ports
crossing Jordan's River
on Catherine's Great
trains meet sailboats
greeting sea planes
flying off to sports unknown
throughout Lake Odessa Highway.
Where Ottomans
blend Spanish matadors,
heroes for Earth's day
and night bleeds forth
a calvary of SunGod force
to please titillating whims
of Lake Odessa's middling class czarinas.
I can't go home again
to straight places never born.
My mind can wavey roam
and try to swim
and fly to where and what
and whom and why
we might have been
if we had built
a fine fair fortress
for peace that loves to rock
and sing sad songs
of what brilliant sights have been
in resilient Lake Odessa.
Instead of gangs
and clicky clacks
we learn monopolistic quacks
to flap and honk
like disturbed Canadian geese
Transubstand she ate
where great America
begins to end
through Lake Odessa's mean clean streets
Not too busy
self-righteous
sleep deprived
and deprogrammed lose to lose
to win our way
back home again
where Lake Odessa healthy meets
and wealthy greets
Love's polyamorous EarthMother role
as played by odysseys of We
writing comic operas
only eros kids can consensually see
was what Me loved
most secretly
in long lost Lake Odessa.
We need a better god for now
bringing peach tree jams
singing immortality
of love as healthy wise
Reframes lost unwealthy loves
to live in jesting jarring jokes
of honeyed sweet corn
thorn tested streets
tasting ancient salad Greeks
on shores of Lake Odessa.
We reunion back
to save each other
from what might have been
without sly rudders
Tipping posts from wu wei mothers
restoring crystal castle love
of unformed flows
that buzz with lifetime mystery
and retiring tours
that sag with straightline history
Spinning sprays
bewitching licking waves
lapping soft and sandy
on long gone sacred skies
of sanguine Lake Odessa.
(A remembrance of driving to the auction in Odessa, Missouri.)
You’re bumpin’ down the highway in that ol’ pickup truck,
Just a kid slowly tunin’ in a radio that plays—
Headin’ for the stock auction with your dad and some luck—
A part of history, back in those Odessa days.
Dad will be biddin’ on some calves to haul way back home—
He fancies doin’ more farmin’ like in younger days—
He left the farm more than twenty years ago to roam,
To find a town job and turn his back on farmin’ ways.
But the land stays in your blood and someday you go back,
If not in bone and muscle, at least within your mind—
And you seek a part of youth—that’s just a natural fact,
For you’re always on the outlook for what you’ll never find.
You roll past green pastures and that churnin’ Mighty Mo,
Count the silos, barns and the cattle as you drive past—
Music fills the truck with songs of love and eatin’ crow—
Cowboys, beer, bar fights and pickups—things that never last.
That ol’ black pickup rattles and bucks just like a bronc,
Its days, just like the horses, will soon come to an end—
And as we reach the auction, my dad pulls up to honk:
A ritual of completion for a son and now a friend.
And when we head on home with those calves all loaded up,
We’ll turn on that radio and sing in one sweet haze—
For in just a few years, there will sit dad’s empty cup
And there will just be memories of those Odessa days.
When I was Seven,
Six of us piled in to a shiny
New Buick.
“A quick errand across town”
It was hot
I fell asleep.
I was awoken
By the screams.
A dump truck had eaten
us up and spit out our core
A heavy blow
Against my head
Made everything go dark.
I wake up to silence.
The screaming had
stopped but the blood
From my nose
was resilient.
I slink from under
My aunt’s unconscious body.
I can’t get the door open.
My little brother cries.
I find the strength to open
The broken door that trapped us.
I pull his tiny arm from the front seat
He cries out I’m hurting him
But I’ve seen too many movies
Where cars blow up,
And all I can do is keep pulling
Till I fall back with him
In my grip.
I look at everyone mangled
And unresponsive
Inside the tiny car.
I’d never seen
So much blood.
I hug my little brother,
His head, full of glass.
He points at my nose.
But I care more
about my shoe,
it’s missing and
People have begun to stare.
"In the Deep Azure Skies"...
Is a hidden sea in disguise
Swimming through are fish birds
"Mermaids Glide Backwards"...
"Smooth Art in Pastels"...
The clouds share their trails
To the creatures secret Sky Odessa
"Lucent's Oceana"...
ODESSA & LISBETH
(A Bedtime Story)
And ...
Her wings spread
Broad and black
Folded on her back
Her feet bare
Gripped the narrow ledge
Naked, her breast hung slack
Her long dark hair
Hung to the side, in a knot
She knew the shadows fall
Her sanctuary, she watched
Eyes and flesh as grey as clouds
Days not so fair
The plague had run it's course
The skies warn, a faraway storm
But the tempest below
Has finally passed
The cries have died
The clocks have stopped
Their mechanical wine
And all for not
It shall disappear
A thousand times a thousand years
No care stirred, inside her heart
But there was one
Her heart so cried
There was one ...
Umongst her and her sisters was an unwritten sacred code wrapped in myth, mystery, and half truths. The general consensus amongthe believers is that each and every one of us has a Guardianwho watches over us. Who keeps us safe until that time our soul is called back through the Great Rift. This has only been the case when this dimensional sphere was first formed and all the souls created here were new. Once a soul crosses over and crosses back in a reincarnated host they no longer have a being who watches over them. But even though this dimension is many millions of years old and has witnessed the rise and fall of countless civilizations, there are still new souls that incarnate to this plain of existence. Another misunderstood truth is that the coupling of soul and Guardian occurs at the birth of the host. Actually, the coupling can take place at any time in the life of the host. It is not something so easily explained ...
A Guardian feels a magnetic pull, a calling, if you will, which leads her to one in need of watchful guidance, and the bond is so made and is kept until the death of the mortal host.
And so it was with,
Odessa and Lisbeth.
........... Continued