Best Soviet Poems
Born wearing ballet shoes
without knowing,
far in the deep nature,
in the Sakhalin Islands,
a ballet star opened his eyes
for the first time.
Warmed by the love of his
family, he grew up happy
until his life changed.
He travelled without ballet shoes to Riga,
where he saw a new beginning,
still warmed by his mum.
A beautiful blond seven year old boy
started to be rebellious.
A worried mum took him to a ballet school.
He started to dance in an old Soviet school
with many others without names by then.
His ballet shoes fit him so well
that made his jumps popular
all over the world.
Swam Lake, the Nutcracker...
All the best performances for one dancer to be danced.
He flew away to a new country
looking for liberty, which he found for a while.
Money, which he never had before,
opened many doors for him,
as well as popularity and freedom.
Long wings for dreaming above the poor life he had.
Long wings for a beautiful bird
that didn't know how to fly.
Instead he prefered to be keeping fit at day,
showing his best face to be display for the others, but drowning in a glass of miseries and memories mixed
who knows with.
He lost his ballet shoes at the age of 45,
not far from the sea,
kilometres away from his home.
Alone, without anyone knowing,
even his "best friends",
he left this world,
and he didn't know how loved he was,
but the whole world wonders why
we didn't love him before.
Perestroika, a love letter
Glasnost beaten by the devil
prison camps revitalized
repression modernized
for the new world
new wars the same young men die
Ukraine's children bleed red
Putin's delusions
unraveled Russian humanity
He could suffer no longer
he sang songs at the piano
in reminisce
languishing in time
that seemed to move backwards
solitude became intolerable
A marked man buried
never forgotten
in the wind a soft voice whispers
come my love
I await you
Love Raisa
You worked so hard but just exist.
Your high school grad dates you just missed,
evacuated from Ukraine.
In Russia’s army to resist,
you fought the tyrant Hitler’s reign.
You worked so hard but just exist
on meager pensions. You subsist
by choosing food or meds, that’s plain.
No other kinfolks to assist
in taking care of you in midst
of tears and shakes of flashback strain,
you worked so hard but just exist!
Although you made your job’s A-list,
you now wear rags, your joints in pain,
no other kinfolks to assist.
Your teeth all gone, in life’s mean twist,
these lines remain your grim refrain:
You worked so hard but just exist,
no other kinfolks to assist.
To help elderly Holocaust survivors in the former Soviet Union, visit the website of the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews at ifcj.org.
SOVIET SEX
An old professor, communist and wed,
Had recently been rather emotive:
Turned to his wife one night in their big bed -
I think our love arrangement’s inactive.
I’m sorry if I seem to be restive
But single-spouse is bourgeois, usual.
We should perhaps live in a collective:
No exclusivity residual !
There’s a pretty nurse at the hospital
Who wants to live in with us, (I mean me).
Yes, I think you might like living with Sal :
And our bed is big enough for all three.
Yes, says wife, but bed’s big enough for four:
So let’s include her young husband Igor.
Union of Sanders Soviet Republic USSR
There is a union of socialists who like Sanders
Phallic symbol of those who are philanderers
That have come up with a huge cavalcade
Of many solutions seeming to be readymade.
When things happen and are in much doubt
Put is a disk so some answers will pop out
After many things were over-exaggerated
While in long line for years have waited.
Who did you think could sound so dumb?
When into cheery plush pie put in a thumb
Would have gone crazy and plumb nuts
Or be an idiot who has true grit and guts.
May be many idiots running all around
Can tell by voice having a strange sound
Learned a lot of intelligence they are lacking
Instead of speaking they started quacking.
Incidentally and by the way on a big bay
Many of my gutless poems are on display
Of people finding times to be difficult and hard
To them should be sending a sympathy card.
Instead of my many poems trying to abuse
Forward them and my name to MSNBC News
And also if they happen to be in the know
Try to have them put me on their TV show.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Raunchy Poet
River Sea Plantation on Lockwood Folly
Near Intersection of US 17 and NC 211
Bolivia, NC 28422
You could forward my poem to MSNBC News
if you would want to. The more the merrier
even though they are a commercial carrier.
They went to the spar hotel and got it on. One time was enough to revive the old socialist. He was fully revived. This was similar but different than before. They bonked away one session and did other things. This was better than being in the reading room studying revolutionary doctrines. The human body needed nourishing as did the mind. Blue was illuminated and revived in all ways. Like a rescued nation freed of a capitalist government replaced by a loyal communist one. Total revival of all things. If only it was always like this rather than the continued battle capitalist and communist in the way of the world. A good buck suck ruck was the key. He needs no Viagra it's all natural service guaranteed. He's locked and loaded. His bright green target cross is locked on his target, focused to infinity. See how she dances soon to dance with him. What will they create?
SELL OUT Nick Armbrister new book out soon
Hungary 1956
The innocent flowers peered gingerly
Through the stench in the iron pavement
Hesitating, then stretching the petals greedily
To drink of the sunlight of Possibility...
Czechoslovakia 1968
Beaming, grinning, grown men giddy with laughter
Liberty unleashed! Gone Repression's manacles
Now marching, shouting, swelling to a gale force
Unstoppable, sweeping aside all resistance in her path...
Happy Endings
...When, bludgeoned by cement-faced tanks
Petals ducking inward, collapsing
Pistils and stamens suffocating
Vanished smiles annihilated
Choked on oxygen-depleted
Placards of Freedom unbetrothed...
...All the flowers died...
...All the people withered...
...Crushed -- oh-so --Happily --ever --after
The old soviet-union
It must have been winter when the old tank skip
Sailed through the Dardanelles into the Black sea
Which was full of ice flakes.
The ship was loading oil in a town I have forgotten
The name of, but I do remember it was sparse
On-street lights had a wide boulevard and few cars.
We found a restaurant in a building the looked
An office block, we ate caviar and drank white wine.
A place for the Nomenclature in ill-fitting suits.
The old soviet - union still existed in all its dullness
And general sadness, which I think is over now
people who make good wine can’t be kept down.
Soviet Jet
Soviets are like mosquitoes
Always there in the environment
There’s no escape from them
They get in your head
So they rule you remorsessly
By power of paranoia
A bite is a bullet
An infection is a bomb
A disease is a nuclear blast
Mosquitoes are Russians
Russians are mosquitoes
Waiting to be eradicated
By a superior power
Always ready for war
Endless circle of deceit
Mosquito flight round you
Looking for an opening
To attack you
While you sleep
The Russian way
Keep you off guard
Then get you
But not if we strike
And drain their pond
Spray them with insecticide
So they never breed again
No more Novichok
Or nukes or bio weapons
Finally we are safe
Except from our own
FECKING PARANOIA!!!
from Side of the Hill – Varied Poems... Nick Armbrister
Chapter 1: The End of the Eastern Gilded Age
'Twas thrice yon 'ere time clichés galore, albeit, one two many times, that fairy tale's opening wouldst hitherto a harp. History, the effects of narratives indulgences of a period, like an opening performance as a harp is being tuned then it's time to play expressively to narratives who hear a fiddle. History emerges to a gridlock, then it lies and waits for its prey tomorrow, to give its due. It forces off and reloads it with narratives for in this approach all is done kosherly being formal and beliefs necessitate reassurance. The earth learns that history never replicates itself, just the hereafter and those that are uncovered. Some inequalities are constant and relatively taxing to the accountants who are toiling the timepiece, sort of speak, it is fate that reprises since narratives are an irritant bent on annihilation ergo it reinvents itself a new chapter hoping that the old will catch up and take part but the past feels it lacks motivation, hence, it too reinvents itself, a better way, an effective outlook, they repeatedly say that the results are quite promising, with that on the table, why change history.
Young Crown Prince Imperial, Alexei, Heir Apparent to the Imperial throne of Russia, has been diagnosed as a hemophiliac, ...
*The opener of My Short Story: A Century Turns: Soviet Union's Life Expectancy
June 21, 2025
For the Beatles 'Lay it to Me' song Contest by Charles Messina
The old iron curtain came down
But soon a clown reclaimed the crown
Ruthless and hollow-souled he rose
Now a foul Soviet wind blows
From the east it battered Ukraine
Spreading such cruel and endless pain
The past returns in blackened char
“Back in the U.S.S.R.”