There was a woman I knew a long time ago,
I still can’t remember her name.
She maintained a slightly blurry focus,
Left of center, out of frame.
But I do recall she was a vixen in bed,
So, I’ll just called her, Dushka.
She had porcelain fingers; her tips were acrylic.
I repaired her transmission. She taught me Cyrillic.
I hovered above her most urgent desire.
She needed a fix. I became her supplier.
But her addictive passion slowly slackened with time.
She went looking after greener pastures than mine
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
SOVIET SOCIALIST UTOPIAS
Categories:
cyrillic, allegory, desire,
Form: Verse
I pause and listen
To your distant lonely call.
Long and low it pushes
Through the stillness of
The early morning air
To trumpet your arrival.
A disturbance to the sunrise
That is waking here.
It whispers to the ear
That knows your song.
An announcement, an invitation
To meet you at the crossing
Where flashing lights, like soldiers
Make us bow.
And colored arms, like sabers
Fall from attention
To protect your call.
Twelve –hundred horses’ nostrils flare,
Huff and puff their acrid air.
Steel shoes clatter as they rumble
Along your private path.
Your wealth follows on carts
That rattle as they roll.
A strand of pearls
That speaks a message
From a place I’ll never know.
Cyrillic and artistic,
Sung as love notes from a lark.
A serenade to caress you as you slept.
Sung by men who joined the caravan
And later disembarked.
I feel compelled to count them
Then their romance sings
A rainbow to my heart.
Each message is a picture
Drawn by men that love you
As a colored canvas
Waving with the wind.
And when you pass,
My world is still again.
Categories:
cyrillic, adventure, love, romance,
Form: Free verse
"How's yours coming? Got any ideas? "
"I'm in the fifth stanza already, this is going to be neat!"
That's me and 4 other friends of the poetry club,
Scribbling away in a corner where the tree's shadow
Builds a shelter from the sun, and for the Muses
Larking away in its green rustling branches.
Really though, we should be in class....
But what's the point in hunting for an "x"
Which is written on the page, and has no meaning,
Nor content? They call it a "variable"!
Well, these words for sure are variable too,
But to play with them and twist them to falter into
New meanings (see what I did there?) is divine.
No weird symbols from a Cyrillic alphabet today for us!
We're scribbling our souls on pages, to see them live.
We could get caught but no beating could ever beat the
Exhilaration of the ink dancing into new thoughts like Adam's first breath.
(c) Nyonglema
Categories:
cyrillic, anniversary, middle school, poems,
Form: Free verse
PROZAC IN MY HARD DRIVE
I put Prozac in my hard drive you can't imagine my regret.
Now, the cursor finger flips me off, the arrow shakes and sweats.
There are incoherent sentences on the address bar
with endless threats of suicide that are really quite bizarre.
I put Prozac in my hard drive, now when I surf the internet
every other word is spelled in a different alphabet.
Sometime it's in Cyrillic, sometimes in cuneiform,
sometimes in hieroglyphics and sometimes scientific form.
I put Prozac in my hard drive and I think I went too far,
it spit a CD at me just like a kung fu star.
I am getting kind of nervous wondering what is next,
I get very threatening messages in very vulgar text.
I put Prozac in my hard drive, you know I should have read
the black box warning that the package said.
I hope I can survive this and pray I don't get mauled
while I am waiting for this machine to go through its withdrawals.
Categories:
cyrillic, funny, me,
Form: Couplet
MARIINSKI THEATRE - SUMMER AFTERNOON
Crowds sweep past anonymous
Each a lost individual.
A Russian voice unsmiling -
The girl looks western with heavy mascara
Trying to ape a skinny euro-model.
Her man could have stepped from a tv show -
Russian face with blue jeans and MP3 in ear.
They are a lost nation.
The folk-tune accordion on the corner
Is drowned by decibels of ABBA
And ostentatious noise
From SUVs and stretch limos.
Cyrillic letters are swamped with latin alphabet
McGonalds is brighter and bigger than home cafes
Home signs are outshone by Cepsie Pola
The palaces are topped with neon not crosses.
Native culture has committed suicide
It has left home in search
Of an alien ideal
Note:
Mariinski Theatre was better known in the west for many years as the Kirov Theatre.
Categories:
cyrillic, lost, home, home, lost,
Form: Free verse