Ivan Poems - Poems about Ivan

Of eleven children he was the first and from an early age for research had a thirst his love of dogs was no surprise highly regarded he received the Nobel Prize altho' no longer around of all those that ever were I clearly like the sound as with food it goes so well and if nothing else the name 'Pavlov' rings a bell ...

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ingrained inbred ignorance ignited Ivan infuriating infatuated Inez, Iowa’s individualist indulging Ivan’s inebriated indolent mother who initiated Ivan’s inexorable, inflexible ideas....

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Irritating Ivan liked to irk and vex Especially irritating our Great Aunt Hex Ignore him said her husband, laid-back uncle Dex Not knowing that Ivan was Aunt Hex’s ex...

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There is a game we play but played by no one else The same game you can play If you play it by yourself. I had long ago wondered of what had me pondered for at home is an enigma and we named it -- PAPA. *Young Ivan Ivanovich was murdered by his father, Ivan the Terrible...

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“A famous work dating from 1885 by Russian realist painter Ilya Repin, Ivan the Terrible and his son Ivan. The painting depicts Ivan the Terrible mortally wounding his son Ivan in a fit of rage, and it is considered the most psychologically intense of Repin’s paintings -- an expression of the artist's revolt against violence...

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I You have a vivid mind, heart, vocabulary A lover of God, I make excuses (true, right) Yes, South Africa fails us in electricity Still, Shakespeare worked by candlelight II I admire my sisters who do romance Sometimes sultry, often beauty in loyalty You mix French idioms, native Americanism I am awed, humbled, in the land of Steinbeck, Poe, Emily Dickinson Note: 1. Dear...

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Art of Ivan Albright I hear a death rattle feel gloom despise grayscale-ness flat black paint kind of background lecherous guy creepy skeletal hands craggy face shirt looks dingy, dirty, smudged tablecloth is dank, dour, dusty, grays and blacks, morose, macabre I run from his art, screaming pink and orange....

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There will be day I disappear All be the same in empty room A table and, of course, a chair And simple icon I resume. And butterfly in coloured silk will fly under the ceiling blue to flit to rustle and to blink to soar to flutter there anew. The same be bottom of the sky to look in open window of mine, The azure...

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Ivan Milat is dead There is nothing to be sad about or to dread He killed seven backpackers in the Belanglo State Forest Finally dying from the cancer that gave him no rest A serial killer who showed no mercy Leaving families grieving for lives lost you see Probably he has the title of Australia’s worst As when he died there...

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Above my head there is grey sky, The wood that's bare without its cover, Below in glade lemon leaves lie in darkening dirt in lonely hour. Cold noise is spreading out above, Below is silence of the fading... My youth's a roaming, it is rough, And lonely thoughts in useless waiting! P.S. This is my translation of poem by Ivan Bunin, 1889...

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There's wind and there's rain and there's mist above desert waters of cold, Here life's dead to spring, it's not pleased, to spring, wealth of gardens is sold. I'm alone in my bower, it's dark, I've got easel, wind blows from the park. Last night you were here at my place, But you pine, because of my even life And the end didn't...

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Translation from Ivan Kotlyarevsky Why is the water so much roily?- Hasn’t it been shook up by the wave? Why am I sad and not jolly, Hasn’t my mother chastised me to save? Yet, my mother didn’t trouce me- From my eyes, there pour th’ tears of bad, No matchmakers come from my sweetheart, But are sent from the unloved lad . Where’re you,...

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CAT 5 HURRICANE -  IVAN THE TERRIBLE Your world of illusion is not of my choosing, but here we are stuck in a Hurricane's eye. The sea is so pleasing, but I know you're teasing, and our Hurricane is a different high. I feel you surround me as you stop to feed, consuming my soul in your greed; I'd follow your teardrops...

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Let’s dream and wonder How societies would live their diurnal, Wondrous and productive lives If every member of that fraternity Of brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, children Would have shame and higher conscience And let it be the guiding light in their beings; And also, would think only of others Because whole civilization in its multitude Would think of them before...

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Just a quick look First chapter of a book First verse of a song Can’t stay overlong A 50-yard dash Gone in a flash Not right, not wrong Can’t stay overlong A heat seeking missile God blows the whistle God strikes the gong Can’t stay overlong... *Dedicated to my brother Ivan who lost his life on an airline training flight in 1984. 'Hunter' was his middle name......

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