Long Kazakhstan Poems
Long Kazakhstan Poems. Below are the most popular long Kazakhstan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kazakhstan poems by poem length and keyword.
Vostok 1
Within the time allotted
of eighty-nine minutes,
to orbit the planet Earth
at 17,500 miles per hour,
the Russian cosmonaut
inside the Vostok capsule
espies the distinctive
features of Earth,
from two hundred miles above
its surface.
And reflects upon
the physical violence
of energetic movement
that formed terra firma;
then watches the sun’s rays
penetrate the atmosphere
and thinks of the warmth
inside the magnetic shield.
He sees the beauty of the blues
deposited from frozen comets.
Out here, it’s so tranquil,
thinks Yuri Gagarin,
the first person in space.
“Cedar to Dawn,
I see Earth. The visibility is excellent, over!”
His message relays
to the Soviet command station.
Then, the Vostok retros fire over Africa
for gravity to force re-entry,
and readies himself for ejection
four miles above the Volga River
basin drainage system.
***
Notes:
On April 12, 1961, Yuri Gagarin (1934–1968), aboard Vostok 1, launched from Baikonur Cosmodrome, Kazakhstan, USSR, at 6:07 am local time. The total mission lasted 108 minutes. He was the first person in space and the first person to orbit the Earth.
In order to escape gravity, the capsule needs to hit 7.9 km/s or 17,500 miles per hour, which is orbital velocity (approximately 20 times the speed of sound).
Vostok: “Vostok” means “east” in Russian.
Cedar (Kedr-Russian pine): Gagarin’s call sign.
Dawn (Zarya): Launch facility call sign.
On May 5, 1961, Alan Shepard (1923–1998) was the first American astronaut launched into space, and John Glenn (1921–2016) became the first American astronaut to orbit the Earth on Feb. 20, 1962.
In the heat of a passionate encounter
Do you ever stop and think
“Wonder what's for din-din?”
Seems all our thoughts and energy
Are devoted to the task at hand, so to speak
So much so that it feels like our head will explode
Then that indescribable moment
When the trumpets blow
And a band of angels start singing, “Hallelujah!”
Are we interested in who won the big game last night
Or the political situation in Kazakhstan
Well I can surely tell you here and now
Because at that indescribably moment of joy
I REALLY don't give a poop!
The building could come collapsing down around me
I'm intent on finishing what I started
Come hell or high water
Did you ever stop and wonder
What's for din-din tonight?
© Jack Ellison 2014
Rose-tinted strata,
Earth's flesh peeled back reveals ancient dreams.
Blue veins pulse beneath the desert's sleeping face.
Coral ripples freeze
In stone waves as time's tide
Catches mid-flow.
Twin pools of salt
Mirror dead moons.
Wind-carved canyons twist
Like DNA strands
Earth's code Written in stone.
Pink arterial paths
Lead nowhere and everywhere.
Cellular walls built from centuries of silence;
Nature paints herself in mineral dreams.
Geological eyes stare up at satellites.
As Earth looks back.
Each layer says
A millennium's story.
Crystalline thoughts preserved in sediment
Earth remembers.
What was the ocean once,
Now dreams of water.
Time flows like honey through limestone valleys:
Sweet eternal pause.
In the end, we're all just layers in stone.
(Inspired by Danial Kordan's Photography of Kazakhstan)
In the heat of a passionate encounter
Do you ever stop and think
“Wonder what's for din-din?”
Seems all our thoughts and energy
Are devoted to the task at hand, so to speak
So much so that it feels like our head will explode
Then that indescribable moment
When the trumpets blow
And a band of angels start singing, “Hallelujah!”
Are we interested in who won the big game last night
Or the political situation in Kazakhstan
Well I can surely tell you here and now
Because at that indescribable moment of joy
I REALLY don't give a poop!
The building could come crashing down around me
I'm intent on finishing what I started
Come hell or high water
Did you ever stop and wonder
What's for din-din tonight?
The snow fell lightly facing Tehran the stars all seemed to glow over the Capsien Sea from a heated Indian Ocean beholder of the Black Sea we hadn't battled cold like this an yet a deeply covered warmth seemed to cradle us beneath the blanket of whiteness from the snow capped mountains I bathed within the darkness beckoning Turkish chants Kurdish findings began to swell as we approached Turzikistan border my mind emptied over the darkened rush a canvas of clarity balanced virtue wondering when the vessel will raise over uncharted waters I craved Almaty wholesome wonder of Silk Road while I even began to notice hope springing from a fountain of lush memories gathered so beneath me glaring the fondness of it all as we sank in silence flashing lights embraced the craft as the Voss shore moved closer the clocks from the Kremlin chimed my thoughts totally on the consecration of Mary mother of God balanced over the middle east watching lucifer gloat over crude oil untimely measures grew more needed as righteousness burned very slowly on the ice masters of faint hues pulled hidden treasure from hidden nooks faucets burst with crystal clear waters while tar and oil sprang up from beneath covered wells lessons sang loudly with greed no one noticed the hungry the unclothed nor the sick in need
Written 3-23 2024 by Mrs Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
Drunk with the ecstasy of Divine Love
Dears emerge in union to sing praises
For victories as burdens lift and fall
Lift and fall
Drums rolling, trumpets toppling
Showing the way
All is blue, soft and sapphire
Waterfalls flow through our veins
Connecting strings and strands
As the Star of Dimash
Fill spring flowers in our lands
Dears ! Leap up to where
Ancestors gaze in silent wonder
Sitting in unspeakable joy of
Visions of light on the hills of our Globe
No expectations or judgement
As we take the notes of Dimash
Locking open our hearts to embrace
Ancient grids connecting
In exuberance
Run, dance, leap
Melt your luminous beauty
Listening to songs of wonder
Knowing deep in our own central suns
That the time is here
In an unfathomable fountain of
Powerful Peace
I have always been curious about people from Kurdistan
I wonder why they are called kurds
I wonder when the kurds would become keese
Just like curd becomes cheese
I wonder if birds are called “birds” because they come from “Birdistan”…..
Okay, that kurd-bird joke one time never went down well
One audience I entertained transitioned from swelling to swearing
The agitated audience looked at each other, left and right
The bird joke got me pelted and unhired, now I'm a fly-by-night comic
The joke was inspired by a 12 year kid I once knew, nicknamed “Talk shop”
He used to hang around the market stands and chatted nonstop
The lad knew almost all of the countries with syllables ending with “–stan”
He bragged about Kazakhstan, Tajikstan, Uzbekistan, with the “stans” he was never done
The smart-****’s Turkistan questions hit me like a slap
Unrelentingly he tested me to spot Manhattan on the map
I totally lost my geography to the kids embarrassing pressure
The kid burst into a belly laugh when my finger hovered over Asia
In trying to change the subject, I asked him about the story of Tristan
I was zipped into silence when he told me stick to geography and not romance
I asked the kid what his real name was, and how he got an extra memory chip
He said if he taught me how, the conversation would flip
And then he revealed what his real name was with a “My name is Stan, duh!”
A felt relieved, as adult dumbness left my shoulder
I bet you would know every country and its geographical location
If it was made up of some weird syllables sneaking up on your name
The cocky kid asked me to test him on anything
I went spiritual, a subject the kid probably had no grip on
I asked him why we confess to a priest, if God can directly hear us pray
He said “so that we can have an eye witness on judgment day”
I tried to get rid of the boy by pretending to be bored
But I let the boy stay, when he told me that I would miss him one day when I get old
The Corsican was never really Gallic.
The Austrian was not remotely Prussian.
Jugashvili (let's put this in italics)
could not be, in a month of Sundays, Russian.
The point of Communism is, it's global,
or else it's nothing. Swimming or it's dead,
like sharks, it fans out (kind of like Chernobyl).
Like peanut butter, it was made to spread.
This in-one-country nonsense once held sway
(Archangel, all the way to Kazakhstan),
but when he died, his system blew away,
as do all systems centred on one man.
Napoleon's snowball stopped with "Viet Cong".
The wonder is, it lasted quite so long.