Dream vacations, many I had
from Trinidad to Petrograd.
Stood on great pyramids, great walls,
watched dying swans in gilded halls.
Threw a penny in a fountain;
flew around the highest mountain.
Observed the wildebeest roam wild,
ran river rapids undefiled.
Under painted chapel ceilings
choking back my inner feelings.
Donizetti at La Scala,
on to Harlem for Shalala.
The entire world was at my feet,
people to see and hear and meet.
Grandfathers, too, the world they saw,
though mainly through the lens of war.
Locations where I freely roam;
for some, it was their final home.
They paid the price so you and I
can sip a cocktail in Versailles.
I fear it all begins again:
The war, the suffering, the pain.
My children may not ever see
the beauty that the world showed me.
There was world peace for a short time
I lived through that. It was sublime!
Categories:
petrograd, vacation, war,
Form: Imagism
Putin's just started World War Three
though if anyone had thought to ask me
You could see it coming back in 2008
when he rolled over Georgia, then sat back to wait
And the world stamped and shouted
before leaving the poor Georgians to fate
When Putin's little green men invaded Crimea
six years later, you got the idea
Now part of Russia, Crimeans are glad
to travel freely to Moscow and Petrograd *
As for Ukraine, Putin's stepped up his game
invaded with tanks and missiles, fire and flame
What's next are the Baltics and probably Poland
That's when World War Three will really get rollin'
Meanwhile, China's got Taiwan in her sights
She's stripped citizens there of all civil rights
To halt the war, what will Biden and Harris do
Will sanctions save even one life ~ let alone two?
_____________________________________________
*Petrograd is the former name of what is now the city
of Stalingrad... Crimeans no longer have to bribe Russian
sentries at border crossings just to enter the country.
Categories:
petrograd, history, leadership, war, world,
Form: Couplet
In the bleached whitish sky
I am flying on a bellied pelican,
contemplating from above
a pastoral landscape
and I’m writing these lines.
Below are small people
on the slopes of a small hill
in the small groves
are making small love.
Unaware of the big people,
who are making a huge love
in the big groves
on the slopes of a tall mountain.
In the distance, you can see smeared cypresses
and Lebanese cedars,
and scrolls - Psalms of David.
They may heal diseases, twigs,
and rat bites.
And the rearrangement of the mysterious letters in the Kabbalistic text,
which are secrets of my secret.
The sweet pink pulp of fresh figs
in purple and burgundy colors
comfortably resting on a platter with a scorpion seal.
Shulamith,
the hot stones of the Judean desert are under your feet,
on the way to the Temple, which is washed with expensive blood or a cheap one.
(choose as you wish...).
Could I find you in the torn apart Petrograd?
Forgetting myself,
I am weaving fate from a rope of lasso.
How beautiful you are, Fata Morgana.
I'm hiding in a blue papyrus,
plunging forever into Nirvana,
for the next hour and a half ...
9.2019. NYC
Categories:
petrograd, destiny, emotions, inspirational love,
Form: Elegiac Lyric
Though Canton claims it’s communist, it’s not.
Beijing, like Belarus, breeds oligarchs.
There’s nobody alive who’s heard of Marx:
a rickshaw ride’s the only kind of trot.
Seek Mensheviks in Minsk, you’ll end with squat.
In Kursk are cadres countable as quarks,
and proles in Petrograd? Like hunting snarks.
It’s Putin’s perestroika, not Pol Pot.
Why did the whole thing vanish in thin air?
Why’s Sputnik spat on? Why is red so square?
We needn’t be complacent in the West.
There’s lots to learn within the Warsaw Waltz
for, as a tool to scrutinise the faults
of Christian Capital Conquest, it’s the best!
Categories:
petrograd, satire,
Form: Sonnet