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Best Poems Written by Oleg Borisov

Below are the all-time best Oleg Borisov poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Wishes

(on the basis of Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata)


Be calm, because it's vanity of vanities,
reach harmony taking a truce.
Be generous, despite “in vino veritas” 
all in the world forget the truth. 

Remember that all have their rights –
an ignoramus here or there a fool.
And are you right with all your stereotypes?
So, take then theirs in blood cool.

For evil leave that everlasting fall,
obsequiousness and arrogance – a fuss;
As all affected will be ground at all
by millstones-years first or last.

And give yourself up to a labor of love,
depends itself on you your destiny.
In lieu of victor's wreath a head above
will be a crown of thorns eventually.

But if one day some utter fraud
floods flourishing in blossom land,
let it not devastate your soul  
with all abstracted from your bank. 

Remember, love is never bought,
you'd better flirt with haughty divas,
in style be good at getting old,
as all the beauty fades with years.   

Enjoy the time not passing by,
this moment's not reversible.
Strengthen your spirit to be high,
your fears all alleged impossible. 

At last a child you're of the universe,
as those trees, stars and our heaven.
You're given to explore your place,
though you take all for gospel ever.

Your God – it's peace within your soul,  
you, cherish as the apple of your eye. 
Let it be love here in a cottage small,
and be vivacious till you die.

Details | Oleg Borisov Poem

A Cloud

A grey cloud in holes
flew in the sky alone,
headed for its dole
all the time along.

Brilliant sunlight spots
fell onto the ground.
Jumped as little balls,
run as a greyhound.

With the insects brittle
rushed along the meadow,
an’ there a May beetle
made another circle.

An’ sounds everywhere
rang out as in a jungle,
the guests in the air
lavishly got jumbled.

Fondly dandelions
crowded all together,
organ-grinders – flyers
played in fair weather.

Suddenly black clouds
gathered in the sky,
blew away round dance
in the near dry.

Soared in the bounds
of the vault of heaven,
the cloud on the ground
fell to form forever.

Details | Oleg Borisov Poem

The Nature Keeps Its Secret Laws

The nature keeps its secret laws.
An iron angel is in a cradle.
Time's flowing down into a ladle.
The century took in space its course.

A hand bends boldly a face of clock.
Eternity delivers an artist.
To injured knees a plantain harvest.
As if a stick threatens with a knock.

And bows its head unhappy time
of blind men frozen in the Sun.
King for a day is in the fun.
The people’s eyes are all in rime.

In time the dark comes on threshold.
By some the world's turned inside out.
For a toothless to swallow's allowed
And sweet meat all the vices hold.

God catches angel with a net,
but latter's not a butterfly.
Wind's consonant with rebel's cry,
a tear-stained handkerchief is wet.

Details | Oleg Borisov Poem

American 60s

Gladness of meadows, ill weeds, 
children of flowers, mad deeds, 
bitter of fathers, iron glove. 
Winds are carrying the love. 

Noisy city, stone’s moan, 
smoky bars, reality’s yawn, 
beasts in cages out of laws. 
Jim is opening the doors. 

Words of rampage, hair to shoulders, 
a lioness roar, a flow of wonders – 
her mike – harmonious Dionysus – 
a potent lion lured by Janis. 

A woman’s hands with a handkerchief, 
lips to lips, a garland gift, 
she’s excited ‘cause of – guess 
who’s kissing her? – Elvis, yes. 

Peacock’s colors, sharp wit, 
a swarm of flies, a scent of sh_t, 
by the Sun is burning Phoenix, 
a guitar being burnt by Hendrix. 

Cloudy whiteness and grey ashes. 
Crocodile tears, Megaera bashes, 
to a singer a merciless demon. 
Dreams imagined by John Lennon. 

Burst of emotions, decay of knots, 
barking dogs and bleating goats, 
shocked by coup a righteous snob. 
In his searching’s howling Bob. 

Foul air, a stink of zoos, 
a worn-out jeans, the century of wars, 
Justice blind laughs at beard, 
a hippy’s dragging now his weird.

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The Race

The gust of wind, the twist of pedals,
the race till sunset, with no medals.
My way will be on even roads
or in a coppice on potholes.

The Sun's zenith, there is no grief,
the wheels, embracing the relief,
will bear me uphill and downhill.  
They break my sp'rit to be revealed.

The day for long, the night not soon,
each mile is dear on the route.
Press on my pedals in a distance
to be delayed death by resistance.

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Under the Sky

Forward I go under the sky,
a talent in my hand,
a star attracts me on the sly 
by manna from heaven.

My bare soul, run to the star, 
salt down my body!
from ennui take away my arm,
and keep me busy!

It shines in the eternal dark,
it needs not much -
only the talent - coin odd -
for food the charge.

Details | Oleg Borisov Poem

Embrace

life exposed to
the time penetrated -
rust twined around the sword

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A Pack of Cards

Oh, queens, aces beside them and kings,
An' all the minions serve them and jacks.
I do not get excited, I don't play w/the things.
A voice – “I'll take all, if you don't object”.

Diamonds, clubs, spades and beautiful hearts –
symbols of sway, eternal suits,
forced to being shuffled by infidel hands –
those fiery came from infernal loots.

And they are choosing the following trumps,
laying above the stifling suffering world
of the rest covered, beaten and slumped,
swinging round an' round in a devilish whirl.

An' the pack is being shuffled by the hands on an' on
'cause of friction they get vile gambling spark.
Devil's laughing at me in his own Babylon,
I'm not in his hands as one petty card.

Details | Oleg Borisov Poem

Angel In the Sky

An angel was elated
soared above the ground.
On a stifling populated
city he looked down.

Weightless in a blue sky
through a cloud he hustled.
On the southern side
knew well people’s bustle.

The image was dispersing
straight before my eyes.
By the air was urged on
reducing to a dust.

Presented in the bright Sun
like a fairy-witch,
affected like a clownish mug
a windy maverick.

Mischievous he seemed
to his seamstress nature.	
To the past farewell he bid
like a pliant snake.

Waving with the curl
to amazing flowers
and he soon was turned
into a range of mountains.

Details | Oleg Borisov Poem

A Dream

--------------------------Superego: Memento mori.
--------------------------Id: I will remind him of it.


I had an eerie dream:
I saw a skull in sleep.
It lay on a tomb brink.
“Mine”, I gave a sigh deep.