I named my donkey Alighieri
not cause the poet was a jackass
I meant no disrespect or fracas
I named the other one just Xote
And here of course is donkey Shane
the handsome one, he's a bit shy
and here's the mule, he does get by
I think he goes by just Abstain
Snowfall covers the canyon,
tents bend under its weight.
Your indebted companion
drowned in powder, and late.
Memories flood and backflow,
laying back on my bed.
I am flying to Moscow
to return my late debt.
Haven't heard from you lately.
I've stopped counting the days,
but I wait here, irately.
Are you there? Distance weighs.
Take the Moscow bus, can it,
banal paint, window view,
ride across the whole planet
from "I hurt" to "Love You".
Laying claim to your name
and to conjugal rights,
others came, all the same,
words and names in their sites.
As I've called for the hunt,
lost my trail among barks,
fog above the old bog,
I've mistaken for parks.
Building houses, for others,
never ever for me.
Ruled the world of our brothers
never happy or free.
All I've left from those days
I have yet to unpack.
Books and letters part ways.
There is no going back.
Pilots sleeping on couches,
airport closing its gate.
Your indebted, and grouchy,
drowned in powder, and late.
Why do messages travel
looking back as they run?
Meanwhile, life does unravel
as though it had begun.
In my half of the world, promoted
Comets show off their tails, their birthright
In my half of the century, bloated
my eyes see but one half the sunlight
In my half the winds blow, unruly
and the plague riddled feasts continue
but the searchlight does blind, and duly
wipes all mention of death and sinew
And as madness retreats within us
sadness permeates, moves right through us
We have chosen our fates, it's in us
Pushing back on this plague, our shoulders
We will block this infecting slurry
Stand across from the nightmare, our staff
blocks it, it shall not pass, don't worry
We will not let it go to your half.
Author notes: Над моей половиной мира Распускают хвосты кометы. На моей половине века — Мне в глаза — половина света. На моей половине — ветер, И чумные пиры без меры. Но прожектор по лицам светит И стирает касанье смерти. И отходит от нас безумье, И проходят сквозь нас печали, И стоим посредине судеб, Упираясь в чуму плечами. Мы задержим её собою, Мы шагнём поперёк кошмара. Дальше нас не пойдёт — не бойтесь На другой половине шара!
mincing words
I made a salad
exaltations
I regret
what a saga!
what a ballad!
(what a poem!
don't forget)
the result?
not what you needed
it's designed
to calm and sooth
my advice
can go unheeded
but at least
it is the truth
Saturn is hanging in the sky
Titaneans, up and about
holiday season, what to buy
the aliens remain in doubt
Last year's pan-zebra so passé
every Titanean has one
and I had even heard them say
pan-zebras, you are out and done!
Still as the holidays approach
Titaneanas do expect
more than a methane breathing roach
(these tend to be not striped, but specked)
Any good options? There's a dearth.
A joint decision's quickly reached
The best they can do? Give them Earth!
Yes, that's their spaceships that just beached.
Author notes: wc 90 art by Anton Brzezinski
How old are you? As old as that!
Well, never mind, you'll do.
Sign here. And here. Initial there.
That's great, now look at you!
They ask, or not, offer them fries
and push this button, nifty.
Sixty, you said? Well, that's all right
I hear it's the new fifty.
Author notes: wc 50
"The future is as present as the past",
the physicist exclaimed, a beer in hand.
"The paradoxes, since you haven't asked,
resolve themselves. I wish you'd understand!".
He said this, then he took another sip,
and looked at me as if I was from Mars.
I'm not, and so I tried to get a grip;
I am no stranger to these kinds of bars.
I play along and hiccup -- "there's no time???
It's really an illusion, all for show?"
"Go back", he said, "kill grandpa, that's a crime.
But he won't be your grandpa, that I know."
That sealed it, so I shot him on the spot.
Turns out he's right and grandma was a slut.
words take their places, ready for the dance
the trick is not to step on your own foot
like ballerinas practicing their stance
be gentle, that's a pointe shoe, not a boot
de-stress the stress, don't lead with it, clap Clap
the pattern holds -- don't make your readers frown
each other sound, a steady double tap
a horse's rider starts by sitting down
two fencers, one must parry, one attacks
cliché touché will give it the right touch
and poets, some are better, some are hacks
don't squeeze words in, you're wanting it too much
that's all there's too it, no need to digress
not Shakespeare, but a sonnet nonetheless
was a villanelle temporarily offline
When Satan tempted Eve into that bite
was Love his inspiration, or was Lust?
No stranger to sheer obstinance and spite,
did he rebel, or, doing as he must,
perform as God commanded? Would the world
make sense if Adam, roaming Eden's fields,
Eve at his side, had slain the snake that curled
up in the grass? How could he? Knowledge yields
that power, nothing else, and knowledge came
(do pardon the expression) with regret.
Original, it was? Despite its fame,
it wasn't new then, and it isn't yet.
The moral of the story old as sin.
The truth hides in its lines, and in between.
зима обидела меня
холодным взглядом
а я так ждал ее
так дни считал
наверно, если без тебя
и ты не рядом
все это не мое
и дух упал
*********************************** *****
winter mistreated me,
cold, mean its shoulder
although I waited for it
hiding in the shades
when you're not there, it must be
though it's colder
nothing appears to fit
and spirit fades
Author notes: Russian, translated to English зима обидела меня холодным взглядом а я так ждал ее так дни считал наверно, если без тебя и ты не рядом все это не мое и дух упал
gentle as a brush of lips
flower sways her with its hips
petals anxious for her nose
it is, after all, a rose