Poems in English
Pain
The pain is sleeping water of translucent shades,
Inhabited by tiny snails of patience and waiting.
It fills all fissures with the grayish iron that hews and cuts.
It is a mountain surrounded by rings of pain like smoke.
It is a bell that tolls and throat full of sand,
But no draught is permitted ever.
Oh, how boring ‘tis to dive into that pond,
It bends in sweat, it withers, kneels the soul.
It is familiar and closer than the closest,
Predictable, irresistible, when unleashed.
In vain, one seeks to miss it,
As it is one’s kindred and one’s womb.
I am floating in it, a soaked sponge of madman.
Для пані з полонин Закарпаття
Drinking honey of many flowers,
Loving warmth of many suns,
Giving away jewels of the Neverland
To those caring to hold out their hands
My honour and pleasure, my honour and pleasure
Yet never forget -- I am the Killing Ground too
With my faded blue bombardier's eyes watching you
over the sights of my old sandalwood revolvers
Jesus' making a beeline toward you
Jesus' making a beeline toward you
Watch Him close in fast and deadly
My brother Jesus' leaning to your ear
That old third ear nailed to your forehead
Oh my, He is the smart one
And that makes you the dead one
You, cold stiff, you, Jesus, Jesus man
I said, our Lord is making a beeline
Toward your soul
Ou-ou, your hands are sweaty
So you are frightend to crumps
Just don't! For you ain't even alive
But watch him get started that rotten heart
Of yours, that rusty, stumbling, quivering
Engine of your cruel heart
Jesus the mech-guy's fixing it like a charm
Oh, babe, babe, give it to Him, really give it to Him
Let Jesus the man in, let Him around
And the Savior's never gonna let you down
Jesus' making a beeline toward you
Jesus' making a beeline toward you
Jesus, oh yeah, Jesus got it all under control
inline void nerd_poetry() {}
Memento Pattern
who-am-i-chick?
Bridge to Heaven
Holy C
Coming up Next
Lethal Python 3
Christmas Carol (Joke)
I don’t believe she really likes him, no
I dare say she can accept him though
She’s touchy on the subject, never mind
But that’s all right, but that’s all right
But that’s a-a-all right
The sparkling snow shines in her hair
A man will trade his life to see her underwear
Her little umbrella’s closed for the night
But that’s all right, but that’s all right
But that’s a-a-all right
She sings love songs while cooking in the kitchen
She never listens to her neighbors’ bitching
And no shadow will cross her cozy mind
She makes us feel all right, she makes us feel all right
(And now all together)
She-e-e makes us f-e-e-el a-a-all right
The Second Tribute to Milla
Ukrainian is the tongue to tell the truth
English is the tongue to talk nice
And who is her own shadow over the city
If not herself
In her childish way
Sale
Sail, my streamlined sister
Your hair is your sail
Hail, my saint sister
In your childish way
Your fingers are your proudest masts
Your hair of rye is your sail
Held unkempt, held fast
The ropes gone upward
From where your lines being hit hard
In your childish way
My saint sister
Who’d taught me the irrationality of my faith
The irrationality of my truth
And how it strips us out of our immunity
And how it beats us down with its orthogonality
And how we are
Measured precisely in the pupils of her stormy eyes
The Sister, old Taras, pan Stepan, Buddha bring me
The unity of the Four
In their childish way