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Mariya Timkovsky Nov 2015
Transform me, dear child
Show me your visions
Help me find Hope in my name.
For I've been listening
To Peacelessness in my veins.

Your time here isn't done
Battles rage without a single one won
The Lies reach past fingertips
And Truth is painfully shy.

Please restore my faith.
Say those kind words you always manage to say.
People crane their necks
For leaders left and right
But you and I know
Leadership moves forward
With flashlight eyes in the night.
Mattie Stepanek was a poet and peacemaker who was taken too early from this world. After reading about his legacy through the eyes of his mother, I felt moved to writing a tribute to him.
Mariya Timkovsky Nov 2015
Look far into the distance
What do you see?
There's a semblance of something
Green blurs to yellow and orange and red
Falling upon the Earth's bountiful head.

She combs through her hairs until they're prepped for her shower.
She awaits the shampoo to arrive.
And what do we do?
We stamp out the paths we need
For our little maggot selves to pass through.

It's time we stop carving out cavities
Into the head of the place we call home.
She feeds us
And clothes us
And lulls us to sleep
Remaining selfless despite arrhythmia's creep.
Mariya Timkovsky Jun 2014
It is no accident that we have palms
With fingers extending from them
For when we unite our two hands,
They become a blooming flower.
We can follow the veins with our eyes
From fingertips to hearts
Blushing red.

Pumping into us another day
Another hope
Another dream
To find within ourselves the petals
To water faithfully.

I have watered fatefully.
Yet my flower has grown too long
In chilly dark basements
With mold growing in the corners and
Cobwebs decorating cracking walls.

I’ve only the strength to crack a thin beam of light
To dance upon the corners of my flower.
When will the music invite more?
Mariya Timkovsky Jun 2014
The seeds are pressed gently into their crevices
Like hair follicles on my skin
Skin so tender
Turns so red
When juice leaks down
Sweet and bitter all at once.

Because I heard only children cry
When they scratch their knees
Or mommy dropped them off at day care.
Yes, I have been there.

Because I heard only children cry
Yet the space between my eyes
Carries a bridge between two worlds
That will never seem to collide.

I have reached the tender green top
My reminder of the earthly wonder
Of peace
Even in tumultuous minds.
I long to run my fingers through the grass
And listen to the sweet nothings the wind whispers
In my ear.

Sweet nothings leave bitter somethings far from near.
Mariya Timkovsky Feb 2014
He said that monsters and hunters
Occupied his room.
Searching for him.
Lurking in the shadows
Of train tracks
And construction sites.
Is anybody really safe?

All I could do was
Hold him.
Each shiver
Bubbling up on the surface
Of his body
Left me paralyzed.

Each clattering tooth
Was a reminder
Of the empty basements
And windowless, doorless rooms
I shivered in once
Or twice.

I reminded him
To let light linger
In the shadows.
Shivering ceased.
The dark feels colder
When you travel it alone.
A different version of my other poem, "Time of Glory."
Mariya Timkovsky Feb 2014
The shadows of your dreams cover your path:
False shapes bereft of warmth and gentle love.
They do engage in calculated wrath,
Hands reaching out to claw and push and shove.
But daytime swung its ax on nighttime’s noose;
You rose and ran first thing into my slumber
My eyes did slit your yells when they turn’d loose;
Not yet have I awoke to this day’s number.
Yet time does age us, now, ever so slightly
Serenity becomes you as you wake
And I will take the paths you tread so lightly
And pluck the claws from darkness for your sake.
        Take journeys deep within your world inside,
        So I may find within you a new pride.
My first sonnet!
Mariya Timkovsky Feb 2014
It is past midnight.
A light glows outside my window
Like warm *****.
Welcome to New York City.
The self-loathing,
Self-loving city.
I am a proud citizen of this
American Isle,
In the most un-American style.
No white picket fence
Can be seen for miles
(Unless you count barricades
of graying snow that leaves
blizzard scars on my boots)
But those scars are worth it.

The clang of metal wheel
Against metal track
In the literal underside
When high life meets
Low life
And the hair cells in my ears
From each rhythmic heart beat:
Is worth it.

But when I feel the need
To write of ***** and light
In the same sentence
In order to preserve my thoughts
From being trapped
Permanently inside my head
Inside these white walls,
Which I have decorated with
Rainbow colors
In order to prevent the room
From looking like a mental institution,
It doesn't seem worth it anymore.

My life belongs to a city of commitments.
One where love has graced me
With its presence
And where I can hide
In dead ends and public alleys
Without fear of being caught
For being who I am
By the people who are supposed to
Know me best.
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