Last night I had a dream that are together we again,
As it was long ago, as if we have never parted.
And beam of happiness rose up and darkness brightened,
And got illuminated soul, and went away sad pain.

The feelings were so sweet, as only could be in fairy tale endeavor,
I wished, in sleep, not to wake up, so they could stay forever.
Just for a moment dream of mine has looked so real, yet,
I sure knew that what I've seen I never will forget.

Be loved by you? - there is no chance, not even hope, precarious and shaky,
But I will face my fortune with a smile, you'll never know that I faked it.

Omar Khayyam observed that world is full of ignorance and evil.
Shakespeare confirmed that nothing changed in ages of medieval.
Five hundred years passed and I could sadly say:
Still ignorance and evil rule, they didn't go away.

In love the sky can't be distinguished from the land.
It feels like perfect storm when one into another blend.
With you, my dear beauty, when you are around,
I am climbing to the sky and loosing sense of ground.

I don't care whether wings of love are from white dove or darkest night black Raven.
For better or for worse, in earthly love we fly together straight to seventh heaven!
On berries ripeness in your garden look I so hypnotized,
There is no force in world to make me turn away my eyes.

And can't describe it neither poetry nor lean lowland of prose  
How's wonderful in bloom your blushing red lust thirsty rose!
I want to breathe aroma of your flower, being love sunk
And learn its taste inviting, teasing, sweet and drunk!

In element of water I was born, I know yet without use of divination fortune dice,
That heaven and the earth you are for me, with you I'll go to the Hell or Paradise!
You are the source of passion, which I feel, you are the magnet of my love desire.
The shackles of your charms I wear, break them not, regardless consequences dire.

The life of any human being is worthy of a picture,
It's truth with no deception, it's richer than book's fiction.
About grief, about joy and choices, not so simple...
There is a bit of saint in us, we all as well are sinful.
Until life is not finished, it's on its own rolling,
There is no story similar, its plot can not be stolen.
Life is unique and precious, can't be relived from scratch,
It runs like fairy tale from first page to last page.

As Khayyam in rubaiyat quite often used to say:
Here's the wine, so drink it up, let it make us play.
Don't break this fragile jug, which is made of clay,
Time will pass, and you too may return this way.

Two different women names his mouth calls,
One in a prayer and another one in curse.
The ****** one makes him suffer, though yet he longs for her in passion spell.
His body and the soul dwell in a bitter strife between the Heaven and the Hell.

Blessed be the one, who loves and who is loved, such love is most expensive treasure.
That lucky one, surprised and stunned, sinks into the ocean of nirvana's pleasure.
And only poet can experience sometimes quite similar self satisfying festive mood,
The bard, whose words were read and meaning of his words was felt and understood.

This tree is obsolete, its shrunken roots have lost support of ground.
It doesn't hear voice of spring, birds chorus's trills it doesn't hear sound.
Gone are audacity and fun of crown's growth rage,
Killed by the cold hangover brought by unforgiving age.
In dreamlike memories of youth this tree is held enchanted by the past,
By happiness and love that were alive, alas, they long have passed.

But, strangely, on its trunk the tender green shoot of escape I see,
Which props itself through wrinkles of its bark's dried up and deadened skin.
Oh, tree of life - not yet completed is your time.
As long as you can stand -  life's heavy burden you shall overcome!

My reader, looking at the ring, have ever you been caught
On efforts, spent to make it, sudden flashing thought?
About sifting through waste rock to find the rare gem
Where mother-nature hided it from curiousity of men.

About jeweler's stone cutting skillful labor duty
To grind the gem, exposing all it brilliance and beauty?
About ring design, embodying stone in golden artful frame
Creating masterpiece to glorify forever craftsman's name?

Likewise, in poetry, the sense of being attempting to extract,
Bard feelings puts in words to shows time's connection act.

In love and respect our planet may thrive,
In hate and abuse - just only survive.
Let peace be the law all over the Earth,
To be place where living is worth!

My train of life is rushing in acceleration;
There is one coupe and one wagon in it.
There are no other passengers on that train.
This train is just for me.

I'm holding an invisible ticket,
Punched as many times as the number of years, that I have lived .
Each year, the Controller checked it,
Making sure that I don't miss my end station.

I am sitting on the shelf, staring out the window.
There miles are flashing, but I don't worry.
As long as the wheels knock on the rails ...
But I know that for me there is no turning back.

My train of life is rushing in acceleration;
There is one coupe and one wagon in it.
Among the dark night or nice bright day
My stop will catch up to me.

Time blew away without a trace young years in a blast...
I keep the calendar same way, like memory of past,
Reminding me of my childhood, hanged on the wall by nail,
Though count diminished of left days in my life story tale.

Pulled out days can't be replaced, can't be relived again,
So few red colors were in them, so much black ink of pain.
Someday I'll part with you for good, for someone else to care,
Without me to celebrate the eve of next New Year.

Snow shines like silver in the moon light...
- The charm of the old  song...
Night woke in the heart the memory-longing,
Remembrance of the one that I loved.

The sad voice of ringing bells
Gives quiet pain in my heart,
Bringing sweet dreams of the past.
The meetings with the beloved are coming back alive...

Feelings awakening, love timid confessions,
The oath of fidelity, tenderness of dates.
Youth, in its dreams, promised happiness,
But the fate has decreed otherwise.

I was thirteen and I had got a date one day,
My very first... and I was so excited...
I went ahead and flowers bought bouquet,
- Twelve scarlet roses - hoping heart of hers to get ignited.

I was stood up - she did not make the date...
I felt ashamed, embarrassed and betrayed !
Those flowers burned my hands and made me be suspect,
They yelled that I am total failure and reject.

I threw away this evidence of shame.
To glowing roses I assigned the blame.
In instance came relief, despair went away.
I still remember vividly that day,

Experienced by me half century ago.
But recently this story came again to me to grow...
While walking down the street I noticed the bouquet - exactly that,
Or very similar - I couldn't tell you more,
Which lay abandoned on the top of parapet,
- It was another failure of distraught amour !

Gone are the suffering and agony of love.
The separation stretched out hands over me.
And I live in its shadow.
And songs dead sounds,
Froze in a silent scream.
And on my ****** face,
As the unrevealed clues,
Long ago dried up tears.
Frost buried dreams of happiness
In the snow of eternal emptiness.
Thunderstorm, raged in the heart, got lulled.
That is how I live, if you wish to know.

Black colors of the night, the ones in poetry you paint,
Mean more to me than shiny light of brightest days.
Your wicked feelings radiate the charm of spell.
With you i'll go through the circles of the hell.

My life - you are my golden fish,
I can not ask you to fulfill my wish.
From myself I swim away in a poetic verse,
But always wake up in the net again at coast.

From love no one can run away; being lost by you, it's for another to be found.
Those days of love will not repeat, alas it's memories cannot be ever drowned.

ou that ...
I doubt it will make You feel as you expect - quite glad.
Let You consider me as being insensitive and bad,
As much as I forgave, I never shall forget !


You asked to stick around - sure Dear, I indeed may stay,
But hardly You will find that this will make your day.
Let You consider me being cold and causing pain,
There is nothing You could do to make me love again.


The feeling's gone and can not be revived by will.
Love resurrection is impossible, so simply let's be real.
Betrayal is the wound, which no witch could heal.
When Love is crucified it stays forever killed.

Wild Rosehip grew in dusty soil,
By life's tough struggle hardened,
Yet undistinguished are its heart and soul
From rose in cared flower garden.

Wild Rosehip grew by roadside in the dusty stony soil,
The thorny shrub, by life's dull prose tough struggle hardened,
Being unaware that indistinguished are its heart and soul
From ones of rose, which lives in beauty of well cared garden.

But Gardener instilled in lonely bush hope's stalk - to cure its past loneliness and worry,
And blossomed it in Spring, to the surprise of self, with shine of tender fragranced glory ...
That morning wrote the bard his best love song, the song, with feelings passion fired,
- To fame the beauty of the one, to whom his heart belongs, by nature's miracle inspired.

Two people live inside my skin,
One's coward and one's bold.
One takes the blows under chin,
Another shuns the world.

They hate each other so much, being bound by the chain.
They are engaged in fighting match - the endless fight with no gain.
As such, I'm left to be their judge, the judge who feels the pain.

One tells me: "Live with no fears, be what you are with pride !".
Another whispers in my ears: "Shut up yourself and hide".
Two people live inside my skin,
And Lord one knows who will win ...

First Love, which lives in each of two young lovers trembling heart,
Being glorified by Shakespear's tragic story of the hope and pain,
Its essence is immortal, it blooms like rose: again, again, again,
Its burning thrill shines in the world, by sin and evil teared apart.

Two bodies's gentle ardent languor merge, filled with elation
Turns satisfaction of the carnal instinct's *******
Into the sacred hymn of the eternal nature's cycle regeneration,
And into solemn ritual of celebrating life's rebirth.

As long as rises sun, heralding coming of the new day's light,
As long as moon brings spirit to the shadow pit of botomless dark night,
- Oh earthly prose, I beg, please don't overthrow sentiment,
Expressed in copulating naked souls Love's holy sacrament.

Through words of feelings tinderbox I kindle spark of pain
To torch in tears cold stone hearts in high emotions flame.

The famous Mona Lisa smile, projects it mystery of earthly women's wisdom grace...
I saw its shadow, hidden in the eyes of mad and homeless female beggar's face.

Falling leaves, stirred by wind, fly around dancing slow
In the shadows of Autumn along park's crimson alley.
Though Wintery storms will be soon blowing snow,
Count of days towards Spring has already been tallied.

Mosaic-like fragile illusions of the youth are shattered, lying in the dust.
Their recollections settled in the gloomy asylum of murky, distant past.
Sea foam of dreams dried up, the wind of hope died down,
Faded red colors of the sails into love's funeral white gown.
The ship of love is anchored in the bay of gray weekdays life's press,
The dullness of the real world prevails in its routine repeatable duress.

God Cupid has appeared once before famed bard:
"Whose gentle female heart with, to reward you, tell me, singer?
For lyre playing art gods granted you this prize!"
Poet replied: "I do not want another loving heart,
The joy of being in arms of simple girls just isn't made to linger.
I want to feel the Aphrodite's affection as the price!"

The deity has thrown to the ground magic bow in the angst:
"Desire to possess the Venus's body is fatal for the poet's soul.
Since in the face of earthly woman you don't see a goddess's call,
Being ruled by whim of outrageous pride, Your talent you've axed!"

I'm soaring up to bare simplicity,
False art's complexity discarding use.
Let feelings plain undressed explicity
Don't scare poetry inspiring muse.

Our lives - are distant islands, each is caught in own cage,
Love of two is torn asunder by the difference in age.

As lion March in Boston starts and as a lamb it ends.
This means that Winter and warm Spring through fight are changing hands.
Though winds subside by April first, but sometimes as a joke
A snowstorm down from sky falls quickly as a hawk.

Onto Beantown as a prey it sets its snowed grip
By dressing streets in winter cloth once more in fierce zip.
And tree's awaken swollen buds are tortured by the cold,
As anguished be one's dreams of Love, being kept in heart on hold.

To her son, who came in tears, mother told: "Do not complain;
Those are tiny little scratches, you will soon be right as rain".
But foretold me later Gypsy: "Don't search for love in vain,
In this field for you, poor fellow, cards are showing no gain".

There is no sweeter pain on Earth than one, which is Love's demon poison.
Entrust him with your soul and open door to heart - he's also angel, only fallen.

In poetry, the sense of being attempting to extract,
Bard, in his feelings, shows time's connection act.

Heart's feelings often grow from delusions,
Out of soil, deceived by dream's illusions ...
Love comes in no time, by plunging peaceful life into wild run of madness spree,
As spring's green sprout suddenly breaks through the trunk of dry old dying tree.

I don't comprehend why life is so short, I don't comprehend how vast is universe,
Alas I know that despair, loneliness and pain are parts of poet's everlasting curse.

While heart is pushing blood in veins, it's always braced for love, no matter will it bring the joy or peril,
And how heart on Earth could feel - incapable to grasp in Heaven or in Hell, nor angel, neither devil.

Husband to wife on way out did say:
"There is plenty of space in my house to stay.
Feel free to go around wherever my dear,
Except for one room, which is banned for you here.

Death is the price, set for breaking my law,
- Don't go downstairs to that room on first floor,
Though I shall leave upon you all the keys ...
Stay out from entering it, be obedient, please!"

Just when he left, she went down at once,
While devil whispers: "Don't miss the chance!"
Here's that coveted key to the door ...
"Open it up" - devil says: "wait no more!" ...

My windows face the busy street ...

Both day and night the traffic beat

Invades my quiet solitude

And violates my restful mood.


Fire trucks, an ambulance, police

Disturb my inner conscience peace.

Their sounds tell me of distress

Disaster, death, unhappiness.


I sense like that the world entire

Is crying pain, being set on fire.

And I feel urgent to respond,

Discovering my human bond.


But there are times, which aren't my best ...

Inside of me wakes up unrest.

I feel abandoned, I feel weak,

I don't sense my heart beat tick.


And in those times I have the need

To hear sounds of the street.

This buzz connects me to the world

To which I cling as last resort.


It's nice, being either young or old,

To know that's no matter what,

No matter what will future hold

- Life keeps on moving by my road.

The love in poetry or poetry in love,
Which one is my forte I don't really know ...
Or both or none of the above,
Or something in between ... and there in between I go.


On certain mornings I awake being sick
With certain sweet disease that has no other cure,
Than trying to come up with words, which in my heart would stick,
Such words, which are in sync with feelings I indeed endure.


And when I find those words, my rage goes away,
Transferring into poetry so utterly contagious,
Infecting those who read - and that what makes my day,
Rewarding efforts, humble, yet enormously courageous.

In the heart of the Tuscany under Italy's sun
Lies the town of Lucca, which is known to some
As Giacomo Puccini's birthplace, and the truth to be told,
He's Italian composer, one of the best in the world.

In the times of Medieval - far back in the past
Thrived the banking in Lucca and the art of silk craft ...
....
The legend has that at those times and in this very city
Lucia Manco lived so gorgeous, vane and pretty.

Though cunning Satan made her splendid stunning beauty last
On the condition, that her lovers souls to Devil pass she must.
... For quite a while this deal worked really well
- Men souls were going from her bed straight to the Hell.

For quite long time she never fell in love, we trust
- Her drive was simply egotistic vanity and crave for lust.
But even magic comes to undeterred sudden end
- She met young man, to whom she loving heart of hers has lent.

She would not dare to corrupt his wholesome soul,
And lost her beauty just at once forever and for all.
He lost his love to her at instance when she lost her femine charms .
But to the worst, the Devil told him that he held his mother in his arms!

Do you love or just want to be loved ?

Is for you "to be loved" good enough ?

Should you settle your life just with that,

How it feels during times, spent in bed ?


If ******* just comes as technique,

Not requiring for both hearts to click,

If the skills are well tuned and adjusted, being tried,

Then before you are ready to fall into sleep, satisfied,


Do you dare to say: "I do too" to the guy ?

Does he know it is just a lie ?

Was he able sometimes to cut through

And reply with the pain: "It's not true!" ?

Both fields of war and love obey same rules,
Both celebrate the victories and mourn the loss.
Their soldier's fortune is decided by coin's toss,
And both the winners and the losers act like fools.

Wish I'd be that boy from vicinity,
Whom entrusted you sweet virginity.
One, who was your first, one, you wanted whom,
One, you let to sneak to your maiden room.
But there is nothing I, in my whim, could do
To be me instead, who climbed your window.

He was the one, who made your passion turning.
He was the one, whose love you were returning.
He was the one, whom then you were caressing.
He was the one, for whom you rushed to get *******.
He was the one, to whom you gave yourself without warning.
He was the one you kissed way out in the morning.


If I would have it now  - the magic Time Machine,
I would fly back there, where then you've been.
I would throw myself between you and him,
I would beg your love, I would yell and scream.
I would cry my tears, I would be enraged,
But there is nothing then could I really change ...


He still'd be one, who made your passion turning.
He still'd be one, whose love you were returning.
He still'd be one, whom then you were caressing.
He still'd be one, for whom you rushed to get *******.
He still'd be one, to whom you gave yourself without warning.
He still'd be one you kissed way out in the morning!

The heart of lover does not lie.
It speaks from love that will not die.
My love is blind but my heart cries,
You see the tears in my eyes ...

The cry of heart is such of sort
- Just by one's heart it could be heard.
The special one, who went same road
And knows how love could hurt.

You said that you could read the voice,
That you could hear truth through noise.
Why couldn't you hear cry of love,
Which comes from me to you, my half?

Your kindness towards yours "just friend"
Is killing me on other hand.
Such kindness is quite harmful rather,
- It saves the one and kills another!

I never searched the truth in vine,
But in this case it might work fine.
Instead of seeing my plea sinking
I'd rather shut myself by drinking!

You could deceive yourself in reason
That you just want to keep him breathing,
That your sole purpose is to please him,
But in my heart I hear treason.

You could insist that it's your goal,
But your insistence tells me all ...
That you're afraid to tell what's true,
- You need him more than he needs you!

What else might tell you I this night!
You can't deny that I am right!
Just let me stay and taste the misery.
Don't add insult to my heart injury!

The heart in love could not be patient ...
It suffers in anticipation!
You say I don't have your trust ...
You should believe me! Yes, you must!

The end of her days gets burned out alone

In care of the staff in remote nursing home.

She hardly remembers her name and her age,

The book of her life turned itself to last page.


Her mind is confused and her talk lacks the sense,

She feels that she lives at somebody's expense.

No interest in living, no hope, no dream,

She is locked in herself in the mental extreme.


Since her husband has died twenty years have gone,

And then she has lived by herself, on her own.

Her only offspring is her sixty years son,

To whom she gave life and so much she has done.


He visits her weekly, she cries when he leaves,

He is so ashamed when he flees like a thief.

She wants him be near till she is alive,

He lives at the distance of thirty miles drive.


She wants be in comfort of family warmth,

He can not oblige with his heart has been torn.

She calls him each evening: "Please, please take me from here !",

He tells in return: "I can not, oh My Dear".


But once in a while she has painful nightmare

That her five years son still is in her care.

She calls on the phone in torment and despair:

"With whom is my son? Where is he, where? where?"

There was a site for writers and book readers.
There was a guy, who liked to post on it his rhymes.
There also was a girl, who read his poetry sometimes,
And, strangely, found she herself eventually attached
To honest feelings of his humble words so much,
That made him fall for her and she became his love and cheer leader.

Your eyes are tender but your look has tease.
You've been created to beckon, ****** and please.
You are an earthly creature, but I would sell for you my soul,
And would betray Almighty God, not being afraid of paying toll.
My actions are no longer ruled and judged by any reason,
For Love lies high above religion, and worth the blasphemy for treason.

I'm in love with Juanita

From El Paso country song ...

Kiss me stronger, senorita,

Make my memories be gone.


To forget the northern beauty,

Who's cold heart is made of stone,

Kiss me stronger, Spanish cutie,

Give me love I missed so long.


Brown eyes so warm and tender,

Margaritaville from blender

Makes it easy to surrender,

Borrowing love from lovely lender.


Do not check my credit rating,

- I am all anticipating ...

Give me love that I am awaiting,

Make my loneliness abating!


Rambling rose from Spanish garden,

Do not let my heart to harden.

Harden only what can please,

- I am down on my knees.


I'm in love with Juanita

From El Paso country song ...

Kiss me stronger, senorita,

Make my memories be gone.