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Maxim Keyfman Jun 2018
I'm on my way
I'm walk in rain
I'm on my way
I'm walk in rain

Across a Novorossiysk
Across a Moscow
Across a Novossibirsk
Across a Russia

I'm on my way
I'm walk in rain
Today was sunny day
A now rain

A now rain
A now rain


I'm on my way          
I'm walk in rain
I'm on my way
I'm walk in rain

Across a Novorossiysk
Across a Moscow    
Across a Novossibirsk    
Across a Russia

2016
Mirlotta Feb 2018
I never thought that Lucifer would be so pretty.
He has your hands, darling- pink and white:
like roses in Russia, or else a scab that hasn't quite healed.
His hair is hot as hell, which is unsurprising, honestly.
He shuffles through the Moscow streets with reality
peeled away from his eyelids. I don't think he sees me at all
and yet I feel him, cold as the ice on which we tread towards each other. I wonder if he closed his eyes when he fell from heaven.

You did, I know. You hate heights, or perhaps just the falling.
Maybe that's why the love-thing never worked out.
the story behind this one is the fact I can recognise my ex just from her hands. how can HANDS inspire so much emotion???? wow
G Rog Rogers Sep 2017
Way beyond Moscow
where the people they live
The steppes and the forests
the shores and the streets

They sing the new songs
of a people now free
The tunes of great gratitude
for a place far away

That place where good people
they never would stop
Persistent and patient
they played all for one

Hardly a doubt
and forever a pledge
to share what they had
with those who had none

So when you lay down
and you have said
all your prayers
remember in Russia
the inconquerable brave-hearts
We America have won.

"It is good to have Russian friends."

-R.
(11.02.14)
Observations of my travels in Russia. They love America but they support Putin.

©ASGP
G Rog Rogers Aug 2017
I thought of you in Paris
and remembered
you in Zurich

I was reminded of
you in Moscow
and I could not forget
you in Cancun

My memories were of you when I went back
to New Orleans
and Tampa Bay

I continue thinking of you
in Dallas and LA.

-R.

(16)
-LA
©2017
Äŧül Jul 2016
Oh I wish to be a bird,
For then there would be freedom.

I could be here or there,
And freely without borders.

Then I will not be blinded,
Flight of my will power would be untamed.

I could be flying in Srinagar,
And then in Peshawar afterwards.

Then nothing would restrict me,
Unaffected personal would be my choice.

I could be in Moscow,
And even in Washington.
First step towards one world would be the allowance for passport-free movement.

My HP Poem #1103
©Atul Kaushal
B Young Dec 2015
The girl from Moscow
wants to hear, my
voice.
She is in love already,
with another,
but
is so beautiful,
do I really have, a
choice?
I call her,
using the international
connection line,
called Facebook.
I can hear her
but
she cannot hear
me.
I enable video,
and wave, but
she covers her
face, with her
hand.
Am I being mislead,
biting at the transcontinental line,
or
as they say,
cat-fished?
22 | 31 Poems for August

You’ve got your hand comfortably placed in mine.
A few minutes ago I was placing kisses down your spine.
Who gave you curves like those and said that you could keep them?
You know how it goes, the thicker the better.
But don’t get too complacent, I’m still drawn to your grey matter.
It’s evident that you’re more about bass than treble.
This is all new to me, I’ve never been on this level.
Let’s become a poem that Pretoria can always snap its fingers to.
But if that doesn’t work out then we’ll travel to Venice, Paris or Moscow.
Maybe even Florence, Rome or Vienna, anywhere you want to go.
When you finally make up your mind then love let me know.
Your fascinating thoughts always inspire the movement of my flow.
It’s within your simplicity where I discovered how beautifully complex you are.
In a sky full of constellations, you are my favourite star.
Don’t leave me behind, I just want you to gently place your hand in mine.
Don’t leave me behind, you’re the one I’ve been patiently waiting to find.
No matter what happens don’t ever let your hand slip out of mine.
1 | 31 Poems for August

I want to do more than just write poetry.
I want to paint pictures.
So be my muse and surrender your body as my canvas.
I’ll make every single swift stroke bring you to life.
I’ll show you what this brush of mine is capable of.
You are the sun that my sky yearns to hold.
Beautiful cocoa butter skin.
Your beauty is not only found on your exterior but every single place within.
I want to insert my poems in every single atom in this galaxy.
So that you can feel my love wherever you go.
From Pretoria to Toronto.
From Jo’burg to Moscow.
From Cape Town to Glasgow.
Static thoughts and kinetic conversations inspire my flow.
I have thoughts that my words cannot describe and I wish to share them with the world.
I wish to share them with you.
I love the way your eyes see past my smile and deep into the fibres of my soul.
I love the way your smile makes me whole.
Let’s become a poem our friends can always snap their fingers to.
I want to hold your body the way canvas portrays paint.
I want to kiss your lips while I gently hold your waist.
I want to do more than just write poetry.
I want to tell the world about you.
Let me tell the world about you.
First poem for the 31 Poems for August series.

— The End —