#potholes
The song was written on March 3, 2016, and the new song version was completed on January 15-18 and February 5, 2026. Now it is published on Soundcloud on May 3, 2026 for worldwide release in ealy June. In the English version of the EP "Unplugged. In the beginning was the acoustics" as 1th song. ( Russian edition is available too)
In any weather, road goes on
A gray ribbon, fate with you too
It wears its zigzags mile by mile
At times it twists in spiral turns
Along the shoulder you will meet
Faces, potholes made by men here
And among them, diamond bright
Promises and pretty bait too
Miles get counted into long years
Three turns can take a lifetime out
Don’t be shocked, that’s how it works now
Life is turns, so hold on tight there
Again the gray road winds ahead
Your road that stretches through your life
Remember mom there by the door
Remember dad who yelled Hold on
You know, don’t chase that shiny fame
Don’t try to top the bold and rude
Don’t hunt for friends just for a laugh
Fate without love will hit you back
And keep in mind: miles turn to years
Every zigzag charges your life
How many bends will meet you there
Your angel knows; Hold on with his fine!
*****
Russian poem ( original)
Наша жизнь – в поворотах
В любую погоду серою лентой
Вьётся судьбы дорога с тобой
Всегда зигзагами увенчана,
Даже спирали крутит порой…
У обочин встретишь немало ты
Лиц и рытвин от дел людских
Среди прочего будут с алмазами
Их обещанья и прелести
Счёт километров идёт на годы
А три поворота идёт за жизнь
Не удивляйся – мир так устроен:
Жизнь – в поворотах, в них – и держись!
Вдаль серою лентою вьётся дорога
Твоя дорога, длиною в жизнь
Помнишь ли маму свою - у порога?
Помнишь ли крик отца: - Держись!?
Знаешь, не нужно стремиться славы
И не переплюнуть тех, кто наглей
Не стоит искать и друзей для забавы
Судьба без любви отомстит тебе
И помни - километры идут на годы
А каждый зигзаг идёт за жизнь
Сколько их будет в судьбе, от порога -
Знает лишь Ангел – его и держись!
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 4:37 AM UTC
I wasn't the one, you weren't alone,
You were just in need of a friend.
But I was there when you needed
someone to listen, I wasn't your
friend but unbiased ears never
tell you false lies..
I'll tell you what you don't want to hear.
I'm car when you crossed the road,
hit and run on your road
of potholed truths that others
filled in.
I wasn't a friend, you weren't alone,
you were just in need of a voice.
But I was there when you needed
someone's truth. I wasn't your
friend we'd only just met.
I'll tell you what you don't want to hear.
I'm the car when you crossed the road,
hit and run on your tarmac
of potholed truths that others
filled in.
With false gratitude cos they charged
you for the air they filled you with.
I was a friend, new off the press no secrets
no lies to hold back. filling you with
the honesty you had missed.
Not your bestie, just a new face
in your reflection with no need to be
two faced....
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 4:24 PM UTC
I love you more than I did long ago
Bond growing stronger with time
Cemented deeply throughout the years
Closer each step of the journey we climb
Some days fall backwards
Opposite way of our goals
We can succeed if we work together
No matter depth of life's holes
Feb 25, 2020
Feb 25, 2020 at 10:03 AM UTC
We deny our flesh, then, give into
the path of least resistance
and after falling in every pothole
from roads we travelled before,
we wonder why guilt and shame
win out as mocking spectators
while we mindlessly repeat
the same painful journey.
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 4:48 PM UTC
Enough of “no more”
It’s a street unknown
Filled with potholes
To dodge your low blows
Enough of “no more”
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 1:55 AM UTC
.
There’s an ancient duct tape patched
roller suitcase still up in the attic,
scarred by sky miles and undiscerning
indifference; it came to rest like a final breath
exhaled at the end of the long road ―
In the dusty rafters of silent repose
the death of an alter-ego comes to life
and jars and jogs the sleeping dogs
that lay benign as a pothole riddled road
Holding onto memories buried alive,
hidden away remembered ―
sans wings to fly away
laid bare unweighed with the weight
of everything else garnered and saved
subsisting in a shallow grave;
hoarded and hidden away breathing
locked up with the other baggage borne
behind tired eyes
Feeling the ache of blood stained knees
falling down sullied at the side of the road
Hindsight and a roll of duct taped memories
linger; stuck to the grey bandage scars,
second guessing should have thrown out
with the permanently temporary
fading plasticized luggage name-tags
back when I was still close enough to care;
too many miles to reconsider ago
Some say: "it's the journey not the destination" .
Some day when its too late we'll know
Some day it will be too late to make amends
for everything i could not be ...
harlon rivers ... 07 06 2018
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
Slippery potholes
Muddy pool, caramal top
Hungers the swamp frogs.
Dirt road on rainy evenings,
Creatures crawl in the dim light.
©sim
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
the rain drowns the city's noise,
all you can hear is the storm knocking on your door.
potholes filled with muddy water,
traffic officers standing without umbrellas.
the poor stand outside and wonder
if they'll get some sleep tonight.
the rich pose for another picture
with a fake smile.
commuters cursing the rain gods and the government
for not using their taxes to fill holes with more cement.
the storm has been knocking on our doors
we've been too busy to answer it's call
but now it has let itself go
and the city has drowned before dawn.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
Hey ****** ******
The cars do a twiddle,
They twist and turn on the road,
Dodging the *** holes,
Some with broken controls,
I've even seen some being towed,
Hey ****** ******
The road in the middle,
Needs a little repair,
If you can swing by,
And give it a try,
And pretend you're a council that care,
Hey ****** ******
Thanks for the repair in the middle,
But the road needs a whole new coat,
Take care when crossing,
Cause the road's all rutting,
You'll need to be a mountain goat.
Hey ****** ******
Is the council on the fiddle,
Just like Nero did in Rome,
Please come and fix it,
You'll need to bring a tar pit,
Cause it's shaking the walls in my home.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
All I can remember is that time in Wal-Mart
when your older sister came to me and asked:
“Is it true that Payton went to the ****** bin?”
I wonder where she heard that lie and how many
more were threaded among Honesdale locals,
weaved into their perceptions of my family--
their shoulders betrayed them when they turned
away as if we were the diseased ones rotting
inside-out--maybe we were, in a way--but at least
swallowing all this salt healed our wounds
faster than your actions would fade from memory.
I punched you the day I found out even as you
scoffed, laughed, you hadn’t ever taken me seriously.
At 17, I had learned not many people would--but
my revenge came after I moved three hours south,
when your father died of cancer, your best friend
crashed your mother’s car, your sister fled
all the way to England to escape the mistakes
eating at her shadow, and I got out of our hellish
town. You became rooted among manure, ***
holes too deep to outgrow--I’m sure you’re choking
on worms by now. And when I finally reach
the lofty sky, I’ll hold the sun between green hands.
I’ll hide its light and warmth from you.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
If we are supposed to take the road least traveled, then, why does mine have so many **** potholes?
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
If you heard sounds over Chicago
Would it be UFOs or the blast of guns?
Do they sound like drums hurting everyone
Are they hitting your heart or your conscience?
If you fell over holes on the streets would you get eaten by Alligators
If you see spaceships over Chicago
Would you be alarmed as the snow?
Going down the city and drive you crazy
Is this the end of the world or is that snow?
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC