#ussr - Hello Poetry

The song was written on August 15 and 17, 2025. The song is dedicated to the memory of my parents, Donetsk and Rodinskoye, where I was born and grew up, and the entire Donbas. On the eve of Victory Day in the Great Patriotic War of the peoples of the USSR, 1941-1945. ****** I was born and raised in Stalin town, And no one said: my country would forget. The trains roared past, the engines screaming down, Hauling black gold in wagons without end. Life flowed simple then: we worked, we ate, With books and friends, and shortwave through the night. And war-wounds kept repeating, steady, straight: Life is hard, not only for holidays bright! It’s hard to trust there was a Stalin town, A miner praised the Leader with a sigh. Those days are gone; “progress” came rolling down, And then the country vanished, “we repent and cry". Quietly, in office hush, it played: Power, money went to the skilled and mean. “Power is from God,” the newborn demon said, Yet Donbas wouldn’t crown Bandera “supreme”! I was born and raised in Stalin town, And no one said: my country would forget. I was born back then in Stalin town, And now they won’t recall it even yet. ● Don-don-don, don-duona-don! Don-don-don, don-duona-don! ● Don-don-don, don-duona-don! Don-don-don, don-duona-don! ***** Russian original poem: Я родился в городе Сталина Я родился и вырос в городе Сталина Да никто не сказал мне - забыла о том страна Громыхали составы под свист паровозных гудков, Что тягали вагонами чёрное золото в нём Жизнь текла тогда просто – люди жили трудом Были книги, друзья, пело Ка-Вэ радио Да и раны войны говорили нам вновь и вновь: - Жизнь трудна, и не только для праздников! Теперь трудно поверить, что был город Сталина И шахтёр о вожде говорил с придыханием Те прошли времена и накрыл всех «прогресса» дурман, И исчезла страна, вслед за покаянием Исподволь, как бывает, - в кабинетной тиши Власть и деньги достались умелым подонкам страны - Власть – от бога, - внушал вновь новорожденный бес Да Донбасс не поверил, что Бандеры икона – «the best»! Я родился и вырос в городе Сталина Да никто не сказал мне, - забыла о том страна Я родился когда-то в городе Сталина Да уже и не помнят, что была его страна… Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон! Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон! Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон! Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон!

0

May 8

May 8, 2026 at 4:11 AM UTC

Ole-da-OLE

I was born in the city of Stalin

The song was written on August 15 and 17, 2025. The song is dedicated to the memory of my parents, Donetsk and Rodinskoye, where I was born and grew up, and the entire Donbas. On the eve of Victory Day in the Great Patriotic War of the peoples of the USSR, 1941-1945. ****** I was born and raised in Stalin town, And no one said: my country would forget. The trains roared past, the engines screaming down, Hauling black gold in wagons without end. Life flowed simple then: we worked, we ate, With books and friends, and shortwave through the night. And war-wounds kept repeating, steady, straight: Life is hard, not only for holidays bright! It’s hard to trust there was a Stalin town, A miner praised the Leader with a sigh. Those days are gone; “progress” came rolling down, And then the country vanished, “we repent and cry". Quietly, in office hush, it played: Power, money went to the skilled and mean. “Power is from God,” the newborn demon said, Yet Donbas wouldn’t crown Bandera “supreme”! I was born and raised in Stalin town, And no one said: my country would forget. I was born back then in Stalin town, And now they won’t recall it even yet. ● Don-don-don, don-duona-don! Don-don-don, don-duona-don! ● Don-don-don, don-duona-don! Don-don-don, don-duona-don! ***** Russian original poem: Я родился в городе Сталина Я родился и вырос в городе Сталина Да никто не сказал мне - забыла о том страна Громыхали составы под свист паровозных гудков, Что тягали вагонами чёрное золото в нём Жизнь текла тогда просто – люди жили трудом Были книги, друзья, пело Ка-Вэ радио Да и раны войны говорили нам вновь и вновь: - Жизнь трудна, и не только для праздников! Теперь трудно поверить, что был город Сталина И шахтёр о вожде говорил с придыханием Те прошли времена и накрыл всех «прогресса» дурман, И исчезла страна, вслед за покаянием Исподволь, как бывает, - в кабинетной тиши Власть и деньги достались умелым подонкам страны - Власть – от бога, - внушал вновь новорожденный бес Да Донбасс не поверил, что Бандеры икона – «the best»! Я родился и вырос в городе Сталина Да никто не сказал мне, - забыла о том страна Я родился когда-то в городе Сталина Да уже и не помнят, что была его страна… Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон! Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон! Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон! Дон-дона-дон, дон-доона-дон!

51

So there we were on the cliff above the railroad tracks, the Missouri River Bridge in the distance. We’d armed ourselves with sticks, rocks, and pellet guns. We were a ragtag militia, all fight and no war. The roar of the oncoming train drowned out our planning for anarchy and unfocused mayhem. The five of us waited, unsure how to take best advantage of the rolling brown and yellow Union Pacific. Dan looked at me and wiped the sweat from his face with his *** Pistols t-shirt. “Let’s hit it!” Rob said. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t say no. If I said it was wrong they’d have laughed and done it anyway. Tingles ran down my legs. I leaned against a nearby cedar and craned my head in the direction of the oncoming train. From our vantage point on the bluff amongst the trees, the unwary conductor would never see us. I waved to signal the others as it arrived. The ground shook as the train roared below us. Deaf from its passing, we used hand signals like the guys in Red Dawn. That’s it! That’s who we were! We were the Wolverines! And I was the scout who had just spotted a resupply train that was carrying logistical necessities like... “Cars! Holy **** This one has cars on it,” Kevin yelled. The other soldiers all gathered rocks and threw them at the passing supply train. I yelled “Wolverines!” as they pelted the evil communist convoy. The four of them joined me screaming the same. My blood boiled, and my face went hot as I embraced the guerilla tactics. I was dumbfounded when Rob picked up a boulder... and lifted it over his head like a weightlifter. As it flew through the air in deliciously slow motion I thought for sure it was just going to drop straight down the face of the crumbling bluff. Then, with accuracy too precise to have been planned, the boulder crashed through the front windshield of some red Ford, and due to the speed of the passing train, blew through the back glass before tumbling to rest on the hood of some blue Chevy below it. Dead Flippin Silence “Rob! Holy **** That was awesome!” someone said...Tim, I think. Rob stood with fists pumping in the air. He won today, and he became the captain of our squad. I picked up a much smaller rock and threw it, watching as it clanged helplessly off the train’s metal siding. The Russians would surely come looking for us now, and this was a hit and run raid. We bolted from our perches and sought other opportunities to hit the Commies where it hurt! We really wanted to be Anarchy!

0

Sep 21, 2019

Sep 21, 2019 at 7:30 PM UTC

MorganLA

Anarchy in the U.S.S.R.

So there we were on the cliff above the railroad tracks, the Missouri River Bridge in the distance. We’d armed ourselves with sticks, rocks, and pellet guns. We were a ragtag militia, all fight and no war. The roar of the oncoming train drowned out our planning for anarchy and unfocused mayhem. The five of us waited, unsure how to take best advantage of the rolling brown and yellow Union Pacific. Dan looked at me and wiped the sweat from his face with his *** Pistols t-shirt. “Let’s hit it!” Rob said. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t say no. If I said it was wrong they’d have laughed and done it anyway. Tingles ran down my legs. I leaned against a nearby cedar and craned my head in the direction of the oncoming train. From our vantage point on the bluff amongst the trees, the unwary conductor would never see us. I waved to signal the others as it arrived. The ground shook as the train roared below us. Deaf from its passing, we used hand signals like the guys in Red Dawn. That’s it! That’s who we were! We were the Wolverines! And I was the scout who had just spotted a resupply train that was carrying logistical necessities like... “Cars! Holy **** This one has cars on it,” Kevin yelled. The other soldiers all gathered rocks and threw them at the passing supply train. I yelled “Wolverines!” as they pelted the evil communist convoy. The four of them joined me screaming the same. My blood boiled, and my face went hot as I embraced the guerilla tactics. I was dumbfounded when Rob picked up a boulder... and lifted it over his head like a weightlifter. As it flew through the air in deliciously slow motion I thought for sure it was just going to drop straight down the face of the crumbling bluff. Then, with accuracy too precise to have been planned, the boulder crashed through the front windshield of some red Ford, and due to the speed of the passing train, blew through the back glass before tumbling to rest on the hood of some blue Chevy below it. Dead Flippin Silence “Rob! Holy **** That was awesome!” someone said...Tim, I think. Rob stood with fists pumping in the air. He won today, and he became the captain of our squad. I picked up a much smaller rock and threw it, watching as it clanged helplessly off the train’s metal siding. The Russians would surely come looking for us now, and this was a hit and run raid. We bolted from our perches and sought other opportunities to hit the Commies where it hurt! We really wanted to be Anarchy!

11

Her grandfather was taken off in 1936. Some Stalin purge. A great grandfather went the same year and the same purge. It was such that her parents feared that they would disappear and she to be put in an orphanage. But no one came for them although each day feared some one would. Her great grandmother whose husband died in 1934 lived until 1962 and she had met her a few times but no one spoke of her husband. She herself had known school friends who were there one day then gone. No one asked where. No one dare ask. Only after Stalin's death was it safe to remove his picture from the wall at home and school. She only vaguely remembered it at all.

0

Mar 29, 2018

Mar 29, 2018 at 4:29 AM UTC

TerryCollett

Purges and After.

Her grandfather was taken off in 1936. Some Stalin purge. A great grandfather went the same year and the same purge. It was such that her parents feared that they would disappear and she to be put in an orphanage. But no one came for them although each day feared some one would. Her great grandmother whose husband died in 1934 lived until 1962 and she had met her a few times but no one spoke of her husband. She herself had known school friends who were there one day then gone. No one asked where. No one dare ask. Only after Stalin's death was it safe to remove his picture from the wall at home and school. She only vaguely remembered it at all.

32

Frank Sinatra En mi casa Copy pastarino Wearin Prada Russian opera Quentin Tarantino

0

May 18, 2015

May 18, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC

vladmir-putin

Original_3.txt

Frank Sinatra En mi casa Copy pastarino Wearin Prada Russian opera Quentin Tarantino

6

Danky ***** hanky panky tranky lanky shanky ranky hendi lendi mendi bendi poopi woopi in my soupi my favorite show 90210 in the snow with the low... blow get rekt m8 but not for h8 i r8 8... out of 8

0

May 14, 2015

May 14, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC

vladmir-putin

Straight out of West Berlin

Danky ***** hanky panky tranky lanky shanky ranky hendi lendi mendi bendi poopi woopi in my soupi my favorite show 90210 in the snow with the low... blow get rekt m8 but not for h8 i r8 8... out of 8

17

Walking through the road of bones, on the way to Gulag, Sleep by the sleepers, till you are just leftovers. Making way for the ferrous wheels, mean machines, The Red Tsar is still a reverend, Sukhois fly by. Witness the northern winds, take a time lapse, Stare at the Kremlin, wonder what Putin's doing? Deserts of different shades to the opposites, Unsaid and unclaimed they rule the north. The lost Soyuz men in the space, still a mystery, Few hundreds revolve with little hope and air. Uncle Sam's contender from time immemorial, Its a mystic land, Keeps you wondering of it.

0

Dec 7, 2014

Dec 7, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC

amit-shroff

Mother Russia

Walking through the road of bones, on the way to Gulag, Sleep by the sleepers, till you are just leftovers. Making way for the ferrous wheels, mean machines, The Red Tsar is still a reverend, Sukhois fly by. Witness the northern winds, take a time lapse, Stare at the Kremlin, wonder what Putin's doing? Deserts of different shades to the opposites, Unsaid and unclaimed they rule the north. The lost Soyuz men in the space, still a mystery, Few hundreds revolve with little hope and air. Uncle Sam's contender from time immemorial, Its a mystic land, Keeps you wondering of it.

12