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172 · Jan 2020
The Things
S I N Jan 2020
The Things; they are indeed so different from this point of view;
They change their forms, their aspect and the hue;
The things are upside-downed with their Intestines strewn and smashed and reek of newly written picture to the sky does up
And up; it soars above distinctly as the morning sky in mourning of the scythéd rye; the swathéd rye; ye fellow rise and cry
Emit and fly and die and rise from maggots to the damnéd earth condemned to fly in space with the eternal dearth
This being that to bear;
So how you think
Shall I as
well
a toast
Apply to a sheet some ink?
Ink Knee weal leave lark crawl
168 · Dec 2019
The Old Woman
S I N Dec 2019
Have you ever noticed those
Grandmas, who stand in the middle of
The road without purpose and as if lost;
Not in the middle of a conversation or
Waiting for a bus on a stop; just some part
Of a road you would least expect it to see
Someone standing there all alone
Especially a senile woman all alone; but
There she stands inconceivable and
Baffles you as you walk by noticing her
Though only on the periphery of your
Vision; and thus your paths diverge w/out
Both of you acknowledging it; but you still
Go on and she still stands there all by
Herself; and that is the truth
164 · Dec 2019
The Modern Prometheus
S I N Dec 2019
The Modern Prometheus is
Not being plucked in the liver by the
Vultures; he is constantly detoxicated by
The ***** instead
164 · Dec 2019
Ultima thule
S I N Dec 2019
Morning opens eyelids on the east again,
And every time reminds it of a promise,
Of something swarming there beyond your Gaze, and ‘tis the only thing that’s really honest
163 · Dec 2019
Cynthia
S I N Dec 2019
Bestow on me the gift of inspiration
For me to then describe that strange sensation
That I begin to feel when upward stare
And notice halo of thy misty claire;
By cloud hidden or amidst the stars
Devoid of all the lattices and bars
And still to yet remain in one same place:
The paragon of elegance and grace.
O ‘tis indeed too hard a task to count
How many people on this rigid ground
By light of yours you did imbue to praise
Thy silver sheen pervading misty haze
Near tides what then again by your command
Assault so ever un-preparèd land;
Or when there is no gust or nor a gale,
And when the peace instead of storm prevails
To all the lost and poor forgotten souls
‘Temerge from theirs decrepit, squalid holes
And to begin their marching peaceful raid
To your abode by silvering moon-glade
For if ‘tis not the final path to heaven
Then never I’d prefer to be forgiven
162 · Nov 2019
O Lost
S I N Nov 2019
I remember swaying on the verge
Of dark and light, before and after, to and fro
Whence to the world of forms I was conveyed
To suffer just as any other human being,
Within this futile form, confined to bear
The sin of our fathers’ fathers and so forth that stems
From the first couple of the world, banished from Eden,
Seduced by vicious serpent and condemned to toil, and bear
And multiply; and so through ages was it in the progress
To finally conclude in my true self; for I remember light,
And cold, and pain and darkness; the metal cling,
Sterility of white; but then before my inner eye is cradle,
I lying there myself with strangest sense of missing,
Of lacking something too important to express…
Oh, yes, that was the point: I am unable at the moment
To express my swarming thoughts… or rather figures;
Or maybe even outlines of perfect things; and from
The misery, despair and sorrow I try to do my best,
But only peal or rather shriek is able to emit from breast
Of mine; O Lost, O Ghost, in this world all alone
That for eternal wandering is doomed to travel from one Eternity
Into another; and then again, again, again and one more time;
For the machine for ever is in working, and all the clogs
Are always greased and oiled; and there is no way to break the circle,
Or just escape, to be no slave for torture, to walk and see no time,
To sense not the rotation of the earth, or in the utter self-esteem
To deemed yourself the mover of the planet, that just because
Of you is possible the progress
Through space and time too vast
For us to comprehend the wholeness of the Chaos; for chaos this
Still is for sure, indeed; and how in our conceit can we so be deluded
As to believe ourselves the bearers of the knowledge
Pertaining to the mysteries of life; O Lost, imagine now you can
The first my feelings as a boarder of this stage; for sure I am, as
Spirt is immortal, that dusk is but beginning of the dawn.
161 · Dec 2019
Untitled
S I N Dec 2019
Sometimes I think of not-so-distant future,
What it will be like, the thought of this I nurture,
And then contrive the cities in the sky
And people that can easily to fly
All by themselves, no plane nor highway-tube
Knotted in the involute death-loop;
No death, no afterlife, nothing at all
For science of that time them made a-whole;
The colonies on Mars and distant quadrants
At nearest stars united in a cadence
As if a thread connecting all the knots
The system of a stations on a spot
And to another jumping, to the next
The metal and the sterile floating nest;
For ‘tis well known what Earth is but a cradle
Humanity supposed to leave forever
156 · Dec 2019
Infinity
S I N Dec 2019
Being jammed in a tram,
What a shame and how lame
To be frailed in a train, to be tame
By a dame (of a size not a fey)
To be blame for a stay on a place for a maimed;
To see flame on a tray from the lights
Speeding by in a frame of a window
As if speeding through a limbo
With a gradus beyond zero
‘Stead of it lie on a pillow
Or being deadly on a billow
Amidst th’ infinity of eon
152 · Dec 2019
What does truly matter?
S I N Dec 2019
This urge to write again engulfs me,
And don’t know I how to quench this thirst
To write but to write; whether it is good
Or bad I don’t know and ‘tis not upon me
To judge, thank God; but strange It is still;
This feeling, I mean; just like that out of
Nowhere and you grab your pen or
A phone and go; and you imbued with a
Feeling of doing something important,
Something worthy; like the only important
Thing in the world now, man, you know;
No good nor bad don’t exist to you:
It is just what you writes and how you
Feel about it; all other assessments saved
For later; right now you just do what you
Are supposed to, what you were born to
Do; something worth living for, maybe the
Only truly worthy thing in the entire world
That’s up to you man, though
Only to you
152 · Nov 2019
Untitled
S I N Nov 2019
The dark is but the light what’s yet to fade,
And so are we in our most current state
Just corpses what are soon to putrefy,
Pervade the soil and to the heaven fly
151 · Nov 2019
Sonnet
S I N Nov 2019
Shall I from battered path of life derailed
Into the vast mysterious unknown,
Where every firmament is thin and frailed
And everything to you does seem forlorn?
Where dwells no light, nor dark, nor pungent fire
What either burns or purges stranded souls,
Or where reside the creatures vile and dire
Collecting for the passage golden tolls;
Or shall Through this abyss I ever wander
Along the flowing River of the dead,
Or with my head precociously to plunger,
Myself to the sleek tenants of there fed.
But this is all just aimless reveries
Of one who is bereaved of heaven bliss
151 · Feb 2020
Distant Business
S I N Feb 2020
At the skirts of the town on the hill near the copse where the trailer wide park situated then was whence they drive her in conscious though deprivèd of any ability to move or to scream or to even f moan whence they drive her snickering drooling high no need e’en for ropes or twines she just lies still and demure and obedient without even a drop of tear to gutter down her cheek to moist her flaky skin all dry within but without perspire to she can tho’ you know so they pulled up lights off keys in the pocket they look and they smile and they fawn on her while she lies there alone by herself and no one around nor to help nor to try so they leave and they close and they go and they open and drag on the gravel they throw and with hands on the belts they above and they brood and impend like the vultures that hover above the sight of their prey putrefying and they down and they stretch and Stay that right yess oh thats just perfectly fine stretch them nice pull then no tear those off and up whereas she looks into the sky on the moon so shiny and pale gal and bright and so chaste so unlike to oh she just stares while they’re doing their so very so distant business
149 · Dec 2019
Eulogy to the wings of time
S I N Dec 2019
There is no future and no past,
Only present moment;
And forever does he last
Without letting you to pass
‘Teternity’s abdomen
146 · Nov 2019
A conversation
S I N Nov 2019
The conversation in a bus
Commenced thus:
The silence hung above the ground,
Encompassing all everything around
With muteness of a world;
And not one word
Was uttered in vicinities of life
That ceased to be in an eternal strife
And finally declared was peace,
When something was so thoroughly amiss
Amid turmoil of precipice of hell
Where the most abject creatures used to dwell,
For there was nothing in that vacuousness of chasm,
As if within the man after ******
Was nothing there, within, without,
Nor along the fissure; no, no doubt,
‘Tis something was indeed so very strange
What to the utmost point of stretching range
Was seen no sain a person, nor deranged,
Nor hollow men, nor locked up in a cage
And only one array of words
reverberates through chain of poles:
“We are the men of no land
Who dwell in no men’s land
We’d like to free our hands
To make this torture end”
145 · Jan 2020
I Know What You Want
S I N Jan 2020
I know what you want,
But I refuse you to give it
It was never my wont
To comfort with this base ****
144 · Dec 2019
Reverse Rainbow
S I N Dec 2019
Even the gravity’s rainbow is
Upside-down right now; reflecting in the
Lake with only colors of the nebulas
Unknown; as if a wreath on the brow of
The being itself, but tarnished and worn
And lack of all colors but those of
Unknown; don’t you forget it; for when
It starts falling, no power will save you
From its merciless rage
131 · Jan 2020
Do you remember that time?
S I N Jan 2020
Do you remember that time,
That magnificent time, when together we
Were on the beach, you and I;
We were lying and smiling and playing
Whereas
Little crickets were singing their songs in
The grass;
Little children were fidgeting with their little things
Looking just like the cherubs without their
Wings;
And the days were so warm, and the sun
That did shine,
And the sound of the waves; and the gulls
‘Bove the brine;
It was long time ago,
Lot of things to and fro
Had gone by
Since that time
Where were just you and I;
I Believing that mine
You will be forever;
But now standing here with so, with so
Misty a
Weather,
And holding so tightly, so tightly a feather
That to me as a present
You gave me, you gave me so long time ago
And here just  I am, and your grave, and the crow
128 · Dec 2019
You are already dead
S I N Dec 2019
You are already dead
You just didn’t reach that point on the road of Time
Yet
127 · Dec 2019
Insomnia
S I N Dec 2019
To everyone is known
this special state of mind,
When no sleep dons upon you,
No matter how you try,
No slumber is bestowed on,
No reveries to find
In numberless attempts
To sandman’s coach descry

You tumble and you wamble
Upon you untucked bed,
You counting all the mammals
What’s known on earth to dwell
You’re changing disposition
Of your unresting head
While something does inside you
Begin in size to swell

When blanket is too hot now,
Without it - to cold
And nothing is in order
Amidst your swarming thoughts,
When everything you ponder
On is slipping of its hold,
When every link of system
Untying  of its knot

When there’s no salvation
To this horrendous plight
And everything on earth to you
Is not at all all-right
When ‘tseems to be no ending
To this enduring night
One wink and Oh... tremendous;
Behold a new daylight
Written at 2:47 am
127 · Mar 2020
Flow
S I N Mar 2020
Every morning, every day
All around me is gray;
Don’t know how to live today
Maybe I need more to pray,
Lest I am become too fey
To live my life without strife,
To have no thing from world to hide
To care ‘bout something but my hide,
A stupid pun without fun,
I know and could not care no more less
Cause I do need to shed that stress
That’s been weighing on my back
But no one can take me aback
For as a-free I’m as a bird
And Not afraid now to be heard
It sounds corny, simple, low
But all above is just a flow
125 · Dec 2019
Confession of a truant
S I N Dec 2019
I used to flank my PE lessons;
It’s bad, I know; there is no blessing,
No pray, no psalm for such a sin
And all the accusations merged in din
Of rasping metal grinding of a board
Which surface’s being mangle with a chalk;
Shall I this sound recall, and, Lord, oh my;
I’m almost ready all my principles belie
And drop upon my knees in front of a Coach,
For him to smack me as a wretched roach
And all my intestines present
And drop them as a ******* on cement
For all the varmints of a world
The death of their own kin behold;
For them to be Edification
Of all the truancy’s damnation
122 · Jan 2020
The Witness (The Fall)
S I N Jan 2020
Fell on my roof and broke he my shingle
Hitherto soaring an angel, fair and atingle
He tried, you see, with birds to mingle,
But no bird did acknowledge him, not even a single;
So thus being denied - he decided to die;
He folded his wings and swooped down from the height;
Just like one of his own, so long time ago,
He fell to the bottom, and I witnessed his fall;
With a rake did I stand, daring not to attend
To this one, but I meant him no harm;
But only to help to regain him of dwelt
His right place; his birthplace; but that look on his face
Prevent me from doing so; that look of a woe
Told me all that I needed to know;
Woebegone; but I hauled him and tried
(Though in vain) to drag him; so tired already was this seraphim
In unconsciousness even; this indeed I could felt; but then eyelids of his he did rise;
In surprise he looked all around; he saw me;
I Am Grateful To Thee, said he to me
The Place In The Heaven Secured Now For Thee,
But Now I Must Walk; and pale as a chalk
He himself from my arms did absolve; all resolved and determined he stepped on a road
So I thus for the first time an angel behold
120 · Dec 2019
Creative Block
S I N Dec 2019
O verily how hard it is sometimes
The proper words of beautiness to find
‘Texpress that what is gnarling on your heart
Threatening to tear it ‘way apart
If being able not from inner chest
To fetch the words th’ occasion fitting best
For burden this is oft of too much weight
To let you easily aspire to th’ utmost height
And soar there fretting not about the sun
To melt you waxen wings; o there is none
From brethren of mine who wouldn’t mind
To spend a day or two in aimless grind
With nothing to express or on his soul
Swelling and reclaiming form or mould
To ready be at once to be dispatched
And to rebirth upon a paper’s batch
‘Tis better not to live then, nor indeed
To squander your potential on vile screed
105 · Nov 2019
I am
S I N Nov 2019
I am a man
I am a human being
I am an animal
I am within myself myself
I am the one that cannot be everywhere
I am a dancer on the tightrope
I am an infant
I am a child
I am a creator of all things
I am a writer
I am a poet
I am a scoundrel
I am a fraud
I am a swindler
I am a swine
I am a partner
I am en entity
I am the space
I am the liar
I am a man that sometimes cannot take it
I am a hallow man
I am a ball suspended on a chain
I am a denizen of the world
I am a zealot
I am a hater
I am an envious seraphim
I am a revelation
I am an atonement
I am a perdition of this world
I am this world
I am all of it
I am nothing at all
I am the Essenes of this soul
I am the pale king
I am myself my kingdom and my throne
I am myself my life
I am the one that cannot be forgotten
I am the one that cannot be forgiven
I am the one by every other hated
I am the one by every other loved
I am a son
I am to be a begetter
I am to be the salt of the earth
I am to be an angel in the heaven
I am to be the devil in the hell
I am the fallen
I am the arisen
I am the one that chainéd to the rock
I am the one who’s lover being plucked
I am a no one
S I N Dec 2019
I drained all inspiration from this world
And see no more a point to this life hold
89 · Dec 2020
Another beginning
S I N Dec 2020
If I had a quill, I would take it,
But since it’s a different time,
I pick up a phone and starts typing,
Penning another one rhyme
89 · Dec 2019
Neon loomings
S I N Dec 2019
The lurid shining of the monitor
Is overshadowed by a neon signboard
Overboard of my apartment, piercing
Through the ever mist; emitting rays of
Purple, red and blue; as if the meteor
From outer space had fallen near me;
And standing with cup of steaming coffee
Me something gives and other times Bereaves
Of piece or angst or misery, despair
It is depending of the mood, you know
Morning Neon
85 · Dec 2019
Memory
S I N Dec 2019
What is the memory but a motley quilt,
With patches stitched together,
But some detached from there as if Inappropriate
To the purpose of alleviating in the period
Of grief and sorrow, which are so often
Cause a day to be a hue darker than it is,
The people to be meaner than they are
And events to go not in the way they
Ostensibly  
Are supposed to go;
To leave only warm colors suffused with
Fragrance of a mead, the ripple of a brook,
The rustling of a fallen foliage would be
Perfect; yeah, for sure, but to remember
Darker relict of the days of yore
Sometimes is far more better than
Be in the pinky glasses of a false perception;
To see not only in the black or white
But in the gray and green and red and
Purple
To see the life in its full spectrum of a
Motley quilt to warm on freezing
Days or to emit the tears to facilitate
The soul’s ordeal to thereafter meet
The day with shiny watery eyes and
Unburden as if a weightless heart
85 · Nov 2019
To Monet
S I N Nov 2019
To thee, The Muse, I will try to aspire,
If you will deign to grant me strength and power
To imbue the words from me required
With Beauty, meaning; to induce desire
Within the souls of ignorants; this sire,
Whose history I’m here about to unfold
By means of means as yet not being told.
An artist was of great imaginary power,
Whom Beaty of the nature didst inspire
To depict th’ most common - most sublime;
Who in the azure pond pervaded to the brim
And strewn with water lilies to the rim
Did manage to express the utmost feeling
And the innermost of soul stirring
With canvas, easel and a swab of brush
In one prolongéd moment of blood rush
Could be compared, if not surpass,
To great Apollo chiseled in the brass;
Fortitude of madman did he has
To every season paint the same haystacks
From the same angle, point of view and place;
And in every sample show it’s grace
Of that uniqueness that he then beheld:
So through the canvas distinctly was smelled
The rich odor of rye so ripe and swelled
That it was hard desire to subdue
To pluck one spike and eagerly to chew
To feel this somehow bitter, somehow pleasant sap,
That not ‘fore long would plunge you into nap
In which you would descry either the dawning
So perfectly describéd in one drawing;
Or woman with a lad amidst the meadow
Under the parasol, or at the window
Pondering on something in her mind;
Or sky with water jointlessly aligned
So ‘tis impossible to  outline
To which domain each sphere is confined;
Or four lean poplars in one straight array,
Or two red boats at anchor at the bay;
The Lunch, The Cliff, The Magpie perched,
Another lilies  joyfully emerged
As if there is no other place for them
And everything pervaded with such phlegm
That ‘tis indeed so bitterly  to rise,
And in the distance to behold sunrise
Although comparable, but not the same
To that Which nature’s trying To surpass in vain.
82 · Jan 2020
Destroyer of the World
S I N Jan 2020
I am Destroyer of the World,
I am the Death itself, behold
My deeds and dread ye, common mortals,
While looking at you all I chortle
In disdain, contempt and  scorn
And with the teeth of ye adorn
my ******-crimson garment I
While to your children lullaby
You, Mother, sing
to lull them to their sleep
At night, o night, o night  the very last,
And matters not how hard you grasp
The last of threads of the world’s canvas,
But End is nigh of yours, alas;
So clench your hands in your last prayer
As fractures of the world last layer
81 · Nov 2019
A frosty morning
S I N Nov 2019
Walking in the freezing air,
Chillness crippling through my hair,
Goosebumps waddling on my spine,
But nonetheless something divine
Pervades the ever frosty world
When moon as yet may be behold
Soaring in the starry sky
But waning under lullaby
Of Phoebus, while with easy pace
He regains his rightful place;
And by the warble of the birds
Your heart from ennui emerges
79 · Nov 2019
A limerick
S I N Nov 2019
There was a great man from Fargo,
Who once lost his most precious cargo.
It was inherent vice
Of most uncommon price
But it turned out he just failed to send it
S I N Jan 2020
Night, drugstore, the street, the lantern,
The meaningless and pallid light,
May you live some years hereafter,
All be the same, no ‘scape from blight

You die - commence another potter,
And everything the same alright:
The chilling ripple of the water,
The Street ,the drugstore, lantern, night
The translation of Aleksandr Blok’s poem
71 · Nov 2019
Untitled
S I N Nov 2019
They put a needle in my vein
And followed day I spent in vain
66 · Nov 2019
A shooting star
S I N Nov 2019
I wish I had a wish
When a shooting star
So rapid and so childish
Glides through the regions far
65 · Nov 2019
A Face
S I N Nov 2019
Facing me with empty gaze,
Gazing into dim-lit space,
Spacing out till brake of dawn
will brake the night and welcome morn
57 · Jan 2020
All The Same
S I N Jan 2020
O yes, dear friend, we all do die the same;
In poverty, in misery and shame
46 · Nov 2019
Untitled
S I N Nov 2019
It is hard to write, but write must I,
For who I am, if not a man with pen, or by chance a plume of peacock would suit me best?
This I know not
But what do I know?
What i am sure about?
This I know not either
I know not what I know not
Seems funny?
Aye, it does
It is
It shall be
For who are we but parody
A mockery of something
Of some entity
Of being
Of being what?

— The End —