"alexei" poems
You were no Eve of Russian literature
like Pushkin’s precious Tatyana.
You were no young, innocent, provincial girl
seduced by cynical Onegin, that bon vivant
corrupted by modern European values.
You were no mysterious Russian soul
brimful of essential purity and self-sacrifice -
with a love of pain and pure disdain of happiness.
Tatyana resisted all temptation, refusing
to take flight, rejecting the man she loved.
She was too good to be true; but you, Anna
what a pickle you got yourself in, choosing ****** sin.
You could share an affair with dashing Vronsky
elope with him and leave behind your husband
abandon your beloved son, Alexei.
But these were not the dreadful choices
sealing your tragic fate, my dear Anna.
It was those ****** feelings you chased
all based on the sin of selfishness.
You fed on romance, passion and desire.
Your hot-hunger was insatiable, a fire
rip-roaring through restraint and all decorum
You sweated and panted wild for ******
They say you’re a ‘drama queen’; heartless and mean
a woman undone by excess, always longing to undress
nakedly making grand errors of judgement.
By ignoring Tatyana’s fine example, you certainly forgot
there will always be those who tot up the ledger.
Your blood debt was owing, it had to be paid.
You saw the light at the end of the tunnel -
cool down, Anna, let the raw feelings subside
be watchful, wary and ever-ready to step aside
let the moments of menace and gloom drain –
it might just be an oncoming train is due.
© M.L.Emmett 2016
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
Ma Jalouse, Mon Unique, Mon Ultime
Sais-tu ce que Lord Invader, Sam Manning
Cyril Monrose, Charlie Parker, Louis Armstrong
Jack Sneed et Ernest Rangling
Sans oublier Blue Glaze Mento Band et Phil Madison ?
Et je m'arrête là pour l'instant,
Sais-tu ce qu'ils ont en commun ?
Eh bien vois-tu, ce sont tous mes ombres.
Tu ne pourras jamais me comprendre
Si tu ne les comprends pas
Et si tu ne sais pas ce que représentent pour moi
La mangouste et le raccoon.
De même que pour te comprendre il faut avoir lu tout Dostoievski
Pour me comprendre il faut avoir écouté tout Sly Mongoose
Car peut être n'as-tu vu en moi qu'aria et boléro, symphonie et concerto
Alors je t'explique : pour comprendre, n'essaie pas de philosopher
Lève-toi et bouge tout simplement et tu toucheras l 'essence
C'est du folklore, c'est du reggae, c 'est du mento, c'est du calypso, c'est du jazz,
C'est instrumental ou c'est vocal
C'est moi, mes ascendances et descendances.
Sly Mongoose c'est mes Frères Karamasov
Smerdiakov, Aliocha, Ivan et Dmitri
C'est mon Idiot, mon prince Lev Mychkine
C'est mon Joueur, mon Alexei Ivanovitch
Mon Rêve d'un Homme Ridicule
Et Raskolnikov errant dans la nuit dans Crime et Châtiment.
Sly Mongoose c'est l'histoire d'une mangouste maline
Qui a baptisé la fille du pasteur
De son eau sainte
Et qui fuit la Jamaïque
Et part à l'étranger
Après son forfait.
C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui vole les poules les plus grasses de la cuisine
Et qui les met dans la poche de son veston
C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui entre dans la cuisine d'un prédicateur
Et qui repart avec une des poules les plus grasses
Et tous les chiens savent son nom.
il s'appelle Sly Mangoose
Il est malin, il est vicieux, le compère
C'est mon ombre, que veux-tu
Et parfois pour échapper aux prédateurs
Il prend l'apparence de l'ombre d'un raccoon.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:05 AM UTC
A wolf left out in the cold,
fed the last scraps,
no matter how old.
he could be free... perhaps.
one day a she wolf wandered past,
green eyes that mesmerized,
he hoped different from the last.
it was her beauty he realized.
wolfia turned to be her name,
his heart of ice soon burned,
and wished her harness his flame,
he'd be there, whene'er she'd turn.
"if you were the moon, i'd howl for ye."
he said with passion in his voice.
she turned her head away from he
forget his flame... he had no choice.
he then wandered, with heavy heart,
past dragon, fox, and fire the same,
nothing that he passed did start,
come even close to feeding his flame.
he wandered and then yet he saw her,
near another, locked in his flame.
the first wolf watched, and almost sure,
she's like the others, just the same.
he knew this wolf would be no good,
the first wolf watched with an icy chest,
he knew, intervene, its what he should,
but found that nature did the rest.
He wished to aid her, he truly did,
he'd care for her, no matter what,
the tears on her face, he wished to rid,
but he felt only inside his twisted gut.
wolfia never saw the pain he felt
not the wounds, the howls or cries
not the crimson blows she dealt.
he hid it well beneath his lies.
the wolf by which went many a name
alexei, lucian, wolfffay too,
felt he should forget his flame.
the act of which, he'd never do.
he vowed to watch her, care for she,
love and cherish what all they had,
hoping for just what might be,
he'd be there for her, the good and the bad.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC
Fame, whose Lion roars Colours, Soot and Ash
Beg one's Sanity to consume his Mane
If Senses apply; Then ***** Rainbows past
Soon bathe in Shades which dull his Time insane
As you dear Mentor let your Honours bare
As Powers denied his Wild Stones restrict
For his Best Interest; Though let his Spoiled Arms dare
Then waive such Counsel as Derelict
Though at Prime I once cringed at your Impress
Then later Opened my Eyes your Wisdom take
Affront Screaming Dames his Muscles digest
Which blur the Difference his Genious make.
And Genious indeed Spoil his Potent Gold
His Rock Star Plans set a Finer Behold.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
Rasputin, tsarevich Alexei
you can find them in a book of history
history is like a tireless eyewitness
history is nothing but
ancient
collections
of eternity
seek out
the causes
of French
and bolshevik revolutions
the grandson
of Genghis Khan
Vlad the Impaler
queen Isabella and
Ferdinand
Lawrence of Arabia
they vanished
long ago
you can find them in a book of history
Aug 21, 2022
Aug 21, 2022 at 6:05 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
A Martyr is a Poem
For Alexei Navalny
“Only in Russia is poetry respected; it gets people killed.”
-Osip Mandelstam
His soul was a poem; upon it he wrote
Of hope for Russia’s peoples frozen in pain
A poem of stern rebuke to Rolex tyrants
Who censored him with beatings, poison, and death
He spoke
He died
Because he spoke he died
Because he spoke the truth he died
They left his unfinished poem upon the ice
His soul was a poem – we must complete his verse
Feb 16, 2024
Feb 16, 2024 at 6:00 PM UTC
the rain is collecting onomatopoeia (rare
to find a word with plurality in it
misspelled in the geometric hyper-linear
onomatopoeias) -
ever think of the womaniser bred
from feminism? i know you haven't,
and i know you won't before playing
the Shelley game of test-tubes -
your ideals i'll never die for -
i'd be in the trenches during the first world war,
but your world, i don't want to be part of.
she read Huxley, he played football -
he was an outdoor kind of guy,
she was a moth rather than a butterfly,
a new breed of womanisers has spawned -
turns out my kind are the idiots -
well... hello darling, welcome to the real world.
the rain is pouring out there, god playing
piano, looking for both onomatopoeia and metaphor...
it's drain drain drip... it's hospitalised drain
drain drip and the words that encourage
the wholly vacant - the rain -
imagine the evolutionary tactic approached with
assimilation, the invisible immigrants i call them -
they're there, they always want
the dumb innocent Alexei Karamazov to marry,
but when it comes to the events via Ivan as
hidden wedlock, they want the knights of Charlemagne
to bitch-slap them silly for the crown of menopause -
i.e. what if i wasn't a woman and never wished
to be one?! freeze the ***** invoke onto me
a belittled version of ****** - you know you are neo
accomplices, and now defence from feminism will
spare you such association;
just remember why the Nazis loved science,
feminists love it too! more in the extreme -
all that's missing is the eradication of Eastern Europeans -
a fear of Russia - most feminists are in love
with the potentials of science like Nazis -
i kept my phallus in a pickle jar to prove her point
that she wanted to reign over the role of the Paraclete
as the comforter of futures to come -
god she loves the fascists - the womanisers in
feminism and the idiots that marry her -
leave her! let her utilise the full potential of a Frankenstein!
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 9:43 PM UTC
A Letter from Ekaterinburg
Dormition of the Theotokos
1917
Dear Alexei,
We are enjoying a beautiful summer –
The days have been perfect ever since spring
Cooler mornings now, and that’s about it -
Nothing exciting ever happens here
How is the new government working out?
Some of the banknotes are overprinted
With vague slogans covering the Czar, but
Nothing exciting ever happens here
Petrograd must be exciting for you, but
Nothing exciting ever happens here.
Write soon,
-Mitya
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC