"andrei" poems - Hello Poetry

Let us mine into the depths of Shakhty, and scorn the Western state of communist superintendence. We are embroiled in a political and industrial conglomerate where cold wars lay the foundations of unstoppable monstrosities. Converse with Andrei Romanovich Chikatilo, as you splatter milk across the surface of your psychological cereal, and raise questions around the episodic nature of criminal profiling. I love the olfactory beauty of a railway station, whose stench is dissimilar to the pastures of raunchy and deadly opportunities which result in Rostov butchery. Nevertheless, it is rooted in crop failure and the enforced collectivization of agriculture.

0

Mar 27, 2015

Mar 27, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC

david-barr

Vicarious Traumatisation

Let us mine into the depths of Shakhty, and scorn the Western state of communist superintendence. We are embroiled in a political and industrial conglomerate where cold wars lay the foundations of unstoppable monstrosities. Converse with Andrei Romanovich Chikatilo, as you splatter milk across the surface of your psychological cereal, and raise questions around the episodic nature of criminal profiling. I love the olfactory beauty of a railway station, whose stench is dissimilar to the pastures of raunchy and deadly opportunities which result in Rostov butchery. Nevertheless, it is rooted in crop failure and the enforced collectivization of agriculture.

5

the sea is sighing like a woman and I can hear its breath of a hunted man nearby yellow flowers wild stones salt drops stinging my arms two seagulls dart out of my eyes and fly side by side speaking to each other over water like human beings in the absence of love Carmen Firan translated by Andrei Bantas

0

Nov 18, 2015

Nov 18, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC

irinia

"In the Absence of Love"

the sea is sighing like a woman and I can hear its breath of a hunted man nearby yellow flowers wild stones salt drops stinging my arms two seagulls dart out of my eyes and fly side by side speaking to each other over water like human beings in the absence of love Carmen Firan translated by Andrei Bantas

13

it's not plagiarism, rather, a collectivist coincidence - i can't believe people in the former days would reduce themselves to plagiarism - they'd sooner die than relieve themselves of an original idea - working with a mythology - how could such differentiated people achieve copernican globalist relativistic / globalist impetus, and yet, somehow succumb to an ethnocentric - genesis of unoriginality... yes, unfathomable, the concept of polyphony, synchronicity inter-people... plagiarism is a modern phenomenon, it doesn't exists in collectivism of inter-ethnic conundrums of segregating categorization... just like evolution is god's take on the thrill of gambling... an original idea... allowing an in group focus... it could never be a plagiarism - the segregating process of techno. advancement... toward a... less cultural appropriation... and more? cultural loaning... "plagiarism"... perhaps i should "read" into solving crossword puzzles... now plagiarism is easy... any son of sam is not an arsonist... but as my continued fascination continues with andrei chikatilo... and batman, the dark knight rises scene on the plane: why would you shoot a man, before taking him into a prison cell?! ah... christine chubbuck... this fascination... will not, die... such a solemn, vernacular death... worthy of a Vatican pawn-ship of preceding the scourge of death.

0

Aug 7, 2018

Aug 7, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

now plagiarism is easy... any son of sam, is not an arsonist.

it's not plagiarism, rather, a collectivist coincidence - i can't believe people in the former days would reduce themselves to plagiarism - they'd sooner die than relieve themselves of an original idea - working with a mythology - how could such differentiated people achieve copernican globalist relativistic / globalist impetus, and yet, somehow succumb to an ethnocentric - genesis of unoriginality... yes, unfathomable, the concept of polyphony, synchronicity inter-people... plagiarism is a modern phenomenon, it doesn't exists in collectivism of inter-ethnic conundrums of segregating categorization... just like evolution is god's take on the thrill of gambling... an original idea... allowing an in group focus... it could never be a plagiarism - the segregating process of techno. advancement... toward a... less cultural appropriation... and more? cultural loaning... "plagiarism"... perhaps i should "read" into solving crossword puzzles... now plagiarism is easy... any son of sam is not an arsonist... but as my continued fascination continues with andrei chikatilo... and batman, the dark knight rises scene on the plane: why would you shoot a man, before taking him into a prison cell?! ah... christine chubbuck... this fascination... will not, die... such a solemn, vernacular death... worthy of a Vatican pawn-ship of preceding the scourge of death.

58

poetry a blue snake stretches from one to the other it breaks the shop window it coils insiduously around those driven from the street into the house it binds hands and learns to cry the utterance at the service of power don't throw the mantle of clouds off my shoulders remember in the beginning was the word in the last night distorted eventually there remains poetry insinuated like a blue snake into the cup full of tears Carmen Firan translated by Andrei Bantas

0

Feb 24, 2016

Feb 24, 2016 at 6:20 AM UTC

irinia

"Eventually"

poetry a blue snake stretches from one to the other it breaks the shop window it coils insiduously around those driven from the street into the house it binds hands and learns to cry the utterance at the service of power don't throw the mantle of clouds off my shoulders remember in the beginning was the word in the last night distorted eventually there remains poetry insinuated like a blue snake into the cup full of tears Carmen Firan translated by Andrei Bantas

21

forests remain, farther and farther away from us. only streets, houses accompany me like a fingernail on an exhausted hand wherever i might stop, everywhere, pain is my compass always, along this way forever unwalked given back to me the scent of roses in the garden the waters flooded long ago, belated tenderness, time besieged by time everything goes by so easily. life. so easily was i forgotten Andrei Zanca from My Cup of Light

0

Nov 20, 2016

Nov 20, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC

irinia

"So"

forests remain, farther and farther away from us. only streets, houses accompany me like a fingernail on an exhausted hand wherever i might stop, everywhere, pain is my compass always, along this way forever unwalked given back to me the scent of roses in the garden the waters flooded long ago, belated tenderness, time besieged by time everything goes by so easily. life. so easily was i forgotten Andrei Zanca from My Cup of Light

19

ever drink coffee on an empty stomach? no, i mean, two, three... and ever get this ******* sensation in your stomach, this grandiose perv ******* at you telling you: feed feed feed me! might be a sadistic answer, but at least not as sadistic keeping a skeleton on a medical drip, i.e. an anorexic girl 'coffee is the natural diueretic' reads one quote: diuretic shmaturetic laxative bogus... if you haven't eating anything: what the **** are you going to **** out? your intestines or a ******* tapeworm? 3 coffees in and i get this humongous appetite... but never mind that, had me a thought, while in movies: they always aim for the head, as if that's the "easy" solution, . + . = ... 1 + 1 = 2... quote (a): well perhaps he's wondering someone would shoot a man, before throwing him out of a plane... quote (b): well, perhaps he's wondering why you would put a man in a prison cell, before shooting him in the back of the head - well, wondering why you would put a man in a prison cell and then shooting him, subsequently closing the door... you get the picture... it's that cockroach "myth" that a cockroach without a head can survive for two weeks (enter andrei romanovich chikatilo)... and i watched this criminology channel once... no one said a word about what really happened... oh hell, they'll document all of his evil deeds... but what happened in that cell, after he was shot in the head? zilch! took me a while to imagine it, i have to admit; because sure as **** that bullet in the head was not going to be spending two weeks in a coma.

0

Mar 7, 2018

Mar 7, 2018 at 5:20 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

coffee and a quote from bane

ever drink coffee on an empty stomach? no, i mean, two, three... and ever get this ******* sensation in your stomach, this grandiose perv ******* at you telling you: feed feed feed me! might be a sadistic answer, but at least not as sadistic keeping a skeleton on a medical drip, i.e. an anorexic girl 'coffee is the natural diueretic' reads one quote: diuretic shmaturetic laxative bogus... if you haven't eating anything: what the **** are you going to **** out? your intestines or a ******* tapeworm? 3 coffees in and i get this humongous appetite... but never mind that, had me a thought, while in movies: they always aim for the head, as if that's the "easy" solution, . + . = ... 1 + 1 = 2... quote (a): well perhaps he's wondering someone would shoot a man, before throwing him out of a plane... quote (b): well, perhaps he's wondering why you would put a man in a prison cell, before shooting him in the back of the head - well, wondering why you would put a man in a prison cell and then shooting him, subsequently closing the door... you get the picture... it's that cockroach "myth" that a cockroach without a head can survive for two weeks (enter andrei romanovich chikatilo)... and i watched this criminology channel once... no one said a word about what really happened... oh hell, they'll document all of his evil deeds... but what happened in that cell, after he was shot in the head? zilch! took me a while to imagine it, i have to admit; because sure as **** that bullet in the head was not going to be spending two weeks in a coma.

50

I roll a marble down Market Street from the hillside looking over the dusty city while the sun sets. It finds a central channel in the cobbled street and rolls beyond my seeing past the Kurdish boy on the curb plucking a tick from his stiff homespun trousers. The boy chews a sliver of wild onion grass he has picked from the feral garden behind the abandoned mosque my marble passes now. Across the street Kastorides stamps the tin lids on liter cans of olive oil bearing his name. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flash of my marble like a wet pea, wonders when they will pave over Market Street in macadam. He shouts for Andrei, out of earshot, marking cards in the alley behind the coffee shop downstairs from the flat of the student who glances from the yellowed wall clock to the Swatch watch on his wrist, then tenderly lifts the flap of his haversack to peer inside. He has smoked his last cigarette, is poking through the butts in the ashtray for a long one when the phone rings — only once. The student pulls a sweatshirt over his bare torso, grabs the haversack and dashes out. In the street he sees my marble, almost slips on it in fact, and stops to watch it running down its course toward the fountain in the square. The driver of the truck, distracted by fears of his wife and blinded in one eye by a speck of dust which was once a dog’s skin, takes the corner too hard, the left front tire giving imperceptibly over the rolling marble.

0

Sep 15, 2016

Sep 15, 2016 at 8:05 AM UTC

john-silence

Sweet Parade

I roll a marble down Market Street from the hillside looking over the dusty city while the sun sets. It finds a central channel in the cobbled street and rolls beyond my seeing past the Kurdish boy on the curb plucking a tick from his stiff homespun trousers. The boy chews a sliver of wild onion grass he has picked from the feral garden behind the abandoned mosque my marble passes now. Across the street Kastorides stamps the tin lids on liter cans of olive oil bearing his name. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flash of my marble like a wet pea, wonders when they will pave over Market Street in macadam. He shouts for Andrei, out of earshot, marking cards in the alley behind the coffee shop downstairs from the flat of the student who glances from the yellowed wall clock to the Swatch watch on his wrist, then tenderly lifts the flap of his haversack to peer inside. He has smoked his last cigarette, is poking through the butts in the ashtray for a long one when the phone rings — only once. The student pulls a sweatshirt over his bare torso, grabs the haversack and dashes out. In the street he sees my marble, almost slips on it in fact, and stops to watch it running down its course toward the fountain in the square. The driver of the truck, distracted by fears of his wife and blinded in one eye by a speck of dust which was once a dog’s skin, takes the corner too hard, the left front tire giving imperceptibly over the rolling marble.

38

ጆኒ ፖፕ. Select the language you want to see. Француз, испан, француз, испан, испан, испан, испан, қытай жағы Rmsllhhh Ұяшықтар кішкентай және сексуалдық ойыншықтар (GI және JAI) шағымдарды сенбі Sussan'o's East Java performance Yoga өлім және қақтығыс сарапшысы пікір basket Music және Andrei Kahn Pierre |competition testing jryshyny jowochi seneṭṭar Сейсенбі »venisṭi байқаушы жариялады:« M жарылғыш blame lol аяқ киім және қара және қара қара айналдыру қара және ақ, қара, қара GMT GMT қараңғы сары қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара құс мәтінді іздеу Зимбабве қара, қара, қара, қара, ар Tamil, English, French, French, Nevada, Nevada, Tamil, English, French, French, French, Nevada, Tigrinya, French, French, French, French, French, French, French, Orissa, Paris, Paris, French, Antique Learning Learning Bottles List (s) List, List, List, List, List, List, List, Visitors, List, List, List of visitors "Policy", List, List, List, List, List, List, List, List, List, List, List, List, Italy If such is the case, you want to save it.

0

Oct 16, 2018

Oct 16, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC

johnny-noiπ

East Java Performance Yoga

ጆኒ ፖፕ. Select the language you want to see. Француз, испан, француз, испан, испан, испан, испан, қытай жағы Rmsllhhh Ұяшықтар кішкентай және сексуалдық ойыншықтар (GI және JAI) шағымдарды сенбі Sussan'o's East Java performance Yoga өлім және қақтығыс сарапшысы пікір basket Music және Andrei Kahn Pierre |competition testing jryshyny jowochi seneṭṭar Сейсенбі »venisṭi байқаушы жариялады:« M жарылғыш blame lol аяқ киім және қара және қара қара айналдыру қара және ақ, қара, қара GMT GMT қараңғы сары қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара қара құс мәтінді іздеу Зимбабве қара, қара, қара, қара, ар Tamil, English, French, French, Nevada, Nevada, Tamil, English, French, French, French, Nevada, Tigrinya, French, French, French, French, French, French, French, Orissa, Paris, Paris, French, Antique Learning Learning Bottles List (s) List, List, List, List, List, List, List, Visitors, List, List, List of visitors "Policy", List, List, List, List, List, List, List, List, List, List, List, List, Italy If such is the case, you want to save it.

3

Andrei, I was a child when I read a piece of paper & you died. You were a telegram falling from the air, a moth, a stray dog, a liner note passing through my hands. I pressed play & Chopin unwound like a serpent, the mood shifting like the rainbow that feeds on oil's skin. I went out & found more. Rachmaninov attacked, a chess game where the pieces moved ten at a time. & the Prokofiev, followed me around the house. I was a child when I saved you with my ears. Let me save you again. Come, revenge yourself a little while in my old records.

0

Oct 8, 2019

Oct 8, 2019 at 4:13 PM UTC

EvanS

Letter to Nikolsky

Andrei, I was a child when I read a piece of paper & you died. You were a telegram falling from the air, a moth, a stray dog, a liner note passing through my hands. I pressed play & Chopin unwound like a serpent, the mood shifting like the rainbow that feeds on oil's skin. I went out & found more. Rachmaninov attacked, a chess game where the pieces moved ten at a time. & the Prokofiev, followed me around the house. I was a child when I saved you with my ears. Let me save you again. Come, revenge yourself a little while in my old records.

32