"laika" poems
We live in a time of uncertainty
No jobs
Climate change
Mass killings
warnings of pandemics
Where is our utopia
where is our heaven on Earth
1900's we had
San Fransisco's earthquake
McKinley was assassinated
First Nobel prize
The Tunguska Event
nothing as changed in my eyes
1910's we had
Spanish flu
The sinking of the unsinkable ship, the Titanic
and World War 1
What else is needed to say about this decade
nothing changed as the human race lived on
1920's we had
Discovery of penicillin
The great depression
and prohibition
1930's we had
Bonnie and Clyde
Hindenburg disaster
Discovery of Pluto
Al Capone imprisoned
1940's we had
World War 2
Mount Rushmore completed
Big bang theory formulated
Israel founded
Nothing changed but who knew
1950's we had
Castro becomes Dictator of Cuba
Laika the dog goes into space
Korean War began
History never changed and neither will the Human Race
1960's we had
The rise of the Berlin wall
First man on the moon
Vietnam War
Nothing changed and won't any time soon
1970's we had
First test tube baby
Tangshan Earthquake
Kent state shootings
Elvis died
1980's we had
Chernobyl
Tiananmen square massacre
Exxon oil spill
Nothing changed and never will
1990's we had
Oklahoma city bombing
Princess Diana died
Columbine massacre
World Trade Center bombed
End of the Cold War
2000's we had
Hurricane Katrina
Pluto reclassified
Obama elected
September 11th
2010's we had
Haiti Earthquake
Japan Earthquake
Bin Laden killed
BP oil spill
England riots
Brazil riots
China banned time travel.
We're only 4 years in.
**** sapiens are nearly 200,000 years old
nothing changed
and never will
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
of course i ********** every night,
otherwise i'd be wondering
about the next Laika in space
with some next soviet conspiracy
Sputnik hovering while i chance
abbreviate a change on hairstyling
thinking: jeez, this is a little bit too
afro frizzy for a brainstorm,
maybe i better opt for Jamaican dreads?
economics of shampoo usage,
suddenly a large bank account.
i do get the idea behind treating nouns
like albinos... bleach the *******
hang them to dry in Polaroids...
while commercial flights fly at a certain
height, and the rich buggers fly high enough
to jet-stream in the cirrus uncinus bracket...
and they lie to children,
they're talking about strange satellites...
i can't see satellites, not without Galileo's
excommunication apparatus,
satellites, as far as i am concerned
orbit the earth in a non-visible spectrum
of the vacuum... hence their orbiting outside
of the visible spectrum atmosphere of
the earth, i would not be able to see
a satellite for the love of Michaelangelo.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
The stars might look like
milky bones from afar.
Or glowing tennis *****
still clutched in owner's hands
while the dumb dog
chases something hidden.
Did he stick his head
out the window of the spaceship?
Tongue out,
howling.
Did he know the hole
he had dug
was his own grave?
I hate when owners
pretend to throw a ball,
only to hide it behind their backs.
The dog trusts you.
The dog loves you.
The dog loves life.
The dog doesn't want to die.
The dog doesn't deserve to die.
The dog doesn't care about exploring space,
it just wants to find that ******* ball.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
Sonnet pour mon épagneul anglais Nils
De son smoking de noir vêtu,
mêmes quand il court dans les rues,
à un artiste de gala
il semble emprunter le pas
Ton ventre est blanc comme une hermine.
Sur ton museau blanc, une truffe
Son dos de noir tout habillé.
Sur le front, il se fait doré.
De « prince », il s’attire le nom
Tant sa démarche est altiere ;
mais de « Nils », il a le surnom,
Car autant qu’un jar, il est fier.
Assis, il paraît méditer,
Sur le monde sa vanité.
De ses yeux noirs il vous regarde,
Comme un reproche qui s’attarde.
Quand il court, parmi les genêts,
Il fend l’air comme un destrier ;
Et le panache de sa queue
En flottant, vous ravit les yeux.
Mon épagneul est très dormeur,
Et aux sofas, il fait honneur.
Mais lorsque se lève le jour,
A se promener, il accourt.
Quand il dort, il est écureuil,
mais jamais, il ne ferme l’œil.
Un léger murmure l’éveille
Tant aérien est son sommeil.
Il semble emprunter le pas
Lorsqu’un aboiement le réveille
De sa voix, il donne l’éveil.
Et les chats, les chiens maraudeurs,
Il met en fuite avec bonheur.
Lorsque dans mes bras, il vient,
Son pelage se fait câlin.
Et la douceur de sa vêture
Lui fait une jolie voilure.
Sur ma table, sa tête repose
Lorsque je taquine la prose,
Comme pour dire ; même par-là,
je veux que tu restes avec moi.
Sous ma caresse, il se blottit,
comme le ferait un petit.
De ma tristesse, il vient à bout,
tant le regard qu’il pose est doux.
Paul d’Aubin (Paul Arrighi), Toulouse.
***
Poème à ma chienne Laika dite «Caquine»
Tu as un gros museau,
Cocker chocolatine,
Des yeux entre amandes et noisettes
Teintés d’une humeur suppliante.
Ta fourrure est quelque peu rêche
Mais prend l’éclat de la noisette
et le reflet du renard roux.
La caresse se fait satin.
Ma fille Célia t’appelle : «Caquine»
Pour des raisons que je ne peux
Au lecteur dévoiler ici,
Mais toute ta place tu tiens.
A ta maitresses adorée
Tu dresses ton gros museau
Et te blottis pour la garder
En menaçant ceux qui approchent.
Tu es peureuse comme un lézard,
Et sait ramper devant Célia.
Mais ton museau, sur mes genoux
Au petit déjeuner veille et guette.
Quand je te sors, tu tires en laisse
Jusqu’à m’en laisser essoufflé,
Après avoir d’énervement
Dans ta gueule, mes chaussons saisis.
Sur les sentiers de senteur,
Ton flair à humer se déploie.
Tu es, ma chienne, compagnie.
De mes longues après-midi.
Paul d’Aubin (Paul Arrighi), Toulouse.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
*two bottles of 70cl whiskey later and a few beers, popping sleeping pills for an actual effect worked with (it's ten past five p.m., i'm already mentioning ~ eleven minutes to midnight, so wait)... you get the shovel and broom ushering the ***** drinkers from a town centre in Leicester or Norwich; or you implant a hope to live in Scandinavia; you're basically laughing with a russian at that point: 'eh eh, where's lithuania?' 'ah **** it's next to yuri reciting poetry on the laika satellite.' 'thought so.' german started from monkeys, sent one into space... slavs started with dogs... like all good people, i would too have kept the cats grounded in atmosphere; well, the oedipal riddle began with a sphinx, so i'm more than ready for the cerberus.*
i'm not going to repent for
my alcoholic metabolism,
i'll wait till you turn into ostriches
ostricizing vegans for anaemia
and bulimia and the london fashion show;
bullseye market that cares for
diaphragms and diabetes; sure the arabs
are alcohol free, but diabetic
looking into the sand dunes like looking
at dunes of sugar.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
sveiks dārgais
šodien tev īpaši izceļās acis
vai zināji?
tās mirdz vairāk nekā parasti
vai tu ieraudzīju kaut ko, kas tās apžilbināja?
vai varbūt tās cenšas ieviest gaismu sev apkārt?
apspīdēt cilvēkus, kurus tās uzlūko (?)
vai varbūt tās vienkārši glabā sevī noslēpumu
man nav ne jausmas
tikai tu to zini
es vēlos kaut tu man pateiktu
kaut tu uzrunātu mani
kaut vai bez vārdiem
bez skaņām
bet ar klusumu
ar kustību
ar savu ķermeni
to skaisto ķermeni, kurā dzīvo tava dvēsele
ķermeņa valoda ir pati skaistākā
tā spēj pateikt vairāk nekā simtiem vārdu
tavs smaids ir skaistākā rindkopa šajā stāstā
tu to atkārto tik bieži,
katru dienu
taču man nekad nepietiek..
nekad nevar būt par daudz tava žilbinošā smaida
manas lūpas nekad nespēj pretoties
acis iemirdzās,
sirdspuksti paātrinās
un sākas jauns stāsts,
kurā piedalās mūsu ķermeņi
tie raksta ar saviem locekļiem
pasaku, kurai nav beigu
tā nekad nebeidzas
bet gan turpinās
arī tagad
manas acis uzlūko tevi
tās iekāro tevi no jauna
mana sirds alkst pēc tavas mīlestības
ak mans mīļais
es vēlos veidot jaunu mākslas darbu
paņemsim rokās otas un ļausimies
nedomāsim par laiku
jo laika mūsu pasaulē nav
esam tikai mēs
un mūsu māksla
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
Carnival carvings seep into your tombstone.
And from the ceiling, we hanging, in red
and black striped pajamas watched you
get lowered.
The jesters
cartwheel in my laugh,
they travel and trial, tediously tar, and rat aches
in to my tartar.
I weep for the wayward west, that
(you never explicitly promised) we were to visit.
I've seemed to begun, helter-skelter a few;
steam trombones
There
are no masonry aemons.
Of ghouls gnaws only poetry,
awaiting our reunion, my dearest Laika-
forever deceased.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 8:16 PM UTC
Blackine, notre chiot cocker
Blackine, petite boule noire, aux yeux enfoncés, déjà tellement brillants. Tu es entrée dans notre vie après le décès de la cocker Laika, dont nous avions décidé en guise de deuil, de rendre heureuse une nouvelle chienne Cocker. Ton pelage est noir de geai, tu as les dents morbilleuses, et t'efforce de lover ton fin museau dans notre cou. Cette fois ci; nous sommes allés te chercher dans le Gers, cher pays de vallons, de collines, de cocagne et de cockers, Pour te ramener à «La Comtale», ou les terrasses sont au neuvième étage. Ta vitalité surprend l’homme au mitan de sa vie que je suis. J’avais oublié ces fureurs de mordre Et ce goût inlassable de jouer. Tu as vite repéré la porte de l’appartement, et même le bruit de l’ascenseur ne t’effraie plus mais te passionne, tant tu aimes déjà tant sortir. Chère Blackine, tout de noir vêtu, Tu amènes avec toi jeunesse et goût de vivre.
Paul Arrigh
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
She was just a little stray dog
Wandering Moscow's cold grey streets
Then claimed in the name of science
By men who must succeed
And so into sputnik 2 they strapped her
And sent it on its way
Little Lemon still unaware
That this was her last day
She still had many years to live
But never had the chance
The scientists said they had a greater need
And so science had to claim her
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
_How does it feel like to float in a complete void, alone with an uncertainty of surviving and going back to where you used to live?_ I was talking about the Sputnik II, the famous satellite launched with the dog Laika aboard. The very scene also portrays the life here on land. Each day, I'm caving in my own realities, an impressive way of escaping. It has buried me in that idea of you existing on it. It is a badge to be given, a sigh each time you twist the **** on the door.
And there I am, a banquet of a montage of a violent delight, a beauty of the sea cascading the shore, it's in my veins, a rushing current of this mere event. I watched people applaud, how the glass clinks, and you, an array of sun, so immaculate, I can't look away.
_I cannot bear losing it._
and we'll be a specks withering, it is a bittersweet love:
I would endlessly live on it.
Apr 3, 2023
Apr 3, 2023 at 11:06 AM UTC
here i am
pondering human existence
and loneliness;
such a universally desolate moment;
i am here.
to question the matters of
who i am, where i am
and why am i
i started the moment i start;
at the briefest encounter of warmth
i retract myself completely.
knowing that to know
is knowing too much
i realized i am emptied
a void of knowledge;
incompletely, i drift on
like the sputnik II.
as it orbits the earth
without a meaning
without a song,
and what does it see
when laika looks out
to the vast darkness?
what does it think?
these
are the questions
of my sleepless nights.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
you would never say about a Kandinsky: where's
the Mondrian?
luckily we have enough information
about Goldberg's sardines,
without asking another poet (other than O'Hara)
to sniff out Billingsgate - and so too:
if Burroughs said: all writing limps behind painting
by 50 years - enough said,
hence came speedy Gonzales
with his shotgun and his canned paint...
and i know just as much as sardines in
see-through tins -
well: it was worth a joke,
someone was bound to **** into a champagne
bottle at some point, and celebrate:
in abstract - or to the point:
in concreto - ecce artifex!
at least enough
humility would be worth the same dosage -
specialisations are such:
demanding concepts as aboriginal
in anthropology -
likewise anthropological:
schizophrenics in urbanity - after all...
a concrete jungle - like any half-wit
and butt-naked in the Amazon...
applause for
comrade Gagarin and Laika -
and if Darwin wrote in
cyrilica - then it too would have been
Mohawk and Brain - salutations and applause -
and if ever in doubt:
call it versailles - to denote all forms of
luxury -
i know: versailles better hides luxury
than the hermitage -
or as King Duck could say
being a burden on the Vavel Mount -
even the Vavellian
dragon died from laughter, even though
he was given a sheep stuffed with sulphur -
and drank the Vistulla dry...
but only when King Quack was laid to rest:
and the volk - the naród said:
Katyń 1 - Smoleńsk 3...
and there was even
a composition by wojciech kilar.
so then... 50 years lagging?
disorientating? muddled, spaghetti loops?
well, as the introduction already mentions,
painters can't write - suddenly everything
has to have geometry!
any geometrical instrument
in an art's class is seen like a Sunni in Iran -
or a Buddhist, at a Bar Mitzvah:
boom-town slap-head -
choppy waters, brightly illuminated
by the polished
cranium sheen.
so why except a Mondrain from a Kandinsky
?!
what a brain-drain!
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
She noted, grimly cognizant of though unamused by the irony,
That her likeness, or something akin to that,
Appeared on the poster—a gray-clad strong and vibrant woman
Reaching, in concert with her comrades
(One woman in a white coat, a man in overalls and requisite cap,
Still another androgynous figure in a futuristic ensemble
Resembling some cross of a Western science fiction movie
And some cheap Petrograd-made tin foil)
Toward a hammer-and-sickle adorned moon
Soon to be conquered by a similarly festooned rocket ship.
She is no scientific apparatchik, no technically gifted party functionary;
It is her job to feed the canine occupant of this mission to the cosmos
(Two mutts from the Moscow streets, she confides to Ilysa,
One of the few co-workers who can be trusted with such a statement.)
The dog, she notes without any trace of rancor, eats quite well,
Better than she does in truth,
But it is a series of last meals for the condemned,
For there is no secret as to the dog’s eventual fate
(Poor cur, he has no idea he is doomed,
One of the scientists clucks sadly,
Though she simply shrugs in reply,
Knowing a test or a trap when she sees it,
Though she thinks to herself He is far from alone)
And, after she has cleaned up the remnants of the dog’s dinner,
She heads back to her one-room flat on the Yaseneavaya Boulevard,
Noting ruefully, as she ascends the crumbling, unsteady steps
Leading to her blocky, faceless building,
That the omnipresent klieg lighting of the street lamps
Serves to obscure any trace of the heavens in the night sky.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 9:49 AM UTC
You didn’t deserve what you were given
Fading into a dark nothingness
You Couldn’t even whimper
They never cared
They never do
Plucked off the streets
You did nothing wrong
You were nothing but a test
For their grand feats
They gave you a one way ticket
“To the moon! They said
Your home was never meant to be the stars
Asphyxiating into a bleak oblivion
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 6:01 AM UTC
to make another poem
about love
is no different from
making another
song about California,
people don’t buy it anymore.
they’ve seen enough already,
knows it like the
back of their hands.
still,
there are
souls out there
that have gone mad
and lost,
doomed for all
eternity
and so they
say. . ,
the only justice
that could ever be done
to them
is no other than just another
******* sap
poetry about love
that never fails to deceive
whoever knows who.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
It feels better, Laika.
Watching the nóise die mute.
The night air cold and sweet.
And my heartbeats spelling your name.
Silence, tonight, tastes sweeter than rhythms and blues.
When loneliness walks beneath the stars,
It's the brightest of these days that will mirror the me in your dreams.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
O to be as light as the sky,
To have the earth look up at you and admire your beauty,
To be loved by the birds and hugged by the clouds
I lay onto the icy gravel and look towards the heavens.
Am I too heavy?
I will know what love feels like...
It is lonely,
I want the night's glittering infinity,
To feel the world shine for me and me only
I want to chase the big planets of the sky as i did the ***** i fetched on concrete lawns
I was born to love unconditionally, and so i was chosen for something very special
Scientists take me from the cold and give me a home,
They will give me strange food and show me things beyond my comprehension.
I want to understand...
It's scary, they put me in ship much too small for my already thin body.
There is no light and i'm shivering from fear,...
Or the cold,
I can't seem to spot the difference between the two
The doubt begins to set and I am alone again,
But they tell me I'm prepared to fly,
Higher than the birds,
Higher than the sky.
I plan to be as extraordinary as i promised...
Far from my home the exploding adrenaline scares me,
The tip of my tail is hidden between my shaking legs,
And my heart races faster than the breath that heaves in my chest
There is this everlying, unfamiliar, stink
It won't go away
Something is wrong and i can feel it
Feel it all
There's a faint sound of flaking metal in the distance
It is of no comfort to me.
I am afraid...
The flames warm my worries and within breach of the cold atmosphere,
I can feel the embrace of death caressing me
The impending doom starts to fade away and there is only peace,
Finally peace.
My canine body is now long gone,
Rained onto Soviet soil,
But they are unsurprised.
Was I never supposed to come back?
I know how love feels.
They will remember me
When they look up at the sky and watch my spirit play with the constellations
Although it remains unfinished,
My mission on earth has been completed...
I have kissed the stars for humanity
-To Laika, the space dog
Aug 27, 2024
Aug 27, 2024 at 4:42 PM UTC
can we change the ending?
please please please i want to
place a halo over her ears
tell her she's been such a good girl
take her face in my hands because
she never bit the hand that fed her
even when it was fattening her
up an offering to the gods
her trust open to the world like a flower
even as her cages got smaller and smaller
first metal, then made of stars
i bet it's cold up there
please, i want to tell her we did her wrong
please, sainthood for Laika,
i want her to know we're sorry
Sep 12, 2024
Sep 12, 2024 at 4:14 AM UTC
Addison walked up to the golden gates of Trinity Academy. She turned to the plaque on the marble pillars. There was a carving of the grand 3 witches. The witch of nature was named Laika. She ruled over the 4 elements: Earth, Water, Air, and Fire. The witch of unity was named Alitza. She ruled over all humans and animals. Although, she never “ruled” over them. She was kind and caring and loved all. Then, there was the witch of shadows, Nyx. She ruled over all dark and evil creatures with an iron claw. She was responsible for the 5 runestones losing most of their power. She's the reason most people stopped using magic and turned to technology. She was jealous of her sisters, the other great witches. She wanted to rule Valdera and the rest of the planet along with it. She craved power. So she broke into the Cosmic Hall and tried to break the connection between the runestones in order to harness their power. In doing so, the runestone of darkness was created. It is the source of all shadows. The two witches were horrified to find their sister attempting to drain the magic from the 5 runestones. They had to put a stop to her. In order to make sure she could no longer harm anyone, they banished her to a far-away dimension, Xeyra.
Addison’s train of thought was disrupted when she heard the first bell. “Oh no!”, she thought. She started to run to class. Then she realized. “Oh, right. I forgot that I can teleport.”, she chuckled to herself. “Spiritus Dei Omniso!”, she said and teleported into her chair. “Hope nobody saw that”, she thought.
After the boring class that seemed to last for eternity, Addison started to head to her locker. She saw a girl with dark orange hair getting picked on. She walked over and touched the girl on the shoulder. “What’s your problem? Why are you projecting your insecurities on this innocent girl?”, Addison asked. “Get lost, Newbie. Unless you wanna be my next victim.”, the bully remarked. “Me? A victim of YOU? Yeah, I don’t think so.”, Addison said. The girl raised her fist towards Addison. “Dimere Invictus Elovar.”, Addison said, unphased. The bully froze in place, then vanished. “You ok?” Addison said to the victim. “Y-yea, I'm alright. Thank you. My name is Leah.”, the timid girl said. “No problem. I'm Addison.”, Addy said. Their fateful encounter was interrupted by principal Tallora. “Miss Addison and Leah! My office! NOW!”, the principal snapped.
Feb 28, 2021
Feb 28, 2021 at 3:04 PM UTC
A quiet street, a winter’s breath,
A stray who knew both hunger, death.
Yet fate would lift her, far above,
On human dreams, on fragile love.
A rocket roared, the sky grew black,
No returning home, no coming back.
Her heartbeat traced on trembling wires,
The first to ride our restless fires.
She never chose the steel, the flame,
No medal bore her humble name.
But still she runs through cosmic night,
A ghostly paw-print made of light.
O Laika, gentle pioneer,
The Patron Saint of One-Way Trips—
We send a tear across the sphere.
Not just a dog, but more than we
The first to show the stars could be.
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 9:41 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall HSG
[email protected]
1957: The Year We All Became Soviets
“…we’re going to get science applied to social problems
and backed by the whole force of the state…”
Mark Studdock in C. S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength
Soviet Science launched a beeping toy into space
In the name of Progress; a mass-murderer ordered it so
And a month later Science launched and killed sweet Laika
Abandoned in orbit to die alone
Brave America suffered the Aunt Pittypat vapours:
We too must launch our slide-rules into space
And set our children to study Sovietism
Send civilization into orbit to die alone
Dogs and apes and men have flamed out in crashes
And Alexandria again is but pale ashes
Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 9:02 PM UTC