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Yenson Aug 2018
Commissar Dumbrov of The Red Republican Army at his desk

Grego, Grego , what is happening with the Regal in the Gulag
Is he mad yet, has he hanged himself and committed suicide

No Commissar, he is writing poetry and growing fat like a pig

Are you crazy, this is a ****** Revolution, not ******* poetry class
Did you not put him through the program.

We did Commissar, we hounded and tormented him, we persuaded his wife to break his heart, we fully destroyed his career, we isolated him, we ruined him financially, we made the proletariat hate him,
we taunted him and provoked him everywhere, we scandalized his name and reputation, we bugged him, we oppressed him, we bullied him, we made him friendless, we invaded his privacy, we mocked him and depressed him, we tried to confuse him, we mix him up. we harassed him with noise, we've terrorize him we've done everything and more. he has not been with a woman for 20 years.

AND HE'S WRITING POETRY, what a pack of ******* fools you are, that's the trouble with you ****** Proletariat, you have no brains, must be all the ****** gruel you lot eat, your ******* brains didn't develop properly, all you ******* know is how to be ***** and violent, any wonder these Elitists see you as nothing but animals. that great Leader of the Revolution wrote, I forget his name now, he wrote that the best and only way to deal with these Elitists is to attack their minds, **** up their ****** brains, make them paranoid and fearful. drive them crazy, turn them into jabba labba locos, dribbling at the mouth locos crazy,

We tried Commissar, we did all the things to make this happen, we spent a lot of time and effort on this, we used all the grape-vines and contacts we have, we even threw the Kitchen sink at him. So far, nothing.

You threw the ******* Kitchen sink at him, what's that for, the Kitchen sink belongs to the State, its not meant to be thrown at ******* Elitist Dissidents.

Its a manner of speech, Commissar.

Now you are a Comedian, are you, a ******* Revolution is going on, we are creating a Classless Society and Equality for all and you are making stupid jokes!

No Commissar, I mean we utilized all resources so far, we have continually harassed him, we have created so much disappointments, betrayals, let-downs, frustrations for him, but he still remains calm, stoical, composed, dignified, erudite and sane.
maybe its true that these people are a different breed. Its frustrating for us and quite honestly, embarrassing!.

Shut up, are you saying he's some sort of Regal Rasputin, even that ****** one, we got in the end, now you're saying this one is bullet-proof. Have you tried Advanced Slander, spread the nastiest rumors about him. So bad to make him take his own life. Who was it that said,  “Show me the man and I'll show you the crime”

It was Comrade Beria, Commissar. Yes Commissar, we have framed him many times and made thumped up allegations against him. We have done all that Commissar, we even said he walks like John Wayne or a broken crab.

Who is this John Wayne, are you a time-traveler now?

Have you tried spreading the rumor that he goes to the Cementry at night and sleep with dead women, he digs up.

No Commissar, I don't think even the stupidest Proletariat would believe that one.

Have you tried spreading a rumour he has *** with a dog.

Commissar Natashavo hasn't been anywhere near him, Commissar

Are you being funny again, Grego

No Commissar!

So what is happening right now with our Mr Invincible Elitist Poet Romanov or whatever his name is,  the MAN that you ******* useless Republican comrades, can't drive mad or make commit suicide, a simple thing, that we have done thousands of times. Why is it that when we do these things to those Class-traitor Proletariat, they die or go raving mad loco coo coo  within six months.

The Proletariat are brainless  cowards Commissar, they can dish it out but they can't take it, Commissar, that's why its so easy for us Senior Members of the Po-lit-Bureau to manipulate and control them. As regards our MAN we are still actively harassing him, we are presently mixing him up again, mentally and doing voice to skull tactics with him. We also make sure he remains frozen in a time warp. This is useful in allowing us to demonstrate to the imbecilic Proletariat that we are powerful and can control people and events, this makes sure they realize our capabilities and might and of course, fosters espirit de corps. It keeps them all in line.

Well that's good thinking Grego, yes, that's good, as regards our Poet, why don't we just blast off his *****.

We did Commissar, but he grew bigger ones!

Are you being funny again, Grego, do you want to be sent to the Gulag in Siberia to keep the Poet company.

No, Commissar, I have a date tonight with Commissar Natashavo!
Ceyhun Mahi Nov 2016
Somewhere, some place a century ago,
Long before my own generation's birth
There walked a girl who still many do know
In the meadows and cities on this earth.
Like us she felt the same breath of the dawn,
Has seen the same sun, moon and gleaming star,
And many things she had pondered upon,
Which makes our similarities not far.
And when I'm pondering upon our past,
Melancholy and Happy are merging,
And I do realize that things have gone fast,
Who offer a time for contemplating.
  Despite the past is gone, I still adore
  The small beauties that had took place before.
snowshoecaptain Jul 2010
the cold had caused much restlessness
within our people's heart
the vengeful hand guiding their hate
would tear our lives apart.

the sun was setting on our reign
and night was closing in
worried visions peirced our sleep
and burrowed deep within.

the verdent hues of spring were near
but just beyond our reach
for on the ides they took us too
a land of snowy beasts

so there we stayed until the sun
rose dizzyingly high
and when the ****** snows did melt,
they brought us back to die

Imprisoned in a gilded cage
with summer drawing near
the revolutionists appraoched
injecting us with fear

we had our frozen dew drops royal
stitched around our waists
a final effort to release
our family from this fate

then when the moon was high at night
when evil things do crawl
they took us down below the house
lined up against a wall

their bullets pierced our fathers heart
murdered our brother too
and diamond corsets failed to stop
royal blood from running blue

it poured out over all the ground
the watchmaker had won
the royal lineage was dead
our priviledged lives undone

the vessels we had once possessed
endured the desecration
of acid baths and deep mine shafts
and burning mutilation

and so about two weeks inside
the seventh month, july
the last of russia's royalty
would bid their lives goodbye.
For Anastasia

Give patience, Lord, to us Thy children
In these dark, stormy days to bear
The persecution of our people,
The torture falling to our share.
--
When we are plundered and insulted
In days of mutinous unrest
We turn for help to thee, Christ-Saviour,
That we may stand the bitter test.
                                -Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna Romanov


Weakened by the revolutionists,
they lived their last days out simply.
Cold borscht and cabbage rolls.
The family was herded to the slaughter house.

Precious jewels and ikons sewn into their clothing,
Give strength, Just God, to us who need it.
The baby boy was butchered like a suckling piglet.

Low ceilings and dim light made it hard
to take aim and fire. Tears and prayers collided
with bullets and blood, spattered on the walls.
A thick cloud of smoke and plaster settled
upon a dynasty dead.

She raised herself from the dead,
Clawing, moaning, screaming,
stifled by blood--
Then disappeared, falling into
the abyss of immortality.
Dreams of Sepia Jun 2015
Ink
Ask me about *****
at the Pitcher & Piano
a woman sits angular
snow swirls in her face
the Tundra, a riot, an Izba
or a Romanov's Faberge egg
Lean into this moment
the curve of it's being
like a sail into the wind
or the Bering Strait neatly
amongst Icebergs
Canada
Marylin
The Niagara Falls
a Geologist's contentment
a backpack & a tent
ink& a compass
Omai
resplendent

* Izba - a country hut ( russian)
* Omai - Mai, the second pacific Islander to ever visit Britain in the late 1700ds who became popular in London's high society
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
the nobles cut off Rasputin's head, while the two in command of keeping Rasputin's head drunk multiplied and cut off the Romanov family's heads - and it snowed a serene symphony of snow as it did on a mime's piano - and Russian felt fed, and alive again... and those closest to the pigs' trough still bemoaned the events, on the centenary pinpoint in St. Petersburg.*

i was in an Athenian brothel...
i know what ethnicity
entertained me... national pride?
if there ain't any kept with the
women... just forget the football
team performing to a gold standard
that might inspire families to stay
together or keep the children dreaming...
but of course... the Irish still have
their qualms about 3rd class on the Titanic
and the potato famine... and the English
asked Aladdin for a carpet to brush
their colonial past under it -
the Welsh? don't know, don't care -
the Scots? y'ir a haggen hag hag
dabbler in Yiddish and hang the lamb
gush of intestine as edible? pardon me
deep fried friend, 'e's from Mars...
no wonder it took him Colonel Cook
and some wacky Portugese Columbus
to create the global empire, upon which
the sun, never truly set, but upon which
the moon did settle from time to time,
to reverse it's fascist priority with a pinch
of panic that had no systematic authority -
or as the venom said:
the only thing worse than fascism is panic...
proof via Pompeii.
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
Claudia was awakened
By her punk lover
Kissing her ear she giggled
Think he was like a puppy
She coupes his face
And said good morning my sweetheart
Sensei my rose
I want to runaway to Tibet
And I would love if you spent that life with me.
“Boris Romanov as that sounds romantic... I just can’t.
Let me think about it
I have a life here”
She said getting away from him
Quickly
“Claudia Patrick” he pleaded
But she walked out.
Went she walked to her friends appointment
In Manhattan she though she only had her karate,
Her Boris
And three friends
She had nothing else
To lose.
The friend saw Claudia
Coming
And greeted her
Claudia broke down and told
Her friend
About the loving
Yet creepy relationship
And where he wanted to take her
When the friend said that you could email
Them they will still be friends.
That gave some comfort to Claudia
Claudia was allowed to spend the
Night at her friends
Unless it was class or when the friend had to work.
The wealthy friend
Drove her to the dojo keep an eye out
For Claudia’s creep
But he never showed.
She told her the owner of the dojo
That she might be leaving to teach the art
In another land
He understood
Then she spent the night with her
Friend
Not going to class
Until she was safe and made up her mind.
When she started to miss
Boris
And confident enough to deal with him
She came back
To him
Saying that she wanted to be with her punk lover
Even if meant leaving.
Boris felt joy from her words
And they made love.
Her red hair
And complimented
Boris’s blond and blue hair.
ramoska Nov 2018
Anastasia, my dearest Anastasia
may you dance in the halls
of the winter palace
may you sing a song
that brings the life
to these chandeliers

My dearest Romanov,
may you live forever,
forever dancing in December.
JV Beaupre Jan 2022
I'll eat heathy and lose weight.
I'll shop for a livable diet,
Low carbs, nil sugar, no fat.
I will do better this year.
I'll draw more, paint more, eat more.
I'll surely do better now that I'm older and wiser.
No more German chocolate cake, fruit tarts,
Strawberries Romanov, pastrami on German rye,
Boullibaise, Fried Chicken, Schweinsbraten,
Ice Cream with Chocolate Sauce, Fat Burgers.
Marshmallows, Tater-tots, Twinkies, Pies
I shall do bet... Aw ***** it--
Prime rib and mashed potatoes tonight
And pancakes for breakfast!
Lawrence Hall Sep 2020
He Has it All - 1

An entire floor of a building he owns
The Great Room illuminated by soft lights
A perfect fireplace row of red oak flames
Beneath a mantel of carven German work

One wall is paneled with leatherbound great books
The seatings are a find from Finland last year
Champagne is set out in Romanov crystal flutes
His guests in evening wear wait silently

And as he is rolled away in funeral home wraps
His family are scrambling for the scraps


He Has it All - 2

An entire bunk in a shabby rented room
Illuminated by a dangling bare bulb
His plastic coffee mug, a sink full of dishes
Beneath a dusty window on the alley

A plywood shelf bears a television for cheap
From Goodwill, illegally wired to the cable
After pocketing his pal’s pocketknife
His roommate waits silently, and weeps

A pack of cigarettes, a Bic, a comb
And angels vying for the honor of bearing him Home

— The End —