Sergey Streltsov.
The Confessions of a Christian.Book
1.
The Short Odes.
Bis repentur placet.
Horace.
Preface.
Dear reader,
You can find here many occasions to blame the author on that base
that Royal English of now-a-days is far of another mode. But insisting on my
rights to be in grammar as uncommon as poetry can permit, I'd want to point out
the way I follow on my own.
Immortal Milton, heroic Byron, celebrated Coleridge and brilliant
Shakespeare - all that had ever made me filled by spirit with which this great
culture and language had here their imprint of words, reason of expression, and all that would in modest writer's
cuisine be.
I hope it would be found- as usually was - that all having enough of
happiness to befall here is but slight, exquisite entertainment for those as
leisure as gentle people that have enough time and education to read for no
other purpose but their bon-sens.
P.S. My epigraph that I took for this book is the best explanation of the
rhymes' nature. Heaven knows where is the origin of harmony.
P.P.S. Royal English in my opinion is English of The Bible, Divine Service and
of Saint people of God. Because Lord Jesus Christ is King of kings, and Lord of
lords (Timothy 6:15).
The Prologue to Reader.
I
So now I dedicate to You
My modest book, and hope this time
That royal tune of English rhyme
Will be in there though once- but true.
II
With language which I ought to hone
My simple-hearted lyre as may
Did glorify its night and day,
And that's to come, and that has gone.
III
No motto can explain my reason,
No sentence- attitude to world,
But speech so often golden-pearled,
But love that knows not air of treason.
0001 -- To St. George (acrostic).
To be the man-
it means to be in war.
Oft now recalling of thy virtue's sword,
Since world has fallen from the ways of Word
Thou waited were as one immortal star!
Go higher on in light of Victory
Effacing vice. And still 'tis not in vain-
Or weary eyes, to Thou revolved to be,
Reject can this great joy for new disdain?
God- No! All life in me I ever had
Ere gets the dust- o lets the prayer get!
0002 -- The Hymn To Marvelous Icon
"Royal" (Derzhavnaya).
Amen! Eternal
Russian Queen!
Amen! O, blissful Heav'nly maid!
O, if the Russia can be keen-
She does rejoice uncommon fate.
0003 -- To St. Muse (feast day is 29th of May).
O, Heav'nly Muse!- please bless my
soul and then
In happy prayer I'll respond- Amen!
0004 -- To My Child.
My Child!- If ever Thou be born,
My Child!- I pray Thee be the One
Of Souls of Glory that have shone
To world of pity as the Sun.
My Child!- If ever Thou will see
My stone on roadside to stay-
Pray bless me still. And God with Thee
Let be as merciful as may.
I don't pretend be prevoyant
But still I say that of Fate of Thine
Shall be as pleasure as to grant
Though drop of gift that wasn't mine.
0005 -- The Royal Post.
All woes and
prayers, claims and cries
Are royal post of One-On-High's.
He does select of all it pile
With Father's humoring and smile
The heartful slang of
heartless land
To make it true. On other hand
When pettifoggings
overcome
He burns it down as Sodom.
So oft on pew regarding Host
I think again of royal post.
0006 -- The Hymn of Melancholy.
We've taken our
lives for granted,
And dreams and thoughts on there
planted
Bring up the fruit of nicest juice
Of Way, of Life and so of Truth.
But don't give up before the deal
With death as horrible as still.
It's sentinel that comes tonight
To last combat in mortal fight.
Ungodly creature of the sin
It has to be what did have been.
0007 -- L'Épître À Toi.
Thy name will
be in me till breath
Is in my heart with humbleness.
Thou art in Heaven, as a moon
For death is night; for brightie
noon
In mortal pleasures had enough
And strength of day is slightly tough.
I'm waiting miracle, it's love
That wants to rest as David's dove.
O David, David, make again
With godly lute my tears to rain.
0008 -- My Tribute To You.
So overwhelming
sweet delights
I have in shadow of memoir
Of days so lovely, days so far,
The days for two, and lonely nights.
Do blame me not, accuse me not
Of what we left in darkness back.
As swan with its white-snowy neck
My song of love bemourns
my lot.
0009 -- The Mariner's Air.
Don't thrill
me- Nature! Night is black.
Boat's brought by waves too close to wreck.
On sea was beaten by the storm
My sails are torn, my soul is torn.
And boastings of the yesterday
Were broken now as straw of hay.
And death turns up and up so near
And almost mine and almost here.
0014 -- The Charming Maiden Ride.
A lightning
maid in chariot,
With sword in soft of garment held,
With tear so sweet about her lot,
With passion any heart would've felt.
What miracle
makes her afraid,
Or dead centaur, or vivid muse,
Or love though partly was repaid,
Or lover brave, or tragic news.
She rides the
coursers, three in black.
Dust lifts in air. And sun in strength.
And nature's scene with her was decked
And nothing can her recompense.
0015 -- On The Lover's Flame.
In sky as blue
as eyes of wisdom
I got to know the blow of freedom,
And though my heart slept silently
I got to know what's love to be.
And so experienced in it
I felt the flame of Heav'nly heat.
But end- but norm- but very sight
It was the sign of the love's might,
That drew me back to feet of yours
From where the flame does breathe and grows.
0016 -- The Mail Par Amour.
I
I see- you'll
never me forget.
Remain I so and unforgiven!
If not on earth again we chat
I see- we'll ever do on Heaven.
II
O Rachel! 'Tis so dear- so
sweet!
Thou echo art of Ancient Writ
That did descent from One above
As echo of the ancient love.
III
I was slain
though was immortal-
Did Thou either look my way?
One that was so slightly moral,
One about no word to say.
IV
Beneath no
further then above...
Salute, Ye Love! Adieu, Ye Treason!
My heart is warmed, with wings of Dove
Its haste again to comfort prison.
0017 -- On Being Near To You.
How to encharge your breast with love?
How to enclose my love in there?
It's potty trick how to improve
The stage so precious and unfair.
But you're too calm. Enchanted cold
Held on the feature so unmoved,
That militant and storming world
Can be itself by you improved.
0018 -- On The Waterfall.
In sylvan
debris far away
'Tween stones of ancient temple hall
The stranger can to see in day
The lightning game of waterfall.
So I- and so my
barren verse,
On ruins of forgotten rhymes
The light of poetry disperse
Above the people and the times.
0019 -- Song Of The Left Lover.
I ride the
world to follow You,
To find You out of changing scenes
Of barley in the morning dew,
Of constant fare-wells and come-ins.
But not a step
on dusty road,
But not a word in night hotel,
But not a man in all the world
To me about You can to tell.
0020 -- On Intellect.
The sleepy eyes
of dreaming half-unfold,
What did you see in thoughts mere half-untold?
Or rushing hence in mystic world of dream
You have no word in pre-eternal dim
To share with us for mere the price of praise
Of simple mortal in this deadly maze.
And so to-day, with rules of life neglect,
Above the all rules bare Intellect.
0021 -- On Birthday Of My Child.
My wife was
pregnant with my child,
I've seen it, but to trust,
That fruit of angelical mild
Would be the maid so fast
I can't to manage. Time appears
And birthday comes along
With all the whisperings and fears
And then it flows to song.
So looking back, in time obscure
I’m hearing there anew
In simple heart, the thoughts secure
Of love and lovely due.
0022 -- To Woman.
My love to you
was never dream.
Was never dream my life at all.
Through desert world wind drew my scream
As monumentum to my
soul.
It's all enough to say you 'Bye',
It's all enough to make me go,
But staring eyes so full of cry
Permit me never be your foe.
Forgive me, if you can forgive!
For sake of bless of One on High.
To warmth my heart from you receive
I dare never to deny
With Hope, if there needed hope,
With Tenderness, if I would feel,
Though any nice as salted drop
Puts on my heart its sacred seal.
1994-1996
Beatus ille qui procul negotiis
Horace.
0001
For goodness sake, save me from money,
The gold is
death for mortal man.
And if I shall
be saved -O! Then
My grief will
be still only funny.
My friend, if
you're my friend forsooth,
Heal me please
now from being greedy
Or otherwise my
mind be seedy
And will not
match to love and truth.
0002 -- Ode on War.
The war is
mock-heroic business –
If to consider
as nuisance
It all, we can
highlight the fact
That ought in
our hearts to act
As solemn
pledge for love and peace;
Which is for sure
be stated— please.
I’m glad to
meet it in your eyes
But trace of
passion that oft lies.
0003
E ‘l pentersi, e ‘l conoscer chiaramente
Che quanto piace al mondo e breve sogno.
Petrarch. Sonnet II.
I love to be
alone- I love to know
That it is privileged
the stage of show
Where are my
thoughts which I don’t want to share;
For only
solitude I have to care.
My bosom is not
flower to be sniffed
By anyone, for
loneliness I lived,
Nonplussed and
baffled by society
I hold my inner
world alive and free.
0004
The life is lot
to get from here
Along the obstacles of path
That makes from
sinner the martyr,
And never well-disposed to us.
And so, the man
or woman, go!
As strong as it's allowed by heart.
In God is our the hope. We know—
The aim is crown that multi-starred
That wait to decorate our brow
Among the glorious passers-by.
So let our
reason put us now
Afar from ubiquitous lie
That tells as
has told: ‘Throw away
The hardship of Commandments quick!
And get along
yet day by day
For heart can never pray and sing.’
0005
Too much of
that get-rich-quick schemes
I changed in
mind, so always screams
My intellect, if just approach
The new ones, there will be reproach
To that example
of the fortune
I never
fulfill, only torture
In depth of heart with ruthless flame
That bears no aspect and no name.
To be have-not
means feel well-off
Under surveillance from above.
0006
We heal our
poor souls with the word
That one which
holds us on the cord
Of Love, Devotion, Care and Dream.
These bonds are
easy to esteem,
And easy to
forget for sake
Of ever present Grief and Fake.
So let’s be
firm on blissful soil
Where our souls
fight Sin and Spoil.
0007 -- On the Death of My Goddaughter Mary.
My child is
dead. What’s all it worth?
With wind of
Death to shore of Hers
The newborn
soul now had departed.
Life’s ended
when it only started.
I don’t like
cry, but tears roll—
For yesterday
my treasure stole.
My Mary left us
all for good;
‘Tis something to me just to brood
On mores,
years, people, fates—
They’re
Fortune’s independent mates
Of now-a-days that rule unfair
In life and death, in tears and prayer.
0008
Long life to
faithful slaves of God!
The way they
tread or even trod
I’m to observe
in hopes and dreams
But all
infirmities and whims
Which do
pertain to frame of mind
That's one of
mine, that's one unkind.
I like the
straightness of the men
But being weak
and falling then
I only want the
change in me
That never was,
but has to be.
0001
“For bless my beard they aye shall be
My beloved Trinity.”
Women, Wine And Snuff.
John Keats.
Beer, pretty
girl and rock’n’roll-
The modern trinity of all.
I’d like to say
that modern reason
To cause divine
is kind of treason.
We build the
houses, smoke the cigars
And always out
of our figures.
We like the
football. MasterCard
Will pay for us
where lacks the heart.
0002
I’m born to
sing, to entertain
The shade of thought, the touch of pain.
Mon Dieu! I’ve nearly forgotten
To bless the
day I’d been begotten.
The spare air
on the lyre of mine
Will teach you
lesson- Life is fine!
But burden of
the years passed
Will knife me
for my sins at last!
0003
Here come the
God and sweetest tune
To rule my life and rather soon.
I like the air
of mystery
Of David’s lyre the sage and free.
Come! Come the inspiration! Heaven
To give me sign to be regiven.
It’s sign of
love- the last or lost-
The love to love at any cost.
0004
I like the
music of my heart.
It’s not the
cant of wholesome tart
Of pitty age. It’s just confession
In every likeable transgression.
My love is God!
My God is Love!
Forevermore is
not enough!
I’m stupid like
your comic-strip
And years come
will say me 'R.I.P.'
0005
So! So! I have
no time to cry
Though I have
anything of why.
Somewhere in
future dead and cold
I’ll go to
Judgment Heav’ns hold.
And there the
hearty word of truth
Will make me
smile afar of blues.
O, Reason!
Reason - never mind
To be to poor and good and kind.
0006
I love Saint
Icons. Our Lady
And Her Son
Jesus make me heady
Or nearly so,
when I can see
The mercy and to say “Merci!”
God save my
soul! It needs salvation
Since moment of
the my creation.
I’d like to beg
The Heav’nly Father
To have after this life another.
0007
My God! I’m
sinner. What it is
To have this
rot in underneath
Where I’m
writing Thee this letter
With tricky rhymes, with strict the mètre.
I hope Thou
read it to Thy Son,
As earthly Who’s as heav’nly born.
I pray Thee let
Him save my soul.
It’s all I
need. I need that all.
0008
Lo!- dear. O! look at Earth on map!
It’s miracle or
shy mishap?
The people
saints are, or the sinners?
The losers all? Or all the winners?
Who knows? The
God if He exists?
He does!- my mortal frame insists!
So why the verse? So why the rhymes?
The Time will show!
It nearly chimes!
0009
Take sword, my
son!- and praise the God!
No
fluctuations! Hit the road!
The sky will
open to discover
That Time is up
and Game is over!
Don’t worship
Sun! Don’t worship Moon!
Thy day is near
and to be soon!
Lift thought
about in prayer where
The all is
silence! God is fair.
0001
Song is long. To cut it short
Say the same
and only word-
‘Passions!’ Noble or obscure-
Ones to bear and to endure.
I had burnt too
much to feel
Anything as clean as real.
Busted at the
every turn
Of my life I
ceased to burn.
0002
My days- that
worthy and unworthy-
Scud now away.
I’m not that tossy
Just to pretend I’m not the man
Who has made
errors now and then.
Getting wiser
with the years
I forgot about
the fears.
I admit that
death is scary
But, my dear, not too very.
0003
Church is only
place where heart
Feels eternity. Apart
Of my previous
gloom and doom
I am luckier.
And whom
I’m to praise
but God of mine.
I just wanted
drop the line
On the subject
of the fate-
Happiness is
rare date.
0004
Hallmark
serials and coffee
It’s to-day my only trophy.
Locked from
world with my TV
New ascetics I
decree.
No more news,
no VH1,
No commercials
and fun.
Childish movies
is enough-
All another’s
pretty tough.
0005
Bright future ev’n if it exists
Does not me hasten to enlist
To roll of fame in all my glory.
I’ll be
forgotten. Readers!- sorry.
My verse too
light to entertain
Though any part of any brain.
So when I’ll
die just drop my books.
I will be spookiest
of spooks.
0006
No waste of
time to live along
The age of ours. It’s like song.
You sing it- so
you have a clue
To know how
every dream comes true.
If you broke
silent- you are off
From all the happiness and love.
So tune your
lute and strike the chord-
And you will be
in better world.
0007
What way-way
way to have the way
I did learn but
yesterday.
When you way-way
out of way
The position’s
not OK.
Look and see
the way is near-
Stupid
laughter, honest tear
Will provide
you with direction-
Be the human,
take the action.
0008 -- My Will To My Daughter.
Dearie child, you’ll read this verse
Till the end of universe.
Listen fatherly
advice.
Love the truth
and say no lies.
Love the priest
who feeds the poor.
Love the shy
and the demure.
Love the fool
and love the wise.
Love your Lord-
He’s Jesus Christ.
10th of May, 2006. Moscow.
0001
My Lord, my
God, my Judgment come.
I waited years
just to say-
‘I love Thee!
Though I have to pay
For sins I did.
Now I’m back home,
The pilgrim of
no way, no use
I ploughed the
roads those near or far.
The name of
Jesus was my star.
The ways of
world was all my blues.
0002
My heart to plead my guilt again.
Sin is
distortion of the mind.
It charges the
mortal with disdain
Of every prospect, every kind.
I drew the line
on thoughts of mine
Which claimed to manage on their own.
Now I’m
forgotten and alone
In fits of moods, in run of time.
0003
I was the man
when time did come-
I had my wife
and child and money.
I drank this epoch
as a honey
To get the juicy one on bum.
I soon get
crazy, undevote
To anything but God and truth.
So buzzed away
my golden youth
Without even the afterthought.
0004
The passions
come to us to daunt.
They are to
hide, they are to flaunt.
We hate them,
call them, treat them, bust them.
But after all
we cannot trust them.
The family, the
loneliness
Are different
the games of chess.
We often
sacrifice the pawn
When going to
drive win home.
0005
My age is 35
this day.
The death is question
of decay.
The love is
question to survive
In future blessing, endless life.
I’ve seen the earth, I’ve seen the skies,
I’ve heard the
truth, I’ve heard the lies.
When day will
come and I will die
I hope to come
to live on high.
0006 -- To my daughter Mary.
My child, if
only you’ll forget
My foolishness
in saintest goodness.
I’ll abandon
all my aloofness
And we will
meet. Then to be said
That you’re my
blood beloved and pure,
That you’re my
dream of life eternal,
That you’re the
blessing my paternal,
That you’re my
pain I cannot cure.
0007
Hills are
silent, sun is down.
Night’s above
in starry gown.
Birds are
sleeping, wind is going
Through the trees in tender blowing.
Earth is moveless, moon above
Shedding light
on the behalf
Of the day devoid of dreams.
Darkness all around swims.
0008
My word is
final- I love God.
He’s miracle,
He built creation.
With Him my future and the lot.
His kingdom’s
final destination
For whole my life. In light of His
I will receive
His final will.
What’s God of mine?
And who He is?
The One beyond the word and feel.
2006.
0001
No way to help
me with a booze.
I’m gentleman
but out of use.
I’ve spent the
years on tobacco,
On wine from Frenchman or from dago.
I loved and hated,
dreamt and lived,
I cried and
prayed, and swore, and grieved,
And now I’m
honest to my God,
Know when, and
why, and how, and what.
0002
Wake up, my
soul!- ye pilgrim shrewd!
Put up the
fight against the feud
Of sin and sorrow, wrath and lie.
You’ll never
loose, you’ll never die.
And time will
go, and tomb will come,
But you’re to
live, my pretty chum.
We’ll win- The
God set honest rules
For rich and poor, for wise and fools.
0003
Leave me alone.
I want to cry
And touch my
lute. I don’t know why
But fingers longing for the strings.
They are my
voice, they are my wings.
I’m rare bird,
to be poetic
It’s partly
stupid and prophetic.
I don’t know
which of that in me.
The song will
show! The Heav’n will see!
0004
I wrote, burnt
all old stuff, and wrote.
My friend, I’m
perfect don’t-know-what.
The melodies of
rhythms and rhymes
Fly from my
heart and all are crimes
By laws of now-a-days and on.
Fame is
capricious on her throne
Built on the bones of glorious past.
Let’s sing her reign,
and do it fast.
0005
Christ will
come to judge our sins.
Love declares
its rules and wins.
What to be said
then for my part
By My Dear Lord? Thought gave me start.
But I hope! For what? For grace.
All my age was
fault and craze.
Only power of Supreme
Can absolve my every sin.
0006
I’m ill with
song. I dare to say
I’m burning
over as dry hay.
The fire from
Heavens pierced my frame
And my absurdly
morbid shame
Did give in to the word from high.
I cannot sing, I cannot lie.
My heart is
lyre that full of truth,
My soul is
shaky, mind is loose.
0007
I beg your
pardon, beg your pardon.
Your eyes ablaze with tender stardom.
Be careful-
love’s so ferocious
And often knock
us out of conscience.
Be careful- but
trust yourself!
Do have insight
in soul to delve
For gift that
suits the sacrifice
On altar of the Truth of Christ.
0008
I’m goofy chap-
no more, no less.
It’s damn of
mine that came to bless.
I see the world
through rosy fog
Of foolish dreams. And like a rock
That stands the
storm of open sea
I stand the
life. And so would be
One day I’ll
wake among the saints
And soul be free of all the stains.
0009
My verse and
lute will have their end.
And both began
with good intent.
Now I pretend
to be the poet-
The pose not
always be right-ho-ed.
The poetry will
never die,
With angels it
will ever fly
In New Jerusalem in skies.
The poetry’s not thing that dies.
0010
I sit in
church. Five women sing.
All is calmness
on the wing.
Once in a week
I hear their song
To be not one,
to be among
The people who believe in God.
It’s
unconceivable the thought
To understand
the gist of faith,
But lovely one,
the one that dares.
0011
Don’t blame me
on my shabby rhymes.
They come in
harmony sometimes.
More often they
are just a word
Not to be read,
nor to be heard.
To piece
together thought and feeling
It’s like a
labor of birth-giving.
The baby all of
a sudden cries
Just to begin
its way to skies.
0012
It’s morning. Time to rise and shine.
It’s Sunday
morning all divine.
I’m toiling on
the book of verses
Not for the
money, not for service
To anybody’s fun or crack.
Words come and
go, and then come back.
The poetry is
art of love
To one beside,
to One above.
0013
Wine has its taste, tear has its run,
Man has his
woman, earth its sun.
I have my poetry
and reader
Has something
stupid to consider.
Some say ‘It’s
good.’ Some say ‘It’s bad.’
And so enough there will be said.
And finally
I’ll meet my God.
What will He say- no word or lot?
0014
My dearie child, don’t scorn the father.
I was unhappy man-
o, rather!
You’ll hear the
plenty of the lies
On my account. So be nice.
Don’t trust to
hatred full of wrath.
Don’t trust to
oily sainted gloss.
I hope you’ll
be content with story
About my life. So I don’t worry.
May 7th, 2006. Moscow.
0001
Insight in the
hell is a damn.
Insight in the
Heaven is blessing.
Stop preaching
the business and messing,
Please get in
the clear, like was dreamt.
I hope I’m not
much Nosey Parker
In hearts of my nearest ones.
The life is
exceptional chance
To see light when it’s getting darker.
0002
I’m dark in
heart, I’m light in mind.
We move to
Doomsday side by side
Just to obtain
through Godly law
What planted was the years ago.
It’s
thoroughbred of fault and love,
Not rather too
much pleasant stuff,
That gonna kill us one a day
And no one will
have much to say.
0003
Lock your soul
in the chest
For all convenient and best.
Lock your
reason in the head
Not to hurt the
quick and dead.
Lock your
feeling in the heart
It’s your trump
and only card.
Lock your life
in modest thought
You are not what you are not.
0004
I’m bred of
people e’er content
To spend that
much they could to spend.
They were the
officers in army-
No vapid sorts,
not that the barmy.
They hated,
loved, and fought, and died
When could not
hate, and love, and fight.
Now I’m alone.
They all are gone.
I’m next to go.
I’m their son.
0005
Big times when
rhyme was worthy thing
Had buzzed away at fullest swing.
To-day the
rhyme is just old game
That cannot
help to win the fame.
It’s hallmark of be not aware
Of now-a-days
and be not there.
I’m rhyming poet nonetheless
And oft was
damned when hoped for bless.
22nd January, 2005 Moscow (Russia).
0001
I was the
MasterCard-less man
In age of
plastic credit
But finally I
get it
And now I much
more can.
Here are no Ads
in rhyming-
I know I have
to pay
For credit, not
to say
That credit is but dying.
0002
I wish I’d
master peace of mind
Which is responsible for sadness.
I wish I would
forget the madness.
So Heav’nly blessing I to find.
It’s love for
every fellow being.
It’s will to live and will to bless
All those who hurt me. I confess
That nothing like was in beginning.
0003
My tummy’s not
the child of beer.
It raised on neuroleptics.
And if your
mind is skeptic
Do test my
breath, my sir!
It smells of
milk and honey.
It smells of
lonely home.
And you will
say “Bon homme!”
And you will
think “Good sonny.”
0004
I hope for best
when fight to write.
I wait for
worst when get to read.
This book is
not the child of greed
For fame and gold, nor claim of might.
Almighty Word, The Son of God
Had come to us
to teach
The rules and
pleasures of the speech,
To save us from the rot.
0005
My gov is dot God not the other-
The prayers
have own Internet
Where runs thru
the years things been said
With Jesus, and Mary, and Father.
I was little
boy when connection I found.
I plugged all
my soul to saint glory.
So now I have
nothing to worry-
I’ve happiest
life all around.
0006
Scott said “So
down with British rule!
Of these PMs
I’m tired.
I love my
freedom hot and cool-
The one to be admired.
Globalization’s
bliss, my foot!
The Island’s
full of rockets!
Excisemen rob the pockets
And buzz away
with loot!”
0007
I have no time
to sing my song
So I’m to cut
her short.
Kind Microsoft
did give me Word
To spell my words along.
The typo can
kill gist of zeal,
The grain of
inspiration,
And murky
intimation
Is not the tune
to feel.
12th of April, 2007. Moscow.
0001 --The Letter of Damnation To Antichrist
You’re damned,
and damn, all over damn.
You won’t be
happy. So what then?
To cry in
blasphemy and sin;
And you will be
what would have been.
You’re not the
God, nor Son of God.
You’re ailing
weakling and the sod.
Flame waits you
in the shortest time.
I’m not the yours, you’re not the mine.
18th of March, 2008.
0002
Last time I
cried when did suppose
What am, what will be and what was.
Last time I
cried and omen came
That all the one and all the same.
The baby, man
and elder are
Three bodies of
one soul so far.
And moral of
this poem short
Is that I know
what, what and what.
18th of March, 2008.
0003
I love to pray,
the Book of Psalms
Is inspiration mine. I’ll come
To Heaven on a
one a day
To have Eternity to pray.
I’ll sing with angels
and the saints
In glory ever. David deigns
To such poor
stupid like I am
And he is
blessing all of them.
18th of March, 2008.
0004
My mother’s
kind, I’m sort of bore
Ungrateful one to say no more.
I love her, she
is only treasure
I have on Earth
in human measure.
But unobedient to core
I’m brute
indoor and outdoor.
The Judgment
come will show my sin
Though even nowadays it’s seen.
18th of March, 2008.
0005
My simple
poetry to live
In simple
hearts, in simple reasons,
In simple climes,
in simple seasons,
In simple way and with no strife.
The simplitude for me is blessing.
All complicated
things I leave
With no
disdain, no pain, no grief,
And with no shame in it confessing.
19th of March, 2008.
0006
The quiet
wisdom is all for
The quiet life, the quiet love.
But you won’t
hide in holy grove
From warlike
struggle and the chore
Of worldly
movement and consent
To be the one
in sin and glory
That is about
to be more gory
Than all the previous ones in end.
20th of March, 2008.
0007
My love is God.
It’s chaste and free,
Illustrious and much rewarding.
And if to find
the perfect wording-
It’s Holy
Trinity of three-
First’s
knowledge of the Holy Writ,
The second’s
word of saint accord,
The third is
blessing of the Lord
To be the one of Holy Wit.
20th of March, 2008.
0008
Now I’m to
finish new my book.
The poetry is
aye short run,
But aye it
shines like summer sun,
But aye it’s
clear like summer brook.
It’s hot and
sweet like Russian tea
That served was
at the five o’clock.
Now book is
ended and to walk
Over the land and over sea.
20th of March, 2008.
0001
Atonement of any my transgression
Is in the prayer. It’s a fire comes from Heavens
And holding all of me alive through years.
And when I die I will be held
In flames not of the hell but of paradise
To glorify The God, Saint Mary,
The prophets, and the saints in Temple
On High and blessing all I love.
0002
My age is rare evidence of weakness
In poet that is to pursue
The misery and vanity of glory
To know just only jokes
From those who never sing
In inspiration and are never to pursue
The misery and vanity of glory
To hear just only jokes…
0003
I love to hear song of spring
And whispering of old the autumn,
The wail of winter, and the summer’s storm.
The melodies of earth remind me
The Hymns of Heavens
Where the angels and the saints
Live in glory that eternal
Which is psalm from book to read
When I’ll be one of them.
0004
I’m only Christian – good or worst
I don’t know. But I know for sure
That it’s a gift from High –
From Godly Heaven –
From Mother of Lord Jesus Christ –
The gift to bear like sweetest burden
Of all are possible on Earth and there on High.
It’s Gift of Life and Love and Chastity of Heart.
0005
I sang minority of God;
I sang The Christians – glorious tribe.
And song was pure and words were mercy.
I preached The Gospel in The Church
To babes and sucklings, and
to lepers.
And wisdom came as fire from Heavens
And burnt my sins and warmed my heart.
I’m not the prophet but the madman.
0006
In Heaven angel sings of Love
Among the blacks and whites and others.
And hermit did cry on the earth
When heard this song.
Because its words were wonder
Of the Life and Blessing.
And hermit said to angel then
“When Christ will come we’ll sing together.”
0007
My soul is sinful, I am sinner.
My ways are dark, my mind is dim,
But when I sing I watch the Heavens
In heart of mine by spiritual eyes.
These eyes can see the mysteries of God,
The words of prayer of angels’ language,
The light of Love, and Life, and Truth, and Wisdom.
These are much clear the moment when I cry.
0008
I wait the frightful hour when I die.
The devil and the angel then will come
To fight for right on me,
To hold me in their hands.
And angel will be winner in the combat
For right on me. And we will go on High
To Christ and Mary, Saints and Father.
And there will be the table, bread and wine.
0009
I loved and hated, hoped and was dismayed.
I bear the Cross among the beasts and people.
I saw the wonders, treasons, prophets and the death.
I’ve read in Holy Scripture explanations
Of all and all – and these are words of Truth.
Truth personally which is Jesus Christ,
The son of God and God Himself.
In resurrection I’ll be by His feet and singing.
0010
My melodies are not ingenious.
I sing the rivers and the hills,
The heroes of the past, ancestors,
The Bible, angels, prophets, kings,
The Holy Trinity of God.
And song of mine goes on and on –
It’s song of glory never-ending.
0011
The Christians know that Church will never die –
Lord Jesus Christ proclaimed it in the Gospel.
And troubles are to come, and darkness to descend,
But we will be the One with God.
And final battle is to show our courage,
And we will be the One eternally. Communion Holy
United us in Blood and Flesh of God.
0012
America – it means Beloved.
It’s in old Spanish dialect, you know.
But who loves her? The Christ? Or Devil?
What’s answer to be? By the way
Of shedding the innocent blood
She came in power –
And that is awful harvest of this job.
America! – Thou cryest for peace. But what to come?
0013
Strict dress code of Washington,
And light fancy of L.A.
What is better? Years gone
Have the answer for this day:
“Look and see! Be proper man,
Or the woman, or the girl.
Tastes are different in all –
Go according purpose then!”
0014 The Prayer.
Angel, angel, angel my!
Sing me saintest lullaby!
That’s about Saint Mary, God,
Gospel four,
and Christ – The Lord.
Angel, angel, angel my!
Sing me saintest lullaby!
That’s about all saints, and
kings.
That’s like psalm that David
sings.
0015 Ode on
Saint Nicolas.
I have defender on the Heaven.
His name Saint Nicolas, he’s given
In nightly dream his blessing me
To sing the Kingdom come and be.
Whole planet calls him Santa Claus
And asks for gift. I’m at a loss
How Heathens, Muslims, Jews believe
In Christian saint in Joy and Grief.
0016 To Rev. John Waddington-Feather.
You’re friend of poetry alive
Who dares to sing his own song.
The years will pass. Yet there’s strife
With devil, with ungodly folks.
But, Christian, go! The plume’s your sword.
With Word of God does live your word
In rhymes, and metre, and
the talks.
0017 Ode on
Saint Icon of Mather of God of Vladimir.
Thou art the Mother of ye God.
Thou art on High, and angels sing
Thy glory taking on the wing
To help the people. There’s no thought,
No word, non psalm that can express
Thy love to God and to His Son.
Saint Mary, Thou art only One
Who can the love of God confess.
0018 To Ferris Jones.
Globalism is Anti-Christian.
Fight the Devil is your mission.
And be brave because you’ll see
Kingdom of the Saints and Free.
Free from sin, from veneration
Of polluted generation
Of the fiends in human shape
Who descended from the ape.
2008.
Poetic Case #1.
0001 -- Ode on The Saint Annunciation.
Saint Gabriel
did say to Mary –
“Thou art now Happy very-very!
Thou’ll be The Mother of The God.
Thou art Most
Saint. Though Grief a lot
Will touch Thy
Heart when Crucified
Will be Thy Son. And in Thy might
Will be to Save the ev’ry soul.
Be Blessed!!!
Be Blessed!! And that’s the all!”
6th of April, 2008.
0002 Ode Dedicated to Holy Memory of Sir P.G. Wodehouse.
I’m gay for
gaiety and joy
To save my soul
the Heav’ns employ.
I’m not the sod
for gaiety
Can live in heart that is sin-free.
So that’s the
Truth – I’m Christian Gay
In Easter,
Christmas and to say
That God is
joyless that’s the lie
And I will
prove it when I die.
6th of
April, 2008.
0003
Avent donc que d’écrire apprenez à penser.
L’Art d’écrire.
Boileau (1636-1711)
Great Boileau was master of satire.
So tune to
laugh – o, ye my lyre!
And scourge the
blasphemy on earth –
You will be
worth of better worth.
So mock the
heroes of the age
When devil does come forth on stage.
And teach your
string to ancient air –
That’s Good for God, for people’s fair.
6th of April, 2008.
0004 Ode on Emily Dickinson.
Wonder upon wonder
Will arrive to me.
Emily Dickenson.
Her first word was
the ‘Fire’ –
The Heav’nly-borne.
She was
American, the female,
The spinster in
the white the dress,
She locked her
room when writing.
Poetessa! She knew her inspiration by the name,
And that the
name was “Heaven”. Now
When reading her
short poems I am praying.
6th of April, 2008.
0005
The Christ is
superior to any my thought.
I’m blighter in
vanity, He is The God.
The slavery
saint to His might is my choice
And hence is my
song, and hence is my voice.
The Teacher of
teachers, The Savior and Lord! –
From Word of
Thy Wisdom is drawn my word.
I’m weak, and
blasphemous, unworthy and mad
But in Thy
Saint Church united we stand.
6th of April, 2008.
0006
“Globalists, hands off the world!”
Jotted down
little girl,
Sent to president
of States
Hoping for the better fates.
Mother came and
baked the cake,
Girl then asked
– “For goodness sake,
Say me why are
men so evil?
And they jokes
that woman’s devil.”
7th of
April, 2008.
0007
Quick sparrow
and ferocious eagle
Are Heav’nly birds. And in the middle
Between the
earth and the blue sky
They lead their
life. And when I die
On tomb of mine
will coo the doves
In honest
feeling, one that loves
Without
possession and regret
When free and when in hunter’s net.
7th of
April, 2008.
0008
I’m mad as
hatter with one difference – I’m writer.
So, mad as
writer I am to live in dreams.
Not plausible
solution. But why it is not way
For living in
the age of plastic cash,
And all the blasphemies plug-ugly.
I’m mad as
writer who is Christian and
I write about
The Church, about the angels
Of Mercy and of Poetry to come.
7th of
April, 2008.
0009
Everyone who
lives in Church
Bears in heart The Christ - The Torch.
Light to world
of mostly dark
Is existing! Lo and Hark!
We’re The One in
prayer of
Everlife and Everlove.
Who is with us?
Who is not?
Christ will
come! He’s our God!
9th of April, 2008.
0010 Ode on Royal English.
I love The English of The God.
My books are taken from The Bible.
So Royal English in its lot
Of Royalty of earthly tribe all.
Last rhyme’s from classic of the song.
Lord Byron taught me one a freedom
That’s everywhere solemn wisdom
That Christian is, there’s nothing wrong.
He died for liberty of Greece
Defending Church, but not in battle.
On bed of sickness he was mad all
By thinking how the Heav’n to please.
9th of April, 2008.
0011
Every man in the
chambers of imagery.
Ezekiel
8:12.I
Without let and hindrance I go to poem new.
And, Reader! – what can stop me?
If there is belief in True God
Nothing will dare shy me out.
My lute is chaste and so has every way
Declared on it by Gospel.
I strike the accord. Earthly melody
Goes to Heaven’s Sanctuary.
9th of April, 2008.
0012
My verse is little too Byronic,
Though I’m no lord, nor macoronic.
I love the poetry as is.
It’s only way the Heav’n to please.
The poetry of prayers, fasting,
Saint Icons, life the everlasting.
The Poet first is Christ The Lord,
The Holy God of Holy Word.
9th of April, 2008.
0013 Prayer to King David, The Psalm-Singer.
Who is not from David- is not Cossack.
Ancient Cossacks’ Proverb.
O, David! – father of my ancestry
By male line –
I’m certainly Thy son.
And song of
mine to carry on
Thy Glory over land and sea.
Please, help
me! Bless me from the Heav’n!
I’m lone, I’m
poor, I’m mad but Thine.
Saint blood
comes to me in the line
By God created, bless’t and giv’n.
9th of April, 2008.
To Be Continued.
In Christ We Win,
Sergey Streltsov.