«The cult of personality is stained, / But after forty years, the cult / Of gray monotony and disdain / Persists like in the days of old Each coming day appears lackluster, / Until it’s truly hard to bear, / It brings but photographic clusters / Of pig-like and inhuman stares. The cul...»
«Three months ago, it all had started. / The early blizzards swept by, rushing / Over our fields and yards unguarded / With some unmanageable passion. I then made up my mind at once, / As though a hermit on vocation, / I’d write of winter and perchance, / I would complete my spring col...»
«Snowflakes glide, snowflakes glide. / Cranesbills’ flowers reach in swarms / To the white stars in the storm / Through the window sash, outside. Snowflakes glide, and all is muddled, / All is now beginning flight, / And the dark stairs with the cobbled / Crosswalk all begin to slide. ...»
«During the lengthy winter terms, / The equinoxes came to me: / Each day was peerless in its form / And each repeated endlessly. They came in sequence, bit by bit, / And slowly, started to add up — / Those rare and single days when it / Appears that time came to a stop. And now, each ...»