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"Love" By: Anna Akhamtova

Любовь

То змейкой, свернувшись клубком,
У самого сердца колдует,
То целые дни голубком
На белом окошке воркует,

То в инее ярком блеснёт,
Почудится в дреме левкоя...
Но верно и тайно ведёт
От радости и от покоя.

Умеет так сладко рыдать
В молитве тоскующей скрипки,
И страшно её угадать
В ещё незнакомой улыбке.

(Translation)

Love

First, as a serpent, it’ll cast its spell
Next to your heart, curled up.
Then, it’ll come as a dove, as well,
Cooing for days, nonstop.

In the frost, it’ll show itself curtly,
Or in the drowsing field of carnations…
To escort you covertly and firmly
Away from all rest and elation.

In the prayer of a violin yearning,
So sweetly, it’ll sob for a while,
And how frightening it is to discern it
In a yet unfamiliar smile.

Translated by: Andrey Kneller
I do not own this writing nor do I claim to own this writing. This is a poem from another one of my favorite Russian poets if you haven't guessed her name is Anna Akhamtova. I did not translate this poem into English so sorry if the translation is off. But I love how she used her words to show how love is. Sorry that I keep saying the name of the original author but I just don't want to take credit for something that isn't mine.
Kon Grin Sep 2017
Like a sailor's eye locating fire
Flashing out timid winks on the horizon,
Younger heart of mine undresses ire
Pointing out words of ours sounding wiser.

Tis the milestone, a destination,
Tis a spot my soul have longed forlong.
Spare the rudimentary damnation
Friends and heart of mine would love to gamble strong.

Ровно как моряк пронзает
Взглядом трепет огонька на горизонте,
Моё сердце дышит в свете
Свежей мудрости в словах и в ноте.

Это мерный столб
Точка карты, к коей шел давно.
Растопить бы слабый заурядный иней,
И отправить сердце и товарищей в поход.
MARK RIORDAN May 2017
JARED KUSHNER HAS A RUSSIAN CONNECTION
A SECRET COM CHANEL WAS SET UP
ARE THERE ACTUAL TIES TO RUSSIA
OR IS IT A STORM IN A TEA CUP


JARED IS THE SON IN LAW AND
A FAMILY MEMBER OF TRUMP
AND AN ADVISOR TO THE PRESIDENT
OR JUST A VERY SMALL STUMP


ONE THING IS FOR SURE THAT THE
FBI ENQUIRY WILL FIND OUT THE TRUTH
IF THERE IS A RUSSIAN CONNECTION
THE PRESIDENT WILL GET THE BOOT
IS THERE A RUSSIAN CONNECTION OR NOT. WE JUST DON'T KNOW LETS HOPE THIS CAN BE RESOLVED ASAP. THIS IS MY 99TH POEM ON THE TRUMP SAGA WOW I DON'T BELIEVE IT. THE TRUMP CHRONICLES IS GETTING CLOSE IT IS A MUST BUY.
MARK RIORDAN May 2017
TRUMPS THREAT TRUMPS ATTACK
HE IS DENOUNCING JAMES COMEY
THERE IS NOW NO TURNING BACK


WITH THREATENING WORDS
AND TERRIBLE TWEETS
TRUMP IS REALLY ABUSIVE
THERE IS NO RETREAT


IS TRUMP CAUGHT UP
IN THE RUSSIAN SCANDAL
GETTING RID OF COMEY
IS MUCH EASIER TO HANDLE
PRESIDENT TRUMP IS NOW CALLING MR COMEY A SHOW BOAT AND WE HAVE A LOT OF CONFLICTING INFORMATION.
She who stands there, he who leads,
Are One to which my praises plead.
I ask of you such great forgiveness,
Your face shines bright, your image livid.

Grey spots upon the Holy Moon,
Form your bust, to it I croon,
I ask again; whisper, pray and plead,
Show me a sign from sacred steed!

I toot my Gudi, crash the Gong,
And cry for Cheon-A-Ma-Chong;
I play my series in metered eights,
in line with movements of the greats.

I plot their paths in sky you see?
Your eight movements,
Eight hooves in cleats!
You breathe out the fire of the Sun,
Head held high at night as one,
The Zodiac your wings as such,
And planets, the hooves, a final touch.

Fires issue from your mouth,
Burn up the sea-water in the south…
Heavenly I hear your roaring,
and the fullness of your glory,
Your starry eyes the flux of sea;
as you swim the depths and round the tree.

Whose skull we hooked once I reminisce,
Terrible creature from the Abyss;
Oh Horse my love, construct of mind,
and she who gallops for all time,
...measures for the heaven’s seat,
Sets placement of all deities,
To you I fall upon my knees,
Hippolytian by decree,

Take me!

-take me to your Cosmic Sea!
Combining the Scandinavian, Chinese, Phoenician, Greek, Celtic and Hindu visions of the heavenly horse mythology. Each element of the celestial motions is included as part of the being.
Смерть не так уж далека. Мы прошли нашу дату смерти, не зная об этом. Тем не менее мы отмечаем наш день рождения каждый год.

Death is not so far away. We passed our date of death, not knowing about it. Nevertheless, we celebrate our birthday every year.
I am fluent in russain my english is okay but I write better in russain. The translation is below.
Her plan
with bantam
there shakes
subsequent arthritis
or foment
her albatross
when zion
mats superfluously
and poverty
now ungrateful
in their
Milwaukee suburbs
while her
ruby floss
allure in
her java
melts mine.
Law and/or lawyerly tone
Maggie Emmett Jun 2016
You were no Eve of Russian literature
like Pushkin’s precious Tatyana.
You were no young, innocent, provincial girl
seduced by cynical Onegin, that bon vivant
corrupted by modern European values.
You were no mysterious Russian soul
brimful of essential purity and self-sacrifice -
with a love of pain and pure disdain of happiness.

Tatyana resisted all temptation, refusing
to take flight, rejecting the man she loved.
She was too good to be true; but you, Anna
what a pickle you got yourself in, choosing ****** sin.
You could share an affair with dashing Vronsky
elope with him and leave behind your husband
abandon your beloved son, Alexei.

But these were not the dreadful choices
sealing your tragic fate, my dear Anna.
It was those ****** feelings you chased
all based on the sin of selfishness.
You fed on romance, passion and desire.
Your hot-hunger was insatiable, a fire
rip-roaring through restraint and all decorum
You sweated and panted wild for ******.

They say you’re a ‘drama queen’; heartless and mean
a woman undone by excess, always longing to undress
nakedly making grand errors of judgement.
By ignoring Tatyana’s fine example, you certainly forgot
there will always be those who tot up the ledger.
Your blood debt was owing, it had to be paid.

You saw the light at the end of the tunnel -
cool down, Anna, let the raw feelings subside
be watchful, wary and ever-ready to step aside
let the moments of  menace and gloom drain –
it might just be an oncoming train is due.

© M.L.Emmett 2016
Writing a series of poems about women in literature. Anna Karenina is the title character from  Tolstoy's great novel.
John F McCullagh May 2016
The snow was blowing among the trees. In large wet flakes it tumbled down.
My captain turned, as if to speak, but from his lips there came no sound.
A red rose bloomed there on his chest -staining dark the Wehrmacht grey.
I looked in horror as he pitched face forward to the ground.
“******” I yelled and ducked for cover. The copse of trees echoed the sound.

Somewhere out there he awaits; the Devil’s son, the cunning foe.
He’s stalked our party for three days yet leaves no footprints in the snow.
I served in France in Forty –one; before   these Russians were our foes.
I shiver but it’s not from fear; it’s just that we lack winter clothes.
I motion briskly with my right hand, I think the shooter must be there
my corporal nods and starts to move; perhaps he can outflank this man.

My soul is black for I’ve done some things;
  for which I once would have been ashamed.
I saw the Jewess try to shield her babe
as I placed them in a common grave.

This man out there, a warrior; he risks his life upon command.
He is clever, this one, he waits his chance.
Either its him or me that’s dammed.
The drifting snowflakes hide his breath.
But He’s still out there this I know.

My Captain lies still upon the earth
and is slowly covered by the snow.

We are soldiers who risk our lives.
We sacrifice for the Fatherland.
We dream of a woman and a warm bed
Never of Death’s cold clammy hand

My men cry out, the fox is flushed
The ****** has at last been found.

It’s true what they say of the bullet that kills you;
I never even heard the sound.
Trevor Blevins May 2016
Russian Duchess of Glory,
Chilling precision behind every turn,
And here I am cracking a joke because I can't even waltz.

Anna Pavlova,
Can you see yourself in the full scope of your beauty tonight?

Can we both stand to be witty,
Or find it easy to live past thirty?

Why is it always more elegant in the moonlight,
Regardless of the action,
From East Europe to the sad blue East Kentucky...

Have you once looked me in the eyes to judge how honest I've been in reading your history...

Oh, Anna Pavlova,
If you only knew that beauty would hold weight in modern reincarnation.
///
Still I wait for your autograph.

You who I dare to look upon through seldom borrowed books.

And if you pay regard at all,
To any of this, that is,

Then how much will you take hold of,

How long can you maintain your balance...

And are your pirouettes more acts of orbit

Or simply spinning out and away from me?
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