Time and love. The novel in verse. George Pospelow

Time and love. The novel in verse - George Pospelow


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the heart starts singing

      the mind lapses into silence.

      A duet is utterly uncommon.

      g. An ever-living counselor

      Genuine love blessings

      give prudent suggestions.

      Half-year monsoons

      Daily raging monsoons

      shred everything to pieces,

      or change the mood and play,

      making us fall asleep.

      It’s either dashing of ghosts

      in C-Sharp Major, Presto,

      or dispersion of Heaven Adagio

      by the lightweight among them.

      Also, driving us to houses

      for weeks and showing scum,

      or, as a brake, viewing

      tons of mercy and devotion.

      Half-year weather is theirs —

      endure, and take it as is.

      They, call them or not,

      disappear the second half-year.

      The eternal greens necklace

      Here comes a green summer,

      in the North I would say.

      In Goa, though, summer

      is always a Heavenly hall,

      a riot of greenery around,

      the emerald with the monsoon.

      The regal pond is in front,

      proud of the necklace, shines.

      Poison potion of greens

      was already born green,

      no mix of yellow and blue,

      the unfading dream for the eyes.

      A lizard lives in the house

      A tiny wonder lizard —

      a moment, and whisk in the hole —

      quietly lives in the house,

      rarely seems to be peering.

      Why wonder? Her mission is

      to bring happiness at home,

      following grandfather’s order

      troubles and sadness to chase.

      She is free: summer

      or winter, windows are open,

      happily married now —

      kids are running in the dark.

      They freeze and gaze,

      as their mother, aslant,

      not at all afraid of threats,

      in the kitchen, their fee ingrown.

      Momentum on the bend

      Stay on the bend

      a bit from the abyss.

      The path is not

      to blame, no one.

      The devils of loss —

      all and sundry —

      are built in a row.

      One, two —

      you’re in Hell.

      Smell the clue,

      overtaking the zipper.

      Mistake – you’re

      hush forever.

      Hold on…

      reach out…

      freedom…

      Luck…

      I’m cheerful!!!

      Just once, time to trivialize me

      Having overcome my

      faults, I look out for the ways.

      Blizzard old-or-young,

      be away from false fates,

      friends – court dogs,

      enemies and foes.

      Dare, think – simplify,

      complicate – don’t back down.

      Get my wish to work,

      action – no words.

      Despite hostile bacteria,

      heal quickly and conquer.

      Don’t be arrogant, blatant —

      just be fair-and-square.

      Once I did it, sorry.

      A temporary hitch

      Today, seconds are hissing

      on us, scolding us for mistakes.

      Reciprocity, the queen of love,

      echoing them, mopes, too.

      The moment of farewell with the friend

      When energy is gone,

      life overturns unjustly

      and seems entirely vain,

      when your friend betrays

      even if you were close,

      a lump of trouble falls

      as a heart-rending howl,

      you can’t find with fire

      a sip of healing water,

      and the raven spins, then

      hold on, don’t lose your heart.

      You better call me then.

      A dog’s life

      1. The second of a dog’s freedom

      The dog passion swirls,

      a circle after circle

      luck of the minute’s will

      angers rapid shoot.

      Finally, out of the house,

      feelings and flesh are delighted,

      again, in circles, in circles.

      Rejoice, dog Lord.

      Be happy, dog’s joy,

      fun, never much of them,

      exalt, round and round,

      dog, forget your trouble.

      The girl, thin as well,

      can’t bring pride down.

      She laughs and rumbles:

      well, who wins?

      The dog can’t stop.

      Revelry lasts a minute.

      The beast in circles, in circles

      spun a cheerful will.

      2. The last second

      An Airedale terrier. Not a year.

      By pedigree, a princess.

      For bite and gait, a prize

      would have been hers.

      Its


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