Monday, 14 November 2011

Leninists

Rickshaw brothers swoop
from tree to tree
in pursuit of an answer.

Humble loveless urchins
cowered in paddock
weeping into their borscht.

No hope in Cossack wife
she drowned the burden
when the moon surrendered.

Sorrowful shot man
minced sons for the
dignity of discipline.
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6 comments:

  1. thepoetsjacket15 November 2011 at 12:39

    Great depth to your poem and enjoy reading it.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I Must Be Off15 November 2011 at 18:55

    A clutch of characters here at different levels of being. I love the sound of "minced sons for the / dignity of discipline.

    ReplyDelete
  3. M.J. Nicholls15 November 2011 at 19:50

    This is old Mikhail poem. My fellow ex-Urbisites! Danka!

    ReplyDelete
  4. The Looney Writer15 November 2011 at 21:04

    Raskolnikov murders the old pawnbroker woman, and her sister.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Poetrice de la Intellectualité23 November 2011 at 09:44

    You are
    abnormally
    fond of
    urchins.

    I
    like
    that.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Replacement Windows Iowa City24 July 2022 at 18:36

    Thiss is awesome

    ReplyDelete

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