Monday, June 1, 2020



Not Enough

Poor guy, you're blооdy rich;
Even Forbes doesn't know how much!
One may dream of your fortune, which
You take every chance to enlarge.

New technologies, oil and gas,
Modern weapons, and maybe drugs –
Many ways to achieve success,
Many efforts to top the slugs.

You were taught from the early years
To despise them, the vulgar herd.
Take the best from the world! No shares!
It's for trade, not for breaking bread.

And to please your exclusiveness
Simple kindness is not enough.
Although, if you can't buy some love,
You can certainly pay for sex.

You believe in the power of gold.
You believe, it's your joker card.
So you've stamped the name of God
On your monies, not in your heart.

Never tired of being a slave
Of your endless excessive claims
You look serious as a grave,
Feeling tired of something else.

Go to bed, which is pure down!
But somehow it can't give a rest.
Will you order another one?
You've got twenty of them, no less.

Sleeping pills, worth their weight in gold,
Make you dream of a poor girl
Dying slow of hunger and cold
On the other side of the Wall…

Sirens wailed around the block.
What is sinking inside your chest?
It's your heart like a lagging clock.
It's your Death, unexpected guest.

We are peers in His lethal clutch,
And your power was a bluff.
Immortality is too much –
All your money is not enough.

Never mind, if you missed it:
Nothing worthy of bitter tears,
'Cause Eternity isn't sweet,
If there's no one to share it with.


A common photo
I stare at faces
The girl is sad and the boy is smiling
Some former date to betray the place of
That sudden meeting
It's all behind

I keep this moment, my priceless treasure
You won't recall it
I won't forget it
It's just your job, it's someone's pleasure
It's hell for me
A chance rejected

Perhaps my dream is a kind of fiction
My fallen star
And I'm getting older
And all I've got now is that your picture
With me
Forever behind your shoulder

Time Is Running

Here is my house, pretty high,
My flat under the roof.
Here is my neighbour Mr. Time
Who always needs to move.
While I'm opening my eyes,
He's ready for a run.
The sun has coloured the skies,
The morning has begun.

It's dark and cold or warm and light –
He leaves his own flat.
I see him heading to the right
And never to the left.
And when I'm going to my friends,
And when I'm coming home,
I meet him jogging in his pants
Towards me or along.

I watch him circling round and round
And round about the house.
His footsteps gently touch the ground
But never take a pause.
He doesn't yawn, he doesn't fall,
He's not set up to fail.
Still I'm just waiting for your call
Or letter, or email.

Well, maybe I should not forget
What life is all about.
The clock has stopped inside my flat
For Mr. Time is out.


GALINA ITALYANSKAYA, 42 y.o., born in the USSR in a small northern town, now living in Russia with her children and working as an English teacher. Since the early childhood she’s been in love with nature: dense forests, rivers and lakes, mountains and seas. Actually, its beauty surrounds her all her life. She has travelled a lot, and it is always a source of inspiration. Her other interests are photography and art. She loves to draw pictures, and she hardly can imagine going on a trip or just for a walk without a camera. Galina has written poetry since her school years. About 10 years ago she composed her first poem in English, inspired by her friend from abroad. And thanks to poetry, she’s found many good friends all over the world. In 2015 she joined “Poets Unite Worldwide” group, and some of her poems were published in their anthologies.

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