My own verse.
This verse is about the shortcomings of the new style of communication, noticeable especially in colleges, which is devoid of argument, debate, and excitement, and full of unchallenged falsehoods, entitlement, and apathy of most.
This is the essence of my semi-addiction to caffeinated drinks, started when I was 13, that helped me at times to filter out difficult aspects of my reality for a high price.
This is a reflection on the days in LA with a group of artists, when we walked a lot on homelessness-damaged streets, saw many museum exhibits, and visited commercial galleries, also planning for the next trip to the desert.
This poem is dedicated to my teen family of Donetsk. These kids of the neighborhood took care of me during days in the first year of my life, and then I spent almost all Summers with them from age six to eighteen. Most of them were about ten years older than me, but I perceived them as my best company.
A state of mind of a plant-grower during a drought, thinking how desperate prehistoric gatherers, orcharders, and people transitioning to agriculture might have felt.
This poem is about areas of Ukraine that were liberated from RF contract army and soldier of fortune, some Russian from prisons. I wrote it after a studying a detailed report about treatment of civilian population in the currently still occupied Kherson region, already knowing a lot about war crimes in Bucha, Irpen, and other Ukrainian towns and villages.
Don't die, stay longer, little one,
expand your root and wait with blossom!
From folding pattern of experience
with scaling lateral convenience
I fall through urgency and rage
Into aggression of my age:
New class, sixteen,
up-fashioned, lemon-clean.
