Sergey Streltsov.

The Confessions of a Christian. Book 4.


Saint Nick is friend of mariner,

The Santas friend of little children,

Saint Nickolas is ever present

In life of ours.

Everywhere hes our patron in disguise

Of many names, of many notions.

He loves us, and he blesses us.

And many happy brides can intimate

Their sudden fortune.


#2 To Baby Mary.

Saint Mary came to you from Heavn

When you were left by ruthless parents

At mercy of the fatum blind.

And She- Most Saint- invited you

To kingdom of forgotten orphans

And you consented to Her words,

And you found crown of your new glory

To help me and the other guys.



Saint George was famous in his age

Young warrior of highest rank.

He was martyred by Emperor

Who wanted him just to observe the cult

Of the servility and punished

All free and bold. Recriminations

Were so severe that Heaven cried

With rain and thunder of Begotten.



Mainstream of literature of now

Is fall in awkward miscreation

That marshals thoughts of fallen nation

And to impress the hand and brow.

The time is coming. Antichrist

Is to appear on stage in power

To shed the blood in awful shower

To rule in open and disguised.



My solitude is shared by God,

Im hermit in big city His.

I watch from window whats beneath

And from heart whats above. And what

I can to spot in jiffy my.

Life is to scud as feeble cloud

From East to West in pace unloud

In run I cannot to deny.



I love my fate for simple disregard

Of any superficial emotion.

The life is way of souls devotion

Thats ever long, and ever hard,

Even if you lived one moment in

The vanity of world of this-

We all have many things to miss

In birth and death and in between.



Lock reason in you bosom clean

Of any vice of wishful thinking.

When minds aghast and is a-blinking

At any happenstance its seen.

I wish I think of pure conduct

Without reproach from The God.

Its wishful thinking of some sort

But that that never to destruct.



The Russian Emperor is dead

And hes alive in better world.

He knew his way to go to God

And was not weakling or just mad.

He came to rule the shaky crowd

Of people willing to destroy

His old Empire that was a toy

To passions shameless, vain and loud.



Im wise by wisdom of my father,

There is a father in the Heavn.

And sins forgotten and frogivn

When silent tear broke out rather.

It happens. Time to come and go.

Im loony loner, goner, wreckage.

And life and death proceed in package

Of silent thought on friend and foe.



I like my verse. Its stupid, boring

And worth for only the deploring.

It has to be its own breed

Of only fruit with only seed

To plant in heart of human race

For sake of Christ and of His grace

Which to pronounce the sentence on

The everyone to come and gone.



My scruples are suspicious being

Not for the hearing, not for seeing,

Not for the power of the mind,

Not for the heart, the one unkind.

Theyre for the dodging, pleading, crying

For outliving not denying

The life as is or as it was

When all was worth of better worth.



My silly mind is overtaxed

By wish alone to get relaxed.

It fights for peace of its stronghold

Which is a being manifold.

It likes the wine, tobacco, girl

It wants a pose and on the whole

When I will die I rather see

All that I was and had to be.



Im worn to blink, its strange to see

The man of thirty something be

So destitute of healthy sense

My thoughts again are filthy dance

That to pollute my life and name

Its not reality to tame.

Its so absurd, so funny, so

Pretentious in the full of go.



Im rattled to the core. Existence

Is to dash off. I fly, I fly, I fly

To better worth of solitude in crowd

Of better notion than of mine

To live and just to die in time

Of fame and glory and promotions

To better status of relax

Of soul that is possessing wisdom.



My God is only being thats above

Creation, life and law. And death

Has nothing in His way to go

Or in His way to come and stay.

Im just to say again that and again

That God is pure existence of devotion

Of any name thats blessed or damned

Or put to store for future ages.



Im gone, Im gone and to return

With glory, wine and flowers wild.

For that Ill die, for that was borne.

For that I cried when I was child.

My fate is usual on the Earth

First I have prayed, then have received

What I have wanted and believed

In early tears, in lately chores.



I have my song to sing again

Without try of vocal strain.

The silent music of the reading

Has her imaginative pleading.

It pleads the peace on every war.

It pleads the light of nightly star

To dash from skies to bed of mine

To share my dream, to bless my wine.



My mind is freaky store of toys.

There are the dolls, their clothes, dishes.

And I have no exquisite wishes

For taste and harmony and choice.

When I was young I was encouraged

By friends and times to open store.

But still what for, I say, what for?

To get and blamed and then disparaged.



I have no melody in heart.

There are the wicked old illusions

That wait their day of prosecution

And only then they can to start

Be sweetest dreams of melancholy,

Be my distinguished pure delight

In day as well as in the night

And bright, and powerful and holy.



Im tried to edge to find solution

How to prevail oer revolution

Of sense as good one as a bad

The situation is too sad.

Im grieving over stale condition

Of world thats wading to perdition

Of the worst sort when to obtain

The new-borne changes in the chain.



I look on life as formal way

Of go and go and go and stay.

We go when babies, go when young,

We go when mature to the rank

Of doing something and we stay

When life is off and were but clay.

When death is coming to besiege

Were to give up without a hitch.



My way is but too long to sing

The every day from wink to wink,

Or every night from dusk to dawn,

Or battles lost, or battles won.

I disagree that all my worth

Is song that drawn from mouth of horse

Its bad the wording but it can

To ban the grief, the tear to ban.



I love my lovely destination

That was created with Creation.

Its final grace, its final peace,

Its final Godly legalese

Of absolution from my Lord

Till now unknown and unheard.

The devil pleads to grant me hell

But in The Heaven I to dwell.



With Heavnly Father Im to speak

When peace of mind I am to seek.

His icons old, His icons new

Bring grace on me, would be on you

When were in grief, when were in tears

We smile with Him, and soul then hears

The voice thats coming from above.

Its voice of wisdom and of love.



I cry at night when Im alone.

The voice is hushed and undertone.

I look above and see you, Mary.

Youre kind to me, and kind too very.

I look below and see the hell,

Theres anguish I can never tell

About in word, its so unwordly.

And Lord is blessing all it lordly.



I heard the words- Im stupid but I get

The gist of Reasoning of Heaven.

And then enough on world was said

When world itself is but forgiven.

I know that when I die I go

To better world where's all in Glory.

And theres no reason to but worry

So pure it is, and blessed its so.



I have no wisdom of the Heaven,

I have no guts to say It All.

I blast away to get in stall

When want the mind be bright and give in.

I got no sense of here and there,

I got no wish to come and stare

At sense of humor of proceedings

That here and there to spread their pleadings.



I know that when Ill come to Judge

Ill have a mercy all-forgiving.

Thatll spare my life, thatll spare my living

Without the damn, without the grudge.

I have it all in purest dreams.

Its solace just to know reaction

That dreams of my will take the action

Against my madness as it seems.



My love to fill my solitude

As cup that filled with goodish wine.

I left my home to have to pine

On fate and merciful and rude.

What I will see again away

From native stead, from golden days?

Its hard to say in many ways

But simple in its own way.



My heart is broken, mind is broken.

And all my life to go unwoken

With Royal Chalice to fulfill

The will unbent with fierce zeal

Accomplishing the simplest knowledge

That cant be learnt in any college

That life is paradise to dwell

If not the curse, if not the hell.



My lyre is rarest gift of God

Its simple as a simple thought

On mores, life and death and Lord.

It comes to grant the peace, no tort.

It heals the weakness of all kind

And absentness of ailing mind

In instant to grip blatant truth

Without of which I have no use.



So what again to find away

From walls of Moscow. Ancient city

Is scarcely functional but witty

All year around, and night and day.

I loved to travel to far side

Where strangers do their due to notion

That love is mystery of caution

Of easy way, of gracious might.



Im to produce another verse

Of kind so lovable and terse

That fruity thought be decorated

With quality not overstated,

Not understated, but enough

Achieving in the ways of love.

I hope to see it happy after

In life and death, in cry and laughter.



Then Caesar built his Rome,

Then Peter built his Petersburg,

And I to build my book

With poems short, and sweet, and honest.

And future generations there to read

About their heart and soul and mind,

And present ones to find there omens

Of times of danger.



Misguided chief of wanton discontent

I glided through the years and as I went

Ive seen creations of distorted mind

Viz. poetry of mine. And of what kind

I can prescribe the remedy to them

To all my verses from the stern to stem

There is a scorn of disposition to

True word poetic, and are so untrue.



Imbibing early morning dew

In silent plains a-far

Im memorizing evening star

Of marvelous hue.

No way to say Im ready to

Meet in my path astray

The miracle of no decay

The eyes so tinted, too.



My walk is lone through city old,

Cars move along no bother why.

And Heaven is about to cry

In windy August cold.

I met the daughter of my friend

With baby in her hands.

The situation recommends

The age to understand.



Love is an art to be devote,

To be in hands of fate.

And happiness is never late

Like blessing of good thought.

I brood on customs of my times

They are so bestial quite

And rush our fellow to benight

In curse of prose and rhymes.



Intruder of my dreams is silent ghost.

No words, no quips, and what is worst

He silents me in most obtrusive way.

He wants with soul of mine to play

The silent game of utter the despair

But here to him I must be fair

He shrinks from prayer, shrinks from quote

From Biblical and healthy thought.



My benevolent angel guards me strong.

And if Im wrong, hes never wrong.

He tells me truth of days to come

To give me courage, though the some.

I love his voice, I trust his speech.

Hes to impede when I beseech

The death to come. He guards my life

And sword and torch him help to strife.



My eyes are weary with the night

That falls on me. I have to fight

Against her cruelty and so

I hope for morning on the go.

In wreckages of darkness now

I pore be brave-heart as allow

Me inconveniences of night

That fell on me. I have to fight.



The swallow and the swan are birds of sky.

Both live at lake and feed on it.

Both beautiful on earth and when they fly.

Both have in nature own the royal seat.

The swan is slow, the swallows rather quick.

Both sing their song when time has come to pair.

Both gracious in the features with own chic.

Both solace are in hour of despair.



The passions are to torment dear old heart

In whirls and tribulations that in turns

To bother it one waits when peace returns

With pure embrace and graceful chart

Of Heavnly sentence to live on

Through waves and billows storming near

To cast on soul their mortal fear

The one I would have overdone.



My temple fallen is and void,

The altar covered with the ash

And boarded with the minute trash

Which my devotion to avoid.

The fire is now extinguished where

It used to burn the sacrifice.

My heart is silent and it cries

On fate unfair, on fate unfair.



With all commodities of crime

I hurry up to build new rhyme

That to unveil in season due

Its sweetness openly to you.

My reader, do forgive me. I

Was ever in the ties of try

To write my poem in respect

Of things you are not to neglect.



The loud feelings do me worst

Tis presence of the peace too lost

Just to be won again when time

Will come to me in toll and chime.

I like my being true poetic,

And poetry when rules prophetic

To sway the world in the denial

Of revenge at the final trial.



The poetry is to live on

Through stratagems and tribulations.

It comes as blessing to the nations

That nothing other could have won.

Im goner for Ive gone to loose

On worldly norm of pose and standing,

But Ive with reader understanding

The Heavens choose, The Heavens choose.



My zeal is lax, Im not to hone

My rhyme thats shabby all and borrowed.

But breast of mine is truly sorrowed

With sorrows Im not to postpone.

But why again to cry and smile?

But why again to pray, be fasting

In Lent of sorrow ever-lasting,

The sorrow no one to beguile.



All that I ever would have felt

Was to be poured in prayer when I knelt.

All that would eer my breast have filled

Was to be poured in prayer when I kneeled.

I love to pray though rarely with a book

Of saintly prayers. But, my reader, look

In heart of mine, tis prayer all in flames

Of love and grace tis serious and no games.



I have no notion, have no notion

Of line poetic of proportion

Divine and wholly on the side

That easy not to blame, to chide

Of scrutiny in way misguided

Thats to be blamed, thats to be chided.

I never knew my verse by soul

Its mystery of poets all.



Chill of my hearts chimera of

My everlasting Godly love

To poetry thats strong and hot

And it is not what it is not.

Its not the chilblain of my soul,

Its stove for children in the mall

To sell the cake of Heavnly sweet

And it is it what it is it.



I love my presence of the mind

When fate is cruel and unkind.

I love my presence of the heart

When love proclaims on me its chart.

I love my presence of the soul

When death at me designs its scowl.

I love my presence of the prayer

When hardships on in thick the layer.



My like is similar to song

Thats ever right and never wrong.

My like is similar to ode

That knows what singing and what not.

My like is similar to hymn

That cause Divine is eer to deem

In every line Im to propose

To worshipers of Christ on Cross.



The defamation oft to bless

Those are in need, those are in mess.

Its crime to think way infidel

That sin in every soul to dwell.

In stone of heart we often see

The mercy of the Godly be.

Its crime to think way infidel

That sin in every soul to dwell.



Sword has its way,

Prayer has its use,

Rule has its sway,

God has His Truth.

I have my poetry in hope

That it will never have to stop.



I hail my gale its danger, danger, danger.

I have no hatred to it being no revenger.

I put no curse on storm. It had to come

With dash and tribulation. But Ive some

Kind word on it its not precisely blessing

But not curse either, if confessing

In proper way my inner tune

I welcome rule of wicked goon.



Whats poverty? Its blessing or its not?

Is it the line of life or line of thought?

Is it the imitation of the Christ

Or night of sense the awkward night

Where are no stars, no moon, no clouds,

No song and all is wrong and out

Is only starving child of no regrets

And of pure eyes. It bets! It bets

With all the wealth of British Commonwealth

It speaks untidy but it tells

The story of my run among the fields

Of Russian country. Monasteries, mills

There are these all. I just have mentioned some

I have by blessing that is never gone.



Its island with a wooden wharf.

Its island little like a dwarf.

Its island far, its island old.

Its Solovky wheres always cold.

Its North of Russian Northern Sea.

Its land monastic, land of free.

Its land of slaves of Stalins rule.

Its land of tales so beautiful.



I have no reason to avoid my dream

Thats in the dark of soul the firing beam

Thats pointing out the path I am to proceed

In soft of mood, in blessing of the creed.

That day to come when Im to meet my love

To ever after happy be. Whats of

My heart that lives in purest pleasure

Without the death, without the measure.



Luck is rare, love is rare

But the fate of mine is fair.

In the danger of the plight

I have always Heavnly light

Thats to give me patience my

For I never had to cry

When I meet a cruel thing -

Happiness is aye on wing.



When soul is tormented and cries

Do know that near is paradise.

We need no worry to appeal

To One on High to have the feel

Of grace of love, of blessing new

To come and to fulfill its due.

When soul is tormented and cries

Do know that near is paradise.



Love is forever on the Earth

In regular and peaceful dose

It to disperse eternal light

To save the hearts from dark of night.

Love is forever on the High

Were not to die, were not to cry

In paradise of ever-bliss

Where everyone is hatredless.



Im lone among my friends. And so

I walk through life in slowly go

To watch the times, to hear the news,

To spread the love, to face abuse.

My heart is wreckage of the way

Ive gone so far. But still I say

I like my fellow even if

Hes eer to get and neer to give.



Love is no toy for cruel heart.

And till the end and from the start

Its blessing pure of life to give

On altar Godly to achieve

The peace of mind, the peace of heart;

And till the end and from the start

Its sacrifice of dear old soul

To whole the world, to world the whole.



Apostle John was good and great

Precise he did not name the date

Of Second Coming of The Christ

And rule created of the fight:

Watch out, be vigilant, be kind,

And save your soul, and save your mind!

Enough were prophets on the Earth!

And prophecys no labor lost!



I love my mind, its dear and pure

When Im temptation to endure.

Its wicked when Im to give up,

But it is mind whicheer we dub

Its way or manner, or its likes.

In darkness of the thought it hikes

Through years come, through years gone

Its all the same the mind alone.



For what America is voting?

For that she likes? For that shes doting?

I think it not the common use

Of common voting is abuse

Of rights of common sense by way

The television us to say.

To have you right dont vote but pray

And you will see the happy day.



Whats pouring rain and thunderstorm?

What windy days of late the summer?

When drizzling drops to sing or stammer

Behind the window of my home.

My city is so passionate

For riches, cruelty and lust,

But all of these are but a crust

But when we know that its too late.



Night, night you comes to me with gift

Of sleepy hours when my mind adrift

Is to the happiness or morbid fetters

Of wicked images. In letters

Its hard to recreate my way

I passed in nightly hours for day

Day of the sun and cloud and rain,

Of every joy and every pain.



Whats inspiration for the odes?

New order of the known words?

Or inexplicable delight

Beyond the thought, beyond insight?

Or fight with sin of mortal soul

Thats summoned by the Heavnly call?

Or voice of God of love and grace

We never know and are to face.



This world is stumbled on the Cupid

Which was inaccurate and stupid.

Its fall from grace of Love Divine

By wicked devilish design.

And now were passionate for curse

Of lust. And life is in misuse.

But we are borne for kingdom come

If not the all but surely some.



Last trace of summer to be gone

At gates of autumn. When its done

We can proceed to year new

Through winter cold. But would be you

Have some to leave in now that be

Soon past forgotten. But would be

You have to take to future joy

The Now as pleasurable toy

Of mind so tired that not to

Excuse it will be so untrue

To rules of life as common as

Our every sin were to confess.



It is no pleasure to be so acute

To know the every name of every mood.

Its pain to pierce in every feeling

With knowing eye of mind not leaving

The place to the unknown and unobserved

That is an inappropriate to hurt

With words and understanding every rank

Of every movement of the soul in joy or pang.



To prophesy a future love

It needs the blessing from above.

In loveless being it is cure

For heart in pain, for soul obscure.

Its injudicious to deny

That prophecy is often lie

When not inspired by God of love

In gracious blessing from above.



The comedy of hatred is in pain.

The tragedy of love is in no gain

In world so weak and certainly so dark

That cruel hatred rules it stark.

Ignorance of the ways of love misleads

Us to servility to earthly needs

To blame each other on that base

That fellow being is not made for faith.



Whats magic but the curse?

Whats miracle but blessing?

And what is most impressing

That God behaves as nurse

In obvious miracle Divine

That comes to us in way pristine

To heal the soul and body both.

Such an occurrence devils loathe,

They ever try to cast the spell

To spread the power of hell.



Getting rid of strong emotions

Is disastrous and obnoxious.

I avoid to make the fun

Of the life. Like saintly nun

Told me once I clear the mind

Of the everything unkind.

Love to rule and not amok

So I learnt to think and talk.



Poets being is so ample

As at home as in the temple

Where hes kneeling just to pray

For the inspirations way

Leads him onward through the rhymes

When he hikes and jumps and climbs

For new gift of composition.

He is always in transition

From the strength to strength and on

To go where no one had gone.



I have no wish oblige my reader

To hold me like the rhyming feeder

Of discontent on every grief

To poignant letter to receive

By morning mail or evening mail.

I have no wish to weep and wail

On others morals, others sins

And here my inspiration wins

The cup of merry-making rhymes

By which my soul with triumph dines.



In my obituary writer

Will say that I was stupid blighter

In fetters of faith obsolete

And rhyming constantly to it.

So why I write? Why put the plume

On paper in the such a doom?

My answer is a simple quite

To glorify My God, His Might,

His Saints, His ways, His words, His Truth.

And there is all my earthly use.



The dream is blackest of backwaters

That splash at shore of real life.

It cuts our strength as sharpest knife

To bridle minds, exile the mottos

Of freedom of unreal, unkind,

Unwise, ungood, unblessed, unhealthy.

Dreams greedy are and not as wealthy

As what in real were to find.



Let it go and let it come

As a wisdom of the sum

Of the wits my years did bring.

Inspirations on the wing

To declare the freedom of

Love thats free as Heavnly dove.

Luck is company to keep

Through the life just not to weep.



My lore is of the ancient folks

That loved and hated, fought and built.

They were sagacious and good-willed

But rarely mentioned now in talks.

We talk of money in the credit

From those who lent them all for greed,

We talk of fame we cannot beat,

And of the menaces we wedded.



The ship is going through the sea

And held by winds, and waves on way

To far away a shore. And may

Her forward go is harmless be.

For not a storm to wreck the sail,

For not a pirate storm the deck,

For not a mariner break neck,

For not an hour there start to gale.



Distorted face of dreams Ive seen

When I was ill and wished to die.

To go for good was nightly cry.

But life did win.

And all tears shed I soon forgot.

And life had come and bright and new.

And happiness to bring a lot

To me and you.



My duty is to sing my God.

Not pretty girl, not precious wines.

This gift was never priced or bought

By me myself, it lives in lines.

Forever not alone I am

My loneliness forever shared.

And just to sing and pray I can

And that is all I ever dared.



To be the Christian is a toil

To pray and to avoid the spoil

Of shaky shadows of the mind

That leave no trace but sin behind.

I hope one day Im to be saved

From tortures of eternal hell.

And it is all I ever braved

To have achieved and to foretell.



My poetry to live for aye

In every clime, in every part

Because I ever dared to say

The truth from bottom of my heart.

And when youll see my modest tomb

Dont say Hes great! or He was brave.

I had and will have no aplomb

Evn in the grave.



In God alone we can to heal

The every illness of our soul.

And when is weak our precious will

We can to hear the Godly call.

Its simple Love your fellow man!

Love your Divinity and know

That even then, that even then

Youll have the hardest way to go.



Twilight of evening is to tell

That night is coming and to cast

The darkness for the shortest spell

And not forever its to last.

I have no vision of the times,

Of mutinies, of Acts of God,

Of changings in the earthly climes,

Of fashions in the modern thought.

And all I have the evening star

That came to stay for shortest spell

To shine on me and from the far

Her tale to tell.



Im borne to be the poet of

The song Im having from above.

Its hard to sing the earthly tune

To which my heart is so immune.

I sing of Saints, and heroes gone,

Of wonders made. And under sun

Im singer happiest of all

Because I sing about the soul.



The world contends about the place

Of earthly glory, might and grace.

I think its weak because we have

Eternal Heaven. What was left

Of our mankind and womankind

That they contend this earth unkind?

So Im preferring not to think

About this world. Ive Heavn to sing.



Were borne to die no earthly price

Can bring us peace as fine as nice

As peace of Godly paradise

Though often fellow-being lies

That theres no God, that theres no faith,

And no Saint Mary. Why he says

That he has nothing of belief

Its grief, its grief, its grief, its grief.



The Christ is only legal child in world

Who proved by acts of law that He is Law.

So what is law of childhood?

Is it the loyalty to parents?

Or loyalty to love of God?

Or some more strange to people

That cures the souls for good

From any trepidation of the death?



My worth is ode.

So why be discontented

With lines to come and then to go?

Why to oblige the reader by the rule

So ruthless of the rhymes so old?

Why? Why? And why? I never knew

That poetry can be as coward

As verse of mine thats to pronounce

No sacred name without the fear of God.



So why the homily to preach

Forgotten words for every witch,

Or senator, or businessperson

As one obliterated parson

Of world that is and soon to go

When no one waits, and not to know

Though alls predicted in due times

By prophets of the prose and rhymes.



My prayer old is eer with me

To make my being happy be,

To reason out me of the deeds

Ive started and which sin completes.

I hope I knew why all these words

Of prayer old that came from North

So healing to my wicked soul

And if I knew I knew the all.



Im not much versed in belle versification.

My verse is ever in prevarication

From every effort of poetic act.

It has no wisdom and no tact.

Its so obscure, so rush, unpolished so

That every reader in his leisure go

Through pages mine to point me soon

That verse was borne with none of silver spoon

In mouth and it is not prepared

For path most pleasant of the ever fared.



Love, love whats it in life and death?

The rare gift the one prideless?

Or pride for children and for wife?

Love, love whats it in death and life?

I heard the song that angel sang

About the love I had to thank

Him for the words that good for me

These words Love be! Love be! Love be!



My critic, dont blame inspiration.

I have it all poetic nation

To live by inspiration only,

And we are not indeed so lonely

Whos living so the man or boy,

Or girl, or woman are no toy

For earthly passions and instead

They have from Heaven what be said.



What is democracy but fake

That has to rule at any stake.

And only monarchy to rule

With Grace Divine and kind and full.

Lord Jesus Christ is King of kings,

And heart of Christian ever sings

His supreme power every day.

And being poet Im to say

That only God can grant donation

Of purest bliss of inspiration.



When lions fight then ravens dine

Whole world is going by this line.

And only God, and only Saints

Of other kind. And when God deigns

The hearts of people are not evil

The human kindness not in peril

When Love Divines in power full

By which the hell will have to cool.



My love is due, my hatreds not.

Its rule of life to carry on.

I hated much, I loved a lot

But what I won? But what I won?

My day is close, my fame is near.

Im one of many, one of those

Who wanted only Heaven hear

Been steeped in sin and virtue both.



Love is trick of discontent

Of any possible approval

Of her. She wish not understand

The worldly move of hatred of all.

Im just to love. Its old the trick

To meet the heart in earthly way

That is a kind and good and meek,

That I with love am to repay.



Whats love? The Holy cause Divine!

The cause of grace, the cause of mercy.

And verse of mine to be much tersy

And sin poetic to deny.

I have not much of words of love.

My verse is frightful repetitive.

And only heart is competitive

With heart of dove.



I never cried for glory- no!

I cried for love, and not for gold.

And God by me was never told

To punish foe.

Thats so. I wish be saved to all.

And enemy has right for grace.

I know that his immortal soul

Ill have to face.



Whats purpose of poetic being?

Not glory- no! Then what?

I have to say - its happiness

Of being short of evil.

And if so why Im sinful.

Its unpoetic

And leads not to the Kingdom

Of The Christ.



My hope is vain when Im obscure

And dreaming earthly dream

Of flesh.

My hope comes true when I am clear

And dreaming dream of Heaven.

Im so wicked dreamer

And never know

What to dream about.



Seduction is a burden hard

That harms the soul, that hurts the heart.

It kills the life of human race.

Its wine of wrath with dash of lace

Of human errancy and love

To earthly being. From above

Its clearly pitied, clearly seen

Seduction is an utmost sin.



My love is tiresome for female

Its always so, its old the tale.

I never learnt to love a woman

Thought it necessary is for man.

Im not a virgin soul at all,

But I am wholly Christian soul.

And when I love I have to pray

The Heaven to be there one day.



The solemn thought of discontent

With earthly all is to pretend

To be unearthly. But its not

For me Im of another thought.

I think on earth and Heavn as one

With stars and flowers, sea and sun.

And if with earth Im discontented

Then something false I have pretended.



I hope to get along through life

Not having tongue like deadly knife.

That can cut short of love and grace

To disappear without the trace

To place of new to cut again

With deadly word of deadly pain.

I hope to get along through life

Not having tongue like deadly knife.


#113 To My Daughter.

My daughter name is Mary so

She baptized was a lot ago.

Saint Mary blessed her by Her Name

To tame her soul, her heart to tame.

My daughters twelve and to live on

When Ill be old, when Ill be gone.

And Mary Saint at Final Feast

Will meet us both the girl and beast.



Sometimes I cry, sometimes I laugh.

But one a day Ill have enough

Of earthly days of laugh and cry

That day I know Ill have to die.

But till it comes Im to proceed

With laugh and cry from greed to creed

To have enough of laugh and cry

One day I know Ill have to die.


#115 Ode written in day of death of my mother.

Life is for ever

Not to die

The man, or woman or the child.

Theres Heavn,

Theres God,

Theres consolation

Of all eternity of Love.


#116 On Death of My Mother.

Theres none of you

But still there you are all

In full of life

And death is nothing more

Than separation for the time

The time to pray,

To wait the meeting.


#117 To Holy Memory of Nun Caroline Glyn.

Nun, Artist, Poetess,

And Holy Soul

That knew no evil

God of goodness

Had granted her

With freedom from the sin

And now she walks on Heavn

And pray of me and you.
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