* * * In the steppe, covered with dust of the Barnish, sat and cried man. And by the Creator of the Universe. Having stopped, he would say: "I am a friend of humiliated and poor, I am all the poor shore, I know a lot of words cherished. I am your God. I can do everything. I saddened the type of your sad, what kind of mischievous you are crazy? " And the man said: "I am Russian," and God cried with him. * * * I was taught: "People are brothers, and you always believe them, everywhere." I threw my hands for the arms and found myself on the cross. But since then, I try to forget about this "miracle" yet. After all, as no evil, no false people, I have more like to love. * * * From now on, everything is canceled that it was God's God for the life of the righteous and eternal. Where is the spirit of truth grain? Relieving: "Why is it a human crowd of inhuman?" So, sin, gentlemen. No one will condemn. There will be no terrible court, and the resurrection will not ... * * * Not because I suddenly got drunk, but again I do not know, - who was bitterly shouted at the entrance to my hut? Yes, it's homeland! From dust gray, in the scape and with the key ... Yes, if we loved her, could she be like that?!. In the attic I will open the door as a sad book. Here the time is not in a hurry anywhere. And the dusk does not melt, he seemed to be needed, the beam from the end to the rafters will be sewn. Here is an old spider in the gray-wing web, like a gray bird. Wrong on the network. Here are birds that do not sing, in the picture, which is not already hanging. It's quietly hard to burn Kerogaz, shooting paint scales, and it shines in a twilight pin from the evil eye of the late grandfather of the coat ... Legend And I lost my blue eyes in the twelfth century, with a sudden Stepneyatsky raid, they rolled down with the face. And then, in order for the death of the family, Pecheneg did not leave the answer, I raised them with the burner of the Earth and since then they are black. * * * Went of the last bench. Any soul hurts like a knife wound. But how gratifying through longing and pain think about his soul: "Live." Mother where through the fireless chad the sun overnight in the gorge fell, the son died ... To bring his mother to the grandchild, the mother pretended to be alive. * * * I do not understand what is happening. In the name of poor ideas, a lie triumph triumphs, the fornication torments ... to smell his hand, as they say? But how can I be baptized with my hand that smeared on people? ... * * * On the troubled light, they go away, but God sees, the sixth part of the earth leaves from under his feet. It took from under the feet, but we are still harsh. And only God knows where we fall ... * * * In the West, the sun sits light, the East swells in a thunder. Flowed the coolness, got sick, and shower, - how to give! - Lane. In the garden on the tracks explodes the sand, through the sun rolls down. .. and it seems like shifting the East, and the West seems to be laughing. * * * Eh, podkachu, I am pants, carry your legs, you are free, where you want, a citizen of a non-existent country ... Well, no country, and okay. It turns out the movie. But it is still cool in a bottle of tart wine. And if I have with all this, with all this, but I don't even become a poet, then I will definitely make a jerk. I will ring the buboins, swallow wine and cut into the dance, so that it is not for nothing to cry. Navier ... silently ... as now. * * * In which time we hear it: "The gate is standing again, make your teeth, you need to survive." Oh, Russian God, but to live when?!. * * * Is God forgot us all? Will the spirit imagine? There were forces - there is no strength, thrown on the wind. And with each other we became like dogs chains ... "My bells, - I shout out from darkness, - Teholites steppe!" * * * Circling February across Kosoyram, the gym was hidden in Stern, when my whole life appeared to me with one solid dope. Who am I saved? Who did you get? Who was my stays my stay? There was no answer. Only the wind threw a spiny snow in the face. Swallows live without patrimoniality, unnamed, but they do not sing by order, do not dreamed beads in front of pigs, and there are no nests on a foreign nest. * * * Meets, did you look with the eyes of a baby, when he is still across towels? .. The baby does not know either an evil nor offense, all the universal secrets are open. But before he says the first word, from our world of earthly and evil, he will have time to taste, alas, and more than once ... and the secret of immortyment is again hidden from us! * * * "I'm not like everyone else," I am a distinct, then the wilderness. I will tell the Lord: "I'm not like that. I am worse. " * * * We are not dominated in our dreams, just as in fate are not free. The soul walks in the dreams of the creator, then - Satan. They wake up as in childhood, it happened: so easily, even at the water, it immediately becomes clear where the soul was visited at night. And it happens, you wake up and you need to remember the sins. We look in the mirror: Dentis of Hell under the eyes darken circles. Once again there are corners in the human soul, where it is not necessary to look. There, among the darkness of the corner of hell scattered with color dragees; There the Lampad's God's flashes, there is sensitive, there is no welzevel, it is not necessary to look there. And grief to those who looked! * * * Does not Satan himself already in the country focusing, frantic? But the more worthy of the soul in such a dirt remains clean. Hold on, my birth, hold on. And do not rush to part with the body. Soft, soul! In Russia, life has always been not easy. Victory Day and in verses, and in the plays, he, as a father to his sons, is already half a century on prostheses - that neither spring, - comes to us. He is terrible, and more beautiful than all celebrated Godin. One such a holiday in Russia. And thank God that one. * * * I do not understand where everything went? You, if you know, tell me: Where is the spirit of power and hearts courage? Where is the kindness of the human soul? Or from the birth of our souls did not visit the kindness? Fearing in response to hear "yes." I closes your ears in fear. * * * Lord, I am a wolf or sheep? Go to her flock or in flock? I do not know, Lord. I do not know. And I do not recognize until the end ... * * * "Oh, my Russia! My wife!" A. Block I will not tell you: "Wife." I say: "I feel the face of your belly, the country of Rublev, Shukshina and eight-year-old prostitutes. A glass of stroke to your hand, and there is no work better feelings. " And goes out with echo in the distance: "Russia, who are you?! Who are you? .. "Prayer Oh neither dark, no matter how difficult the life of Russians, odd, just one is, only one, I ask God only about one thing: don't give this, my God, so that our destroy The world is not with a sum, but with the best machine ... * * * I don't remember my grandfather at all, but this is not my wines at all: he took a great victory, and if it was easier - the war took himself away. My brother and I have a little bit alike, and the great-grandfather, too, at least a baby. I do not remember my grandfather at all, but God, whom to surprise this in Russia? * * * My God, already forty, and happy years - no day ... There is also a powder. Powder is. Yes, there is no fire ... * * * Again, I have insane Duma clouding into sad words. Maybe I am alone sullen? Maybe I'm sad in vain, eh? Maybe I don't see happiness in the focus, I'm moving by, as a blind puppy? Maybe and about the homeland so often I can be sad? .. Give God. * * * Minutes are free rare ... And you need to go to Kurgan for about fifty minutes, where the ancestors are drying the grass they will rustly rustle where the chicks of their feeds feed, where the cross, so similar to the "plus", will recall the lacquer again, where I rush all my life. Blagovolev when so the sky is turquoous, and so Peppermalls clouds, I seem to hear the echo of the call of afar and down. Whose voice is disturbing to me? Where is he, so native? It can not be ... or maybe then the quiet call of the soul itself. Through the darkness born by an evil word, through blood and revenge, through lies and flattery. She is a good journal of the good news to me: "I am." Blessed looks clear, walks sideways, through the chest - Sumy belt. Yes, he is touched. But God, and by whom we are all? * * * On a date, I have a hurry with a bouquet or just running about business, I'm sitting on the world or in my thoughts in the world, I am no more rejoice in the line random or silently I'm silent from the fire - I'm still thinking about: someone looks like a smile me. * * * From all bliss to me closer poverty. She is with me and on a summer day, and in Stuzh. She is black. But the severity of the shield, reliably protecting the soul. The goat in the morning at the rushing goat graze in the meadow. The herbs are enough in a circle, and the goat is fed as soon as possible. But all the bearded villain is neiled. And therefore, the rope is silk in the neck as a knife, crashes into him. From pain eyes crawling under the eyelid, and in the throat of bitterness brine, and in the heart of anger ... Oh, goat! How do you like a person! * * * I was going to talk to you too long for too long. And so, by gathering, confused and starts the nefple: about the rain of an acid, about pesticides in milk, about the beggar and almost an almost obsolete pensioner-old man, about white swan in fuel oil, about dreams, about the demons in the flesh, about the life of the siety, before the essence of which I want to walk, about the terrible weekdays in Karabakh, about the atonement of sin, about wars, AIDS and about fear for all those who are still alive ... * * * They say there is no immortal. And there are no souls, they say. Life is a deceived rite. Life is a jump from the cliff in the fly. Cursed the most moment conceived as the road to nowhere ... what are silent? Reply. After all, it is not true, yes? * * * Whether the angel, or the demon stretches on top of his hand - a rain, falling from heaven, washes the red "Mercedes", wets the old woman. I already understand the nememo: is this life of il to live? Rare rain alarmed the night, rare - rare, like a desire for our neighbor to help ... Nugget nugget! Nugget! Fallen press. In the middle of Lysin and the beard in the hut became closely. The operator with a lionen mane wures the films ... and with a smile happy mother stands on the sidelines. * * * Evil hearts are uncomplying for all of us. And pushed the leader. He is pleased. It is fulfilled to the end. In the hearts only lie or evil. And more often - and malice, and lies. No wonder the leader squinted from the glass coffin. * * * Do not RVI flowers are blue in the zarechny side. Killers and rapists walk around the country; The face will be frightened by a blade, and the body is quenched in the pond ... Go from us, poetry. You do not know here. * * * What am I all sadness to you? And wash, how is slave? Come on, soul, melt a bath and will go to you. And after I go to my grandfather Vana, let him dispel our sadness. The game on the old accordion, let Rus will be rejected. Hearing clean, native, learning familiar features, as if the dress is a day off, my soul, you put on. * * * The dump of the city is smoking, flickens the husks of the lights. It is not visible to her end and edge, and not a single star over it. But it is already sliding on the whip of the ray of the sun first there and here. In the morning, here, as before to the temple, the crowd, beggars, and each with a stick-digger walker with a staff with a staff. ... The scared daw takes off. Descends God's grace. * * * The park. Fall. Maples. Yellowness. And the bottom of the fountain in the web. And the clouds, as in the picture, are real estate. And the silence is descended blue from heaven. The ohaper leaves will collect, leaning in the waist bonds to a tireless one who will cut them out on Maplen. * * * There are days granted over when you look at all grimaces, you look with negrm, - so on the roofs, there must be birds look from the height. The curtains of heavenly curtains the wind, and everything around in some wet brilliance, as if in childhood, after sleeping ... * * * Night coolness descended. I sit on the steps of the porch, the breath of the blooming garden concerns the gently face. And to the secret of creativity, I will cry from the thought of one that the former misfortunes were all invented by me. And the month flows on the roof, and pours out of heaven grace on the crowns of trees, and above ... what is higher? No need to guess. * * * Spring still spring remained everywhere: in the field, and in the forest. But it got more of all, take a look, to the nursery. When it blooms a smile, it seems to sow. Sings and the life of our ugly, the whole point is invaluable attached. * * * We have on the farm, in Europe, for nothing, no smacks. Only a cat is hiding in dill, waving sparrow. And life, and death by walking quiet go, - Ugh, ugh, do not smooth out so that. And the grandfather's grandfather with a smile wilderly hesitates the coffin. And he says that there is no garbage to anyone - everyone drinks in the family, and that the baptized honey later, as a ps, lying in the ground. The child I envy this crude, is my envy, like the sun, Bela. Directly in the dust in the middle of the road, he sat down in which the mother gave birth. He in dust carelessly happy, to what it is good one. Oh, my dismantuous one! .. God, Lord, peace to him.

Comments

01/14/2019 Svyatoslav

08/17/2018 Anton Serbin

I did not suspect that I could be removed before tweaking in the nose, to a sacred in the chest, reading laconic, but surprisingly the capacious, swallowing the soul poems.

04.04.2018

26.01.2018

What the pain, Lord! How can the heart withstand such a slope of suffering? Thank you, dear Nikolai Aleksandrovich, for the poems that purify the soul. God bless you! Please write, your poems are needed as air and water. Health to you and creative longevity. Tatyana.

14.05.2017 Olga (but the role name does not play)

Thank you!!! To these verses there is nothing to add. Khrand, Lord, Russia and her amazing people!

12.05.2017 Alexander Arbuzov

God's light in the eyes of the poet
All stronger from year to year.
I see Russia and the power of this
Comes from the people.

02/03/2017 Irina Springny

I'm in love with your syllable.
Delighted with a gust, depth!
I am breating and coming to life ...
Stop exist
After all, God is with me,
He was able to verses with your
Talk to me, I know!

THANK YOU!

21.12.2016

Dear Nikolay Alexandrovich. That you wanted to say verses; "In the steppes covered with dust branched ...

15.11.2016 Antonina Derzhavina.

How simple and ingenious! Such depth and spirituality!
It is a pity that N.zinoviev is very sick. How many more beautiful works would be born in this light head.

15.11.2016

So simple, so brilliant! Deep, piercing, sad!

09/23/2016 Garif Oskarych

I am Russian! What delight! (c) Alexander Vasilyevich Suvorov.

And let all the gods cry. We have the best machine.

07/14/2016 Andrei Talanov

Penetrated, capacious, powerful poems. They say about them: "Words are closely, and thoughts are spacious." Sliposlav Providence to the poet, the Lord will follow us.

25.10.2015 Dina Taitova

"In vain modern Russia
You are looking for the mayor on the ball.
She's gray old woman in the store
Bucket Bread hides under the floor ... "
(N. Zinoviev)

Thanks for almost the "Lermontov lines." On the balls now, more and more those who serve not Russia ...

05/19/2015 Marina

Here he is a question of three years of Luda,
The question seem to be simple:
"Why lattice, if people
And on this side, and with that? "

Nikolai Zinoviev

We live the shackles, however, and sacrificially loved to love them,
Living fate is not happy.
The world is from yourself, yourself from the world ... no verse, almost - speaking.
Kohl voluntarily in prison, what are we waiting for the awards then?!

09.05.2015 Svetlana Kiseleuva

Wonderful poems! It is impossible to tear off !!!

04/30/2015 Maria

There is also a poet in our generation!

03/24/2015 Svetlana K.

Poems are excellent! But why is such an affected sun? Believe in God you need to be happy, and not with hopelessness ...

25.12.2014 Galina

Wonderful. Just why is everything so sad?

05.12.2014

After all, the Kuban earth can give birth to her own teutons!

10.11.2014 Fear Alexander

I thought it was depleted Russia, she would not give birth to more poets worthy of Lermontov, Nekrasov, a block, but, thank God, I was wrong. As if I washed water from a pure spring!

10/30/2014 Yuyu.

2 goose and ko

No, the world seeking to everyone, and the Mer - you.

09/21/2014 Galina

I really liked the poems, crushed for a living, puck. Everything is vital, truthfully and sad. I did not know that there is such a wonderful poet. Thank you!

09/18/2014 Goose and Co.

Mer You, Huge Mer)

25.08.2014

Save you Lord!

04/05/2014 Angela E.

Thank you! Like a breath of air! Even when it hurts and hard!

01/14/2014 Victor

Thank you, Nikolai. God bless you.

01/05/2014 Andrey

Wonderful poems and very spiritual!

10.12.2013 🌹

Perfectly very. Gently. Very painful. In the country of Bardak, the genocide of the Russian people.

11/28/2013 Silava Irina

Thanks for your work and flour. The Lord sent you to us to strengthen before the last terrible battle for Russia, for the entire human race.

11/28/2013 Natalia.

You read and breathing captures. From the first to the last line - everything is yours, everything is close.

26.11.2013 takanaeva Svetlana

heard the cumberside in the execution of the actor Burlyaev. "Swallows". Hooked. I decided to find on the Internet. It was surprised that the person was working for a long time ago, and I don't know anything about him. There are such poems to be added to school textbooks. So that our children grow on them, learned to love their homeland in literature lessons. You have appeared at the right time for our country.

11/22/2013 Svetlana K.

Sage, philosopher and poet! Very everything comes from the heart, but with pain! Try, poet, get closer to the sun! What happened, it happened: we were deceived yourself, because - panties! And you fly to the light, show us the way. We will not help my homeland!

20.11.2013 Brain Valentina

Poet, citizen, patriot. Thank you, we will live and hope that it will be a reason to write piercing joyful poems

18.11.2013 Valentina

If there are verses that are forced to think and crying is still alive Russia.

14.11.2013 Vladimir Romanova

Save you Lord Brother

11/14/2013 Vera Kalinina

Liked ... very !!!

09/03/2013 Tatyana S.

He opened a brilliant poet for himself. Excited to the depths of the soul. I will look for a collection and tell everyone familiar about this poet. Thanks for the Markova T. G.

08/25/2013 Irina

I read and cry. And there is no strength to stop ... and words to express everything that breaks the soul, no.

08/05/2013 Irinna

Poems are amazing. Touch to tears. Sad and light. POET. TALENT.

08/04/2013 Love

Several lines, and excite the soul, so much love and meaning!

07/21/2013 Victor

Indifferent to Christmas, Evtushenko -, so-called classics, but discovered a Russian poet and everything ... no more for me modern poets in Russia! This man suffers for our holy Russia.

06/13/2013 Julia

Talent, honesty, sincerity ... Real Russian poet, caring for the fate of our Russia, to the fate of the Russian people. I am from the Soviet Union and experiencing the same feelings as the poet, but I believe in the bright future of my homeland.

05/08/2013 Tatyana

Thank you for your poems.

04/17/2013 Vasily Rodin

I admire the talent of Nikolai Zinoviev! As accurately and yeko, he can say simple words, but with what a huge meaning! Man is so loving Russia, who is ill for her. Low bow to him for the poems of him, for his love to Russia!

04/16/2013 Alexander

So Emko and briefly could say only Yesenin.

02.04.2013 Noskov Andrey. Kazakhstan

In the steppe covered with dust of the Barn ... A beautiful poem, about a Russian person right to the point. Thank you. It seems to me that God favors us because it is experiencing a Russian person, and so much burning and needs to be sent to us. Establish the Orthodox faith.

03/26/2013 Olesya

Soul Popped! Thank you for the revelation of the heart.

03/06/2013 03/13/2013. lily

thanks for the poetry. In it is alive conscience and soul.

05.03.2013 Alexander Krasik, Vologda.

From the editor . A new book of poems of the beautiful Russian poet, our contemporary, a repeated laureate of many literary awards of Russia Nikolai Alexandrovich Zinoviev ("Poem": M., Russian Writer, 220 pp., Circulation 1,000 copies.). The entire circulation is from the author in the city of Korenovsk Krasnodar Territory. The cost of the book excluding the costs of postal shipment - 150 rubles. The author who has no other means, besides a very modest pension, asks to help him distribute and sell the book. With it can be contacted by email:nikzinkor@ mail. ru».

Today we publish a word from the publisher of the new book and the elected poems of Nikolai Zinoviev.

From publisher

One of the largest modern poets - Nikolai Zi-Novv, perhaps, is the only one who has completely overcome the information of Russian literature on a quarter of a century. As a person, a non-public, a true reclusive, he, however, became the most cited poet if not in the literature, then - in our oral speech from Sakha-Lina to Kaliningrad. So even in the detective those beltering "version", the intellectual investigator ZVOLIS suddenly recalculates already as the shittomaty of these Zinoviev lines: "And the person said:" I am Rus-sky, "// and God cried with him."

Someone once told me that Zinoviev is a poet of one notch. Objey, I published it a couple of years ago from eight sections, from eight different "notes." At the same time, I understand that in Russian literature is still too unusual and unusual, the poet is still too unusual, but who accepted the fate of the poet with the highest spiritual concentration and personal responsibility, which will be touched only into the monks. Yes, a monk and crying, and laughs only as a monk. So Nikolai Zi-Novvov has not written a single voyage word for a long time, not a single line in the author's delight before their self-television beauty. His poetry is much more dense than a story about Ruth or Esphyre, she, as anger and crying Isaiah or Ezekiel, is deprived of a physicality, it is only addressed to the you, the solid senses of our brief existence on earth.

However, if it's more so much to look for the fact that in world poetry there were Zinoviev poetry like, how not to recall these, carved in marble, the lines of the symbol of Keossky on the site of the greatest Farmopil battle: "Travelers, go to build our citizens in Lactedaene, // What , their covenants are dishes, here we are false. " And this gives me the right to consider the poetry of Nikolai Zinoviev in the highest sense of optimistic. Only faith in the fact that the Russian man and the Russian people disappear seven-wing from the face of the earth, and only tolerates in the forefront in the world battle with evil, give, let's say, the inconsisiency of the Intonation of Zinovievsky poetry value is truly the life-life, for life An eternal image of Godovering in us and the similarity of God.

Nikolai Doroshenko , Secretary of the Board of the Union of Writers of Russia, Director of the Publishing House "Russian Writer"

Poem

I am Russian

In the steppes covered with dust breno

Sat and cried man.

And the Creator of the Universe passed by.

Having stopped, he's up to:

"I am a friend humiliated and poor

I'm a poor shore,

I know a lot of words cherished.

I am your God. I can do everything.

I feel the kind of your sad,

What kind of need you close? "

And the man said: "I am Russian,"

And God cried with him.

Let me not want, brother, die ...

Let him not want brother, die,

But there is a word Iron "need",

To replenish the heavenly rails

For battle with hell.

These arguments of the tank and the wurgted,

But, no matter how dare you and cool,

It is still worth waiting for the agenda.

Volunteers do not take there.

Meet the Peru

Want to know where I was?

There is no secret.

I went to myself

MiG is not for all summer.

I was gone like a dog

I returned back.

That from there brought

Recorded carefully:

"Don't write about my soul

So dark and slaughter

Know from the Russian Soul

The key is stored with God. "

Hopelessness

Here is the fruit of nights of sleepless,

Your nights, poet:

Fall into the number of saved

There are no real chances.

You were too impaired,

Yourself on trouble.

Your passions are scheduled

The limit, alas, in hell.

How nightly

No matter how terrible but

Everything in the world is not by chance,

You knew it for a long time.

You even sign

It was given, however ...

The world is on the edge, and they are not scary ...

The world is on the edge, and they are not scary.

They are not close to them.

What hell? What is heaven? Other important:

Would not lose CSKA.

Russia 2012 year

All feelings covered apathy.

Around only one mirage.

And drown per party party

Not in someone, but in his own lies.

And how many crazy around!

But sees only PIIT,

That the time of the Second Coming

Already on the threshold.

Doubt

Yes, do the poems please

Beauty of images and syllables,

When I do not give sins

Get a prayer to God?

Others write about the other

And I write only about it.

Maybe in case such

Can you call me a poet?

Summer Lord

Abolished sin to understand.

What to wait for us ahead

Kohl besides exclamation: "Curse!"

Nothing breaks out of the chest

Sedo-standard poet

With a huge I wonder in the shower ...

And breaks to the windows warm summer,

Maybe the last already.

He is not useful for society ...

He is not useful for society

Not the party line is oppressed,

And is Felix Iron,

And let the poet "into consumption".

Lyra is broken down

Forever dropping out of the hands.

Before becoming a poet

Maybe still think, a friend?

Impromptu

Life hangs on the hair

And not because

Man lives in longing

In other yudoli?

Beats the vein on the temple

Remembering to be a cunning

What lurks in the hairs.

Man lives in longing

About the heavenly kingdom.

Given the thoughts of locust ...

Given the thoughts of locust

And only one lit candle:

"What is a person waiting for the coffin?"

Answers are also rushing with a scope.

But faithful all the same,

And I lived to the village

Among the answers of different silence,

Thus, I am glad all the evil.

Leaving Russia

Study that there is no luck here,

What one trouble lives here,

That you don't have that environment ...

And you would wait for Sunday!

Conversation with an old woman

Always alone, not humpy,

In it is flesh - on a chinful.

Who rules us now?

Lord, Milok, Lord.

But I asked: "And Putin?"

Lob touched hand

The answer was full of essence:

"I do not know who is."

In beer

"Go from here, not spending time, -

I whispers the demon, - go, are creating in silence.

You are not a couple of these alkashi. "

And God says to me: "Go, write,

But just remember: these are your brothers. "

Stons

I am not a network at all,

Recalling past days

But I still have not been with a woman -

There are only women alone.

I drank vodka with desperate malice,

I grinned in a carass plate.

And love is not nice,

We went to bed with her,

like in dirt.

Is it possible to look for me a reason?

Maybe each light light

Quietly thought: "That's a man!

And fate is again a man. "

Case at train station

He shouted to me on the left cheek,

But I remembered: "Following the other".

And put it, but with a shiver in hand

He did not hit me, imagine!

"You forgive me, brother," said,

And, in the crowd, dissolved, disappeared.

This see, of course, Christ,

And he again as if resurrected ...

Sun is up. As it should ...

Sun is up. As it should,

Dove the skies.

Whiten Brigade

"With Mat" climbs on the forest.

And the foreman, whirling the cheek

Flesh sickly prodigal gon,

Golongo girl

Drags into a wagon car.

The stiffness looks and angry

And from envy languish -

"Prima" on the lip.

And in the kittel resin smokes ...

Look, Lord, what's going on here.

This is building the temple to you.

Opening

Remember, brothers, more often,

The essence of the opening of mine:

Sweet sin, but much sweeter

Refinure from him.

I do not teach you,

But believe me, I know.

Tired!

And write something not with the hands:

Then row, then drunks.

Began to live like spiders

In a three-lit bank.

Yes, write me not with my hands

On such topics.

Yes, make a man!

Russians are all all.

Gorky, sad in mind,

No long ago in her Lada.

You people or already

Only a ram of herd?

In short, grab water pouring.

In general, choose:

Or live how to live

Or die away!

Everything has become a vulgar or frozen ...

Everything became vulgar or frozen.

How to reconcile with this?

Perhaps with whom to talk to?

But I looked around I - not with whom.

No people. Well, in the crowd

What is common or power?

And as a mock on the post

Poster: "United Russia".

Even in the province of Rusea ...

Even in the province of Ruse

Fully soldered by Pharisees,

Christ taught her to be afraid

And God can not be mistaken.

I do not call for anything.

On the dark I am not ashes ash,

But for the Motherland strengthened,

I call things in the world

Always for your own names:

Blud - Blud, thief - thief,

Empty promise - lie

My country's rim - ruin

And God's will - the will of God.

Russia

Under the shouts of the shaggy latch

Strangers and their own Juda

You barefoot in your shirt

In the place of the frontal lead.

And senior son decree reads

And the middle son of the ax takes

Only the younger son rher-roar

And does not understand anything ...

Rus Troika

Sani Fast, horses bricks -

Dimmed in the manems of their wind.

But, alas, to the restaurant rack

The rimmer is sophored in the morning.

He sat the honor of honor -

Released in sticky darkness:

Troika here and Rus on the spot

Yes, fake, not those.

He did not notice the substitution,

I did not hear the laughter,

And went here for change,

Rus was let down from the hammer.

What to seek reasons now?

What to look for traces of trouble?

Little, or damns:

Vodka, stupidity, laziness, Jews.

Window to Europe

I don't want to live so much.

Oh, give me an ax, a holope,

And nails, I'll block

Posted window to Europe

And there is no conversation here.

After all, only thieves are lit into the windows.

I do not know where it carries us ...

I do not know wherever we are

Our troika, in the past,

But throws her and shakes

So in Russian hills,

what is growing

Each MIG Population of Paradise.

Here is my flesh, and my spirit there ...

Here is my flesh, and my spirit is there,

Where there are no shower places.

And jumps heart in the footsteps

Long generations.

There is the feat of the Spirit, the feat

The sacrifices of the edge save,

Strong there is my homeland ...

And the pork is the opposite way.

In vain modern Russia ...

In vain modern Russia

You are looking for y mayor on the ball.

She's gray old woman in the store

Loaf bread hides under the floor.

But, my God! Where with her skill,

With hands that worked the whole century?!

Saw, of course ... and thief "

Called her non-Russian man

We lived in a big and rich country ...

We lived in a big and rich country,

But drove to us the rider on a black horse,

Found who opened the gate to him

And everything plunged into the fatal darkness.

And the dally, and the darkness is thickened,

And the fates of human - prison Ile Sum.

"That will of the people! That will of the people! ", -

Screaming scoundrels that opened the gate.

I am writing poems my ...

I write poems your i

Became Russophile Russophobe.

I know it is very difficult

But if, in principle, it is possible

Ready to write i day and night

Zinoviev Nikolay Alexandrovich,
Born in Kuban, in the village of Korenovskaya (now G. Korenovsk) in 1960. Parents: Mother Lidia Aleksandrovna Zinoviev - teacher of primary classes, Father - Alexander Dmitrievich - a worker. N. Zinoviev studied in vocational school, machine-tool technical school, on Philfak Kuban State University. Author of nine poetic collections published in Moscow and Kuban. Member of the Russian Writers Union since 1993. Winner of the International Competition "Poetry of the Third Millennium", the International Poetry Competition "Golden Pen", winner of the Prize of the Administration of the Krasnodar Territory in the field of culture and art, a large literary premium of Russia. Poems were published in magazines: "Our contemporary", "Allrussian Cathedral", "Don", "Moscow", "Roman-Journal of 21st Century", "Native Kuban", "Volga - 21st Century", "Cossacks", "Siberia" , Rural New, "Rift" and others, as well as in newspapers: "Russian Writer", "Literary Gazette", "Literary Russia", "Day of Literature" and others. Married, has a son and daughter.

"I go on the ground", Krasnodar, 1988.

"Flight of the Soul", Krasnodar, 1997.

"Gray Heart", Krasnodar, 1999.

"Days granted over", Moscow, 2003

"On the ancient turning", Krasnodar, 2004.

"New Poems", Moscow, 2005.

"I am the heir of love and sadness", Armavir, 2006.

"Souls sad gusts", Krasnodar, 2007.

I am Russian

* * *
In the steppe covered with dust branch
Sat and cried man.
And by the Creator of the Universe.
Having stopped, he's up to:
"I am a friend humiliated and poor
I'm a poor shore,
I know a lot of words cherished.
I am your God. I can do everything.
I feel the kind of your sad,
What kind of mischievous you are? "
And the man said: "I am Russian,"
And God cried with him.

* * *
I was taught: "People - Brothers,
And you always believe them, everywhere. "
I threw my hands for arms
And found himself on the cross.

But since then about this "miracle"
I try to forget all the same.
After all, like evil, no false people,
I have no one to love any more.

* * *
From now on everything is canceled,
What happened to us given
For the life of the righteous and eternal.

Where is the spirit of truth grain?
Relieving: "Why is it
Human crowd inhuman? "

So, sin, gentlemen.
No one will condemn.
Will not be a terrible court
And the resurrection will not be ...
* * *

But again I do not know, -
Who is bitterly shouted so
At the entrance to my hut?

Yes, it's homeland! From dust

Yes, if we loved her,
Could she be like that?!.

IN THE ATTIC

I will open the door as a sad book.
Here the time is not in a hurry anywhere.
And dusk does not melt, it seems to be needle,
The beam from the end to the rafters will be sewn.

Here is an old spider in a gray-wing cobweb,
Like a gray bird. Wrong on the network.
Here are birds that do not sing in the picture,
Which is never hanging.

Here is quietly breeding Kerogaz,
Shooting paint scales, and then
Glitters in a semi-making pin from the evil eye
Late grandfather coat ...

LEGEND
And your blue eyes
I lost in the twelfth century,
With a sudden Stepnyatsky raid
They rolled off with her bed.

And then, so that for the death of the family
Pecheneg did not resist,
I raised them from the burner
And since then they are black.

* * *
Wenting anyone
Soul hurts like a wound knife.
But how is gratifying through longing and pain
Think about my soul: "Live."

MOTHER
Where through the fire chad
The sun overnight in the gorge fell
Son died ...
To finish the grandchild
Mother pretty pretended for a while.
* * *

I do not understand what is happening.
In the name of poor ideas
The lies triumph, the fornication torments ...
Let's wave as they say?
But how can I be baptized later
Hand that smeared on people? ...

* * *
On the vague light away
We go, but God sees,
Sixth part of the Earth
Leaves from under the feet.

Left from under his feet,
But we are still harsh.
And only God knows
Where we fall ...

* * *
In the West, the sun sits light,
East swells in the thunderstorm.
Daughted coolness, got sick,
And shower, - how to give! - Lane.

In the garden on the tracks explodes the sand,
Through the sun roll pours ...
And it seems like shifting the East,
And the West seems to be laughing.
* * *

Eh, podaku-ka i pants
Carry your legs, you are free,
Where do you want a citizen
Non-existent country ...

Well, there is no country, and okay.
It turns out the movie.
But still cool
In a bottle of tart wine.

And if I do with all
With all this, yes, then
I will not even be a poet
That exactly I will make a jerk.

I will ring the bubrels,
Swallow wine and quit dance,
So that nonsense does not cry.
Navier ...
Silently ...
Like now.
* * *
In which time we hear it:
"Again the gate stands trouble,
Touch your teeth, you need to survive. "
Oh, Russian God, but to live when?!.

* * *
God for all of us forgotten us?
Will the spirit imagine?
Were forces - no strength,
Abandoned on the wind.

And each other we became
Like dogs chains ...
"My bells, -
I shout a break from darkness, -
Floweries steppe! "

* * *
Circled February by Kosoyram,
Game hid in Sterna,
When one solid reproach
My whole life appeared to me.

Who am I saved? Who did you get?
Who was my stays my stay?
There was no answer. Only the wind
Throwing in the face of spiny snow.

Swallows
Live without patrimoniality, unnamed,
But by order they do not sing
Do not dreamed beads before pigs,
And there are no nests on a foreign nest.

R R R.
Meets you look with eyes
baby
When he is still across towels? ..
The baby does not know either evil, no offense,
He all universal secrets are open.
But before he tells the first word,
From our world of earthly and evil
He will have time to taste, alas, and more than once ...
And the secret of immortyment is again hidden from us!

* * *
"I am not like everyone else" - Spear
I am distinct, then the gloover.
I and before the Lord I will say:
"I'm not like others. I am worse. "

We are not powerful in our dreams,
Just as the fate is not free.
Soul walks in the dreams
That creator, then - Satan.

They wake up as in childhood, it happened:
So easy, even walk on water -
Immediately becomes clear where
This night has visited the soul.

And it happens, you wake up and necessary
All involuntary remember sins.
We look in the mirror: Dantova Hell
Under the eyes darken circles.

Once again about yourself
There are corners in the human soul,
Where to look no need.
There Among the darkness of the corner of hell
Scattered with color dragee;

There is the fools of God Lampada,
There is sensitive to the velzevul
Do not look there.
And grief to those who looked!

R R R.
Doesn't Satan himself already
In the country focusing, frantic?
But the more worthy of the soul
In such a dirt it remains clean.

Hold on, my birth, hold on.
And do not rush to part with the body.
Soft, soul! In Russia, life
Always was not easy.

VICTORY DAY
Scroll and in verses, and in the plays,
He, as a father to his sons,
Already half a century on prostheses, -
That neither spring, - comes to us.

He is terrible and more beautiful
All celebrated Godin.
One such a holiday in Russia.
And thank God that one.

R R R.
I do not understand where everything went?
You, if you know, tell me:
Where is the spirit of power and hearts courage?
Where is the kindness of the human soul?

Or from the birth of our souls
Did not visit the kindness?
Fearing in response to hear "yes."
I closes your ears in fear.

R R R.
Lord, I'm a wolf or sheep?
Go to her flock or in flock?
I do not know, Lord. I do not know.
And I do not recognize until the end ...

"Oh, my Russia! My wife!"
A.blok.

I will not tell you: "wife."
I say: "I feel your belly face,
Country Rubleva, Shukshina
And eight-year-old prostitutes.

A glass of an enrichness to your hand
And the best feelings are no work. "

And goes out with echo in the distance
Question:
"Russia, who are you?! Who are you?.."

PRAYER
No matter how dark
Russian life, odor,
To the Creator there is only one request,
Only I ask God:

Do not give this, my God,
So that our Russia, swearing by Mat,
I went around the world not with Sumya,
And with the best machine ...

R R R.
I do not remember my grandfather at all,
But this is not my wines at all:
He took his great victory,
And if it's easier - the war took away.

My brother with a little bit alike
And the great-grandfather too, even even a baby.
I do not remember my grandfather at all, but God,
Who in Russia will surprise this?

R R R.
My God, already forty
And happy years - no day ...
There is also, of course, gunpowder.
Powder is. Yes no fire ...

R R R.
Again I am bad dooms
Close-to-sad words.
Maybe I am alone sullen?
Maybe I'm sad in vain, eh?

Maybe I don't see happiness
I'm moving by, as a blind puppy?
Maybe about the homeland so often
I'm sad in vain? ..
Give it that God.

R R R.
Minutes free rare ...
And you need fifty minutes
Go to Kurgan where ancestors
Dry grass rustle,
Where the fears of chicks their feeds
Where the cross is so similar to "plus",
Again, the lacquer will remind
Where I hurry all my life.

Blagovest
When so sky turquoise,
And so deeply clouds,
I seem to hear the echo
From afar and down.

Through the darkness born by an evil word,
Through blood and revenge, through lies and flattery.
She is his own gentle ringing
Good message I will send: "I am.

BLISSFUL
Looks clear, walks sideways,
Through breasts - Sumy belt.
Yes, he is touched. But God,
And who are we all?

ІІІ
On a date I spend with a bouquet
Or just run in cases
Behind the Tsenovsky I see if lunch
Or in thoughts to go around the worlds
Noisily rejoice in a random line
Or silently sit by the fire -
I'm all mn: with a smile sad
Someone looks at me on top.

R R R.
From all bliss to me closer poverty.
She is with me and on a summer day, and in Stuzh.
She is black. But the severity of the shield,
Reliably protecting the soul.

GOAT
In the morning at the rising reliable
The goat graze in the meadow.
Grass enough in a circle,
And the goat is fed as soon as possible.

But bearded villain
Everything is neme. And that's why
Silk rope in the neck
As a knife crashes into him.

From eye pain creeps under the eyelid,
And in the throat of bitter brine,
And in the heart of anger ... Oh, goat!
How do you like a person!

R R R.
I was going too long
Talk to you, brother.
And so, gathering, confused
And I start the nefple:
About the dropping rain of acid,
About pesticides in milk,
About the foot and almost disembodied
Pensioner-old man
About white swan in fuel oil
About dreams, about demons in the flesh,
About the life of stupid, to the essence
Which you want to get
About terrible weekdays in Karabakh,
About the atonement of sin,
About wars, AIDS and fear
For all who are still alive for ...

R R R.
They say there is no immortal.
And there are no souls, they say.
Life is a deceived rite.
Life is a jump from the cliff in the fly.

Cursed the moment to conceive,
How the road to nowhere ...
What are silent? Reply.
After all, it is not true, yes?

R R R.
Whether an angel or the demon
Stretches on top hand -
Rain falling from heaven,
Washes red "Mercedes",

Wrap a pure old woman.
I already understand the neme:
Is this the life of il to live?
Rare rain alarmed the night,
Rare - rare like a desire
Our neighbor to help ...

NUGGET
Nugget! Nugget!
Fallen press.
IMIG from Lysin and a beard
In the hut, it became closely.

Operator with a lion mane
Matches films ...
And with a smile happy
Mother stands on the sidelines.

R R R.
We all have a ringing with a bell
Unlock evil hearts.
And pushed the leader. He is pleased.
It is fulfilled to the end.

In the hearts only lie or evil.
And more often - and malice, and lies.
Not in vain from a glass coffin
Lukozo squinted the leader.

R R R.
Do not RVI flowerfish blue
In the zarechny side.
Killers and rapists
Walk around the country;

The face will be frightened by a blade
And the body is thrown into the pond ...
Go from us, poetry.
You do not know here.

R R R.
What am I all sadness to you?
And wash, how is slave?
Come on, soul, melt bath
And they will go with you.

And after going to grandfather Vana,
Let him dispel our sadness.
Game on an old accordion,
Let Rus will be rejected.

Hearing clean, native,
Learning familiar features
As if the dress is a day off,
My soul, you put on.

R R R.
Smugs dump city
Flickers with scolding lights.
It is not visible to her end and edges,
And not a single star over it.

But now slides on the scum
The ray of the sun is first there and here.
In the morning here, as before to the temple,
Crowd Beggars Brass ...

And each with a palcot
Schedule with the staff to become.
... The scared daw takes off.
Descends God's grace.

ІІІ
The park. Fall. Maples. Yellowness.
And the bottom of the fountain in the web.
And clouds like in the picture
Cost real estate. And blue
Silence is descended from heaven.

Okhaku leaves to collect
Leaning in waist bows
Tireless
Who again cuts out on maples.

ІІІ
There are days granted over
When all grimaces fuss
You look with disregard, - so on the roofs,
Must be birds look from height.

In the closed wind curtains
Heavenly skewly
And everything around in some wet brilliance,
As if in childhood, after sleep ...

ІІІ
Night coolness descended.
I sit on the steps of the porch,
Snack of blooming garden
Concerns gently face.

And to the secret of creativity involved
I pay from the thought of one
What was in the life of misfortune
Everyone was invented by me.

And the month flows on the roof,
And pouring from heaven grace
On the crowns of trees, and above ...
What is higher? No need to guess.

ІІІ
Spring still remained in the spring
Everywhere: both in the field, and in the forest.
But the most of all it got,
Take a look, to a nursery.

When it blooms with a smile,
It seems to sing.
Sings and life of our link
The whole point is invaluable attached.

* * *
We have on the farm, in Europe,
So far nothing shakes nor battles.
Only a cat hides in dill,
Touching Sparrow.

And life, and death by walking quiet
Go, - pah, ugh, do not smooth out so that.
And grandfather's grandfather with a smile wild
The coffin is sticking to herself.

And he says that there is no garbage
No one drinks everything in the family,
And that the baptized chamber
Then, as a ps, lie in the ground.

CHILD
I envy this crude, -
My envy, like the sun, Bela.
Right in dust in the middle of the road
He sat down in what mother gave birth.

He in dust carelessly happy
Well, well alone.
Ah, my disgraceful Divo! ..
May, Lord, peace to him.

R R R.
Youth a joke was inappropriate,
Maturity, too, as can be seen, empty.
Only childhood, like any childhood,
He resembled the childhood of Christ.

Therefore, shines from there,
Through the thickness of bad years,
Uncountable, lifelong light ...

SUNSET
Sliding rays on the platform,
Sunset for dirty, dark snow
Sketched shadows. And Crow.
I drove to the poplar for the night.

In the baggage painted the drains,
And from the sins of human far away
Rumyanta Girl on the cheek
The vocational whore is quietly lay.

R R R.
At the map of the former union
With a collapse of the chest
Standing. I do not cry, I do not pray,
And just there is no strength to leave.

I stroke the mountain, ironing the river,
Concerning the fingers of the seas.
As if closing the eyelids
Unhappy homeland my ...

R R R.
I love these old huts
With ever rusty saw under the straight.
This moss on humpback porches
So pulls to cuddle cheek.

These old churches of semicircle
And cripples on the dirty snow
I love sobbing to choking.
And for what, I can not explain.

R R R.
Again these crowns, crowns ...
Again this lunar sickle.
That I saw in life but
These Yves and these willows? ..

But as I remember how much blood
Pours in our world, oh!
Thank God that I am except
The willow, did not see anything.

ІІІ
Bend behind the river to the evening.
Put the grid men, -
Cord, stretched in the flow
Skilled all floats.

The pumping owl is laughing,
He found a shelter
Over the dam, old plow.
Somewhere women sing.
Nobody wants to die.

R R R.
Who shoots there on the street?
And then hanging on the fence,
Neighbor rag knocks
The so-called "carpet".

It would be thrown into a landfill,
But bitch-poverty does not give
And highly raised stick
The mistress hits him and beats.

With some kind of hussar
Breaks rag all stronger! ..
Probably poor, it is miserable to her
What gives bills with the state.

ІІІ
Spring is always in the morning
Comes with a warm wind
Comes somehow vaguely
Almost imperceptible -
How in giving field
Dawn Strip,
As a woman for the first time
Comes in a sleep of a teenager ...

R R R.
Not a beard and shovel,
We look and say: a gangster.
What does he need from me?
What does he watch me?

Dirty, thin, like all the bums,
So he moved to the wall.
That returned. Oh my God,
So he comes to me.

Denounced moonshine
Whispers frightened: "hear,
What do you need from me?
What do you follow me? "

I took a snack buffet,
Vodka was like water.
Drank together for the Russians,
And they broke up.
In kindergarten

Over the flowerumba butterfly flute,
And the sky is poured blue.
In the shadow of the sandbox play
Soldiers of the third world ...

R R R.
That would go back to me again,
And the river is foggy, on a dawn
Out of the dismantling of thick
Our chick.

Again the hand to inspire through the rods,
Stretching back
And do not think about glory and death,
Well, they are to hell! ..

R R R.
It happens often:
Wovel away from idle joy
And flinches unwittingly like a branch
With which the snow was sall.

And with a stuffy strip prank
You look like on a frown window
Empty cans
Flames in sunset ...

R R R.
Breakdown drunk in the alley,
Pleeping a hoarse cry with a mat.
Putting to dirty plaster,
Old man sleeps at the bus stop.

Laughing a drunk girl,
Sitting in passing "Mercedes" -
Her cast buttocks
For the thread pulls the demon.

On the wasteland from the beginning of May
There is a prison.

I call all this life
Are we not mistaken? ..

R R R.
Or the river drove cool,
Or spicy smelled Kuga? ..
With meadow
Smoothly tried a dusty river.

See, they gave the bugs.
See, cloud on that side,
As the swollen dust of the cow,
It is dragging along a warm stamp.
R R R.

Nephew

Today we are with you fishing.
We are with you in the cuckoo away.
And on us is not a rag on the stick,
Krone Willow Duples - our stale.

See the city where your uncle grew up
There behind the river? Do not rush there.
There is an eternal virus
Heartshell, profit and lies.

R R R.
On trouble dog howl.
Garden in the fog, as in smoke.
Mind for the heart of the pit Root,
Heart network rows the mind.

The heart whines from the disaster
My throat is full.
And fog on the bumps of the garden
As hanged, hanging ...

WEALTH
Garden to the river. In Hat.
Table with the Bible. Bench.
Noon ... Book of Genesis ...
Doesn't it be enough?

It all rejoices. pleased
And she herself.
Lee, windy, barrier
Monastery Wall?

So her habits are powerful
So shameless, so rude,
That the Spirit is tempting
Covers hourly
Young nice foreheads.

WINDOW TO EUROPE
I don't want to live so much.
Oh, give me an ax, a holope,
And nails, I'll block
Window caught in Europe.

And there is no conversation here.
After all, only thieves are lit into the windows.

ІІІ
Summer day on Zavaling
I saw the old man:
Stumps - dust boots,
Dead branch - hand.

In Tired Looks:
Neither longing nor tears.
As if the tree is old
Waiting for the last thunderstorm.

R R R.
On our street there is a house,
Always closed shutters in it.
From all of us terribly far away
Live in the house of old people.

He is thin and sad, she is like a shadow.
They are in flour night, and in the day.
Their son stayed in war
In someone else's distant side
Sands of his crank track ...
And old men for forty years.

Idleness
I'm lying all day under 2
Floss flies into my eyes.
I sometimes lazily
Antly Murakhna from face.

Clouds crawl waves
But I do not burn my soul shame -
I know: our deeds
God is already on the throat.

Feast
And after the third to everyone to the light bulb
Who is a birthday boy? How many years?
There are few chairs, make shops.
And flies fall into the pate.

Heat. In plates fat melting.
And sweet hops in the eyes of the kuma.
And they all say that life does not like.
Well, do we like it? ..

R R R.
Heart is sad, the spirit is nispy.
Life right, and death of law.
Summer. Rural cemetery.
Neither crosses or stars. Grass.

But among the grass grave,
Pale, thin and high,
The spikelet - the coat of arms.
Thin, bread spikelet ...

IN THE GARDEN
Neither high heaven turquoise
Neither fields of endless wheat
Immediately did not throw in the eye
As on a branch, a crucified bird.

And the path did not really attract
And the cherry suddenly became not sweet.
Birds shadow on my face lay down
Excessive bitter fold

R R R.
I loved this time of day, -
Blessed clock!
Glowing with a ram from the booth
Pots looked at the door.

The owner went out of the house
And Zyabko hung up to Tulup.
Oh, the unforgettable spirit is the outskirts!
Oh, snow creak! Oh, smoke from the pipes!

Hittenka dilapidated. Sugro.
Windows all to one
Looks without envy, without malice.
Oh, my childhood time!

In Steppe
Hollowed out the haze of the distance
Water wrinkles in the river
Belieet "Kashka" from shame,
Blush poppies from shame
Look frightened chamomile,
And even the wind warm evils
For a foreign shirt,
In which I came here.

R R R.
How the sun is very huge!
Fields of vast, like the sea.
The medium of them are measured and modest
It goes - my life is going.

And the world rules lies and rage.
Crying does not merge on any moment.
And in the heart everything moved:
In Him and the Holy People Pity,
And anger on them, and shame for them. R R R.

It was the Lord's mistake
Or an idea of \u200b\u200bthe devil but
I was born with a suicide smile,
What is not given to anyone.

Dear friend, do not hurry with ukrusive
To condemn my revelation.
After all, understand: only in the strugnure of life
The ineverance of her!.
.
R R R.
Days rushing like Sani from the mountain ...
How pure and flames before
I believed that all people are kind.
And now I can not ... even though you cut.

Chugged, UGAS under the arc
The bell of that faith ... and what?
But now someone else is
Also believes.
And give him, God.

R R R.
I did not sleep and I went to the courtyard.
Leeping tops over the roof danced.
Hop, like a thief, at the neighboring fence
Led slowly. And the stars flicker.

Light wind I have a sleeve,
Barely trel in the hand of a cigarette,
And spinning slightly
Because the planet rotated ...

R R R.
Skin whistles and cannals,
Ultrayard day subsides good,
When the sun burned in the sun
Home in the trailer tractor is brought.

They are under commissioners and bourgeois
All with the same husk on the lip.
I look at them ... when I look at them,
I somehow be ashamed to think about myself.

R R R.
Come thoughts, but not those
Which can be rejected.
Shine stars in height,
And on Earth it dark, godless.

Who am I sitting by the water,
Killing up morning potatoes
When with that star height
Russia seems to be palm?

Old widow
And in the morning in the eyes dark.
On the hut roof completely disappeared.
And remember scary like a long time ago
The soul of the soul burned.

But on the face of the life of that
Light remained. He is extinct
As a saint poverty
On a bowl with a knocked edge ...

ІІІ
The sun is shining. Heart beats.
Vaughn a snowdrift slides into the shadow.
Won Tynitsa Waist of the Sun
On the branches will sink all day.

Wanders the winter wind in kroons,
And in the roots of the spring itching ...
And drifts in shadow like eyebrows
With surprise, crawl.

On haykos
Pokhyaktev and Shohav,
Grandfather has shyled Spit.
And we "with God"
Knee-deep in the dew.
Grandfather's grandfather
He is here in front -
Even on the back of the cross
Little chest got off.
So we went, by noon
I a little feet of the wolts.
And, I confess, I do not remember
As fell on the roller ...
High in the Sidebie
Lean to the clouds
"MIG", similar to the cross
My old man ...

ІІІ
Morning. Sky. Summer. The sun.
There is no wind. Silence.
In the pan of black window -
Trail walking-sazana.

Dragonfly will be up with
Then comes on the shoulder.
In the reeds dot laughs ...
Well, what are you still?

ІІІ
Descended quiet evening summer
And only there is only a splash wave,
Where tanned like blacks,
Tack of ward boys.

And won the meadow where the hay is sieves.
Won beam, where the cows are Popes.
... transparent shower dragonfly
Printing immortality on everything.

ІІІ
I confess the meaning of being,
But you will enter with a wet smile,
Take your robe for the edges -
And nothing more matters ...

Who is this power to you?
In fate on joy and flour
You threw me Satan
Or the Lord led to the hand?

ІІІ
All women are very different
Especially in hot nights:
One silent like a bird.
Other glowing like a dawn.
And there is a one that dreams.
Which dreams. Only.

FEMALE
It is necessary, and then suddenly not needed,
I chase, I call her timidly.
That princess, the queen. Princess!
That slave, Half.
It worries, but we need peace
Then ... and however, I will say secret:
Very bad when it is not.
When there is no it.
No.

ІІІ
Well, where will I give you?
I do not have any home or hut.
Wind in the field yes stars in the pond -
That's all we will be rich.

And do not need about the paradise in the slash,
So one spoke already.

ІІІ
Probably sparkled B for a long time
Ile killed somewhere on the bama,
When would not be small "but"
With cool sweet lips,
When not this gentle look
And all that we do not like it,
What turns the life of hell
Let's not in the paradise garden, but still ...

ІІ
We and I went to forest stitch
Shined the sun hotly
And with a secret trepid, furtively
The shoulder suddenly suddenly shoulder.

Then I drove into her Poppies in the field,
She "love" whispered to me.
And time skull dog
Laughing quietly in Byrian.

ІІІ
I'm in our room cool,
Waking up early in the morning,
Stain on sunny spots
On the bare-colored floor.
She slept, naked chest
Biast
And I'm happy and bass,
In the bed she was carrying a cake on a dish.
Hurry up to the kitchen to put the kettle ...
I see all this as in the movie.
Alas, we met by chance.
Alas, we broke up for a long time.

And life, as before, is incomprehensible.
And I as a beggar on the ball.
But these solar spots ...
But these sunny spots
On the bare sex! ..

ETERNITY
Steppe without edge. The road is bad.
As scrambled eggs, noon squorthes.
One-day, in Kuvet, fluttering,
It's dragging my shadow.

In Motherland
With the river, the tina smells weakly.
Above settlement dust hanging, -
Over the turkey shot down bab
As a daughter, buses.

Behind the river, the mountain of the song,
Someone windows in the house beats
Espiled with eternal revenge
Whether to the mother-in-law, then for the test,
Whether for life. Who will understand? ..

You ask the God of peace
And hot prayer
You are baptized with your left hand,
Pulling in her the landing takes.

And with an angelic face serious
The wrong cross is molding
Sigh - under the city of Grozny
Dandy your hand is.

It remained not in granite,
Not in bronze, but just rotted.
Standing. And your guardian angel
Stands behind his back. Without wing.

Similarity
Grandfather Rating road
End the snake ...
My grandfather is like God,
That I did not see him.

From childhood
Water and sun here without measure,
And how many songs under the bayan
Here we are spitting by us, pioneers -
Children workers and peasants.

We sing about the Motherland of Mighty,
About good, valiant affairs.
And fluttering over stead
Native with a birthday red flag.

In the heat, we are pronounced in an awning,
Throw pebbles in the ravine,
And know exactly: president
Perhaps the enemy, and only the enemy.

* * *
Remembers no longer pressure:
Courtyard with thick grass,
With bright blue shutters
The house is a samanny, simple.

Food to my mammy's father
On milk and honey.
Who at least ever small
I was, I know, I will understand ...

More and remember me nothing about
Not what to push the soul.
Then went alone little things
Life for a long time.

* * *
How much I remember, he is:
Rare beard
Dirty, sulfur, dry.
Tripping.
Dough Armenian.
Children's smile.
- Advanced, Vanya-fool.
How are you?
- Don't chibko.
- Is it going, beat?
What is Vali?
-Bolly serve a lot ...
As before the war.

* * *
How to borrow abroad
And with happiness, howls,
That we kneel.
And we kneel
Pray before the fight ...

Iron curtain
Curtain collapsed. And what?
And they decided the Lord:
To disappear to him.
Hey, serve him here!

Before the meeting
Octopka trembles in the wind,
Chucks branch in the eyes:
Do not look like a coffin of zinc
From Chechnya flies to Ryazan.

But flies under the heavens
Coffin and howl, and whistles.
And towards Ryazan
Maternal cry flies.

The heart beats, time rushes.
God right, save,
So as not to see what happens,
When they meet.

* * *
Wind verse. Star flashed
And the other after he was lit.
Verse the flow of daytime hum.
He became heard of God's voice.

The duck lowly flew
Highed like an arrow.
All that the soul wanted
Found

MOTHER
As a lady stern
I went to the average girlfriends,
When the letter is sown
She came suddenly.
Waited, stocks full,
In captivity of happy dreams.
All letters remembered him ...
She killed "Lightning".
Casual.
In five words ...

* * *
Again we are looking to blame.
And I scream with the crowd: "In hell of them!
Quarter on the wheel! "

But God sees: we are all okay;
And in what is growing death in Russia,
We are to blame.
Everything.
Everything.
Everything.

Soul
How much abandon on you per day!
You have never been glad.
But we will exhale, we are sloy.
You're strong I have, right?

We are not easy to go dear,
My stubborn, native donkey.
Anyway. Come on, touch.
Relas without me. After.

When looks up
Familiar has a sick daughter.
Disabled, you understand since childhood.
And no one can help her.
There is no such means in the world.

I understand that I have nothing to do with
I understand, I understand the mind ...
But Nemethte under the left shoulder,
When I look at her ...

* * *
There are West in the world, there is east,
And between them, like the Messiah,
On the time set by God
Crucifixed you, my Russia.

One war did not make enough
Already another lights network.
On a fraternal pool between eyes
We will be recognized on this light.

* * *
I do not know wherever we are
Our troika, in the past,
But throws her and shakes
So in Russian hills that grows
Each MIG Population of Paradise.

* * *
Grandfather remained in war
And I left the country.
And now I look with wine,
What do you do with my country.
NOT RUNES FROM PREVIEW.
Human shower. And I forgiveness
Will, there is no? I dont know.
All people are knocked into flocks,
Who opposes those in herd.
Something to do, you need to do!
I tormented my soul
On the other - do not jerk.

Above the country was able to ...
Do not forgive
Neither grandfather
Neither God.

Old woman
Leather hands of a dark row.
In the thread, the Strike Ring.
As the page of the old book,
Yellowed face.
- Is there children, grandchildren? What do you?-
Darkened by the back of his forehead
- I'm out of girls in the widow.
That's all my fate.

RUSSIA
Under the shouts of the shaggy latch
Strangers and their own Juda
You barefoot in your shirt
In the place of the frontal lead.

And senior son decree reads
And the middle son of the ax takes
Only the youngest son rums roar
And does not understand anything ...

Bread is awesome
As an ancient Rome times of decline,
Scribit and the country is wring.
And only burning lamp
I do not give me: "Khan".

Only this bit with goat fat,
In which the Osa is floating
I do not give me a candy world
To reduce all the scores in half an hour.

* * *
When exhausted alarm,
I will begin to invent troubles,
I'm to the river Tropskoy canopy,
As a friend is faithful, I am.

Back from there, as from childhood:
No stupid thoughts in the head
No evil in the shower, there is no pain in the heart,
Only dragonfly on the sleeve.

* * *
Memory V. Shapovova
We are still with forever for eight years,
We still fly in dreams,
And the neighbors pears do not ask, -
And we carry the harvesters on the pants.

Still we smoke under the bushes
Father's bulls cigarettes ...
And before the war in Afghanistan
Almost twelve years old.

* * *
The first compounds in the hair.
Thin stockings in such a stub.
Eyebrows like threads. And in the eyes -
Nothing like a soul.

And stands, rushes grief,
"Bitch Privinal", "Katyukha",
"Katka-Polovakana", "Katka-whore".
Katya ... my classmate is ...

On the Sunset
Sun red scene
Not long, until morning.
Who, for what to be angry?
Life is murderous.

For one that now live,
Days reduced stock.
I did not hurt, perhaps,
No one. But did not save.

The day is over. Sun village.
What can I say, except: "Eh!
Hands are intake, legs are intact.
And the soul is hurting everyone. "

* * *
I do not throw people challenge.
Let them might and continue
But only instead of the TV
I want to watch the sky.

In me, no grip, nor delete,
I am not in the world,
I would bob to live on the farm,
Where so much herbs and the sun power.

Sheep grazing, and after dinner
To the lunar trail on the water
Reading the bible, learn
Slices of cheese in a beard.

Wheel
In an embrace with morning fog
Flowing under the wings of the river.
Sit and you tempt yourself
That happiness is probably.
And that yours did not appear,
You are not a pipe about how Elk.
Probably somewhere caught
And, as glitter, broke ...

On the way
Outside the window is a river, then - pasture,
That is a boy in the panties of some.
"Who is to N-SKA, get ready for the way out,"
Passing, says the conductor.

The train rushes at wind speed,
And you can not turn it back.
And to the N-SKA only seven kilometers.
... and to the place of the crash - five.

* * *
I look at the stog, on the swamp,
On the Kurgan at the river, on the rod.
And stronger than the great-grandfather and grandfather,
I love my small homeland ...
Because big no longer.

* * *
And in my outback
There is no mountains or seas.
Only pasture with a tied chick.
Yes, the canthand tree,
On which the soul,
May, sickened by Size Bily.

But sudden happening
Feelings are light in a circle,
Contrary to all adversities and troubles,
All going
Like the light of the sun in dew,
As a family in an old dinner ...

Lermontov
Pyatigorsk lights.
Years like clouds.
How many in their life? A handful
Or is it century?

Oh, how everyone is tired!
It is tightened and strict.
To the last duel
A few more lines.

He is cunning like a demon
And the sadness, like God,
Earth and sky
It does not fit a sigh.

Branch wind pegs
Empty, Gulko in the chest.
He sits down and writes.
Death is already behind.

* * *
I am not a plower and not a warrior
His native land.
I am a poet. My mind is forced,
As if sting at the snake.

I am a poet. Happy Share
Can not be with me.
How no smell at salt,
How there is no taste at the fire.

Immortality
Tuchi Sizby hung.
Dead of Russia. Night. Railway station.
"You see, no life," -
The man man said a peasant.

Rolled on the buffet
This phrase. Began to drink:
"Pull up! Where there is no life,
Where to get there? "

MEMORY
Standing summer heat.
And Mom fry the cutlets.
And I spoke my "business" -
I put a boat from the newspaper.

And the song Russian flowed.
From reproducer in the hallway ...
I do not know whose was the power
But the life of Yuyla looks like a living.

I remember how uncle was glad
When the wife gave birth to twins.
Neighbor neighbor was like a brother ...
So I live that I remember.

1972 year
I just have twelve years.
Grief, I have not seen yet.
Smoke first cigarettes
The new sweater was impregnated.
On the screen fantomas
The commissar is eating famously.
They shoot, and we are quiet.
Not before that we build
Thousand factory and palaces.
Will call later "stagnation"
This is a bunch of scoundrels.
I miss the lessons
And I look to the corners following.
I just have twelve years.
Happiness I do not notice.

* * *
In my country so little light
Money and ranks reign in it.
In my country, the poet's dream -
Ham is a widow.

My dream is not ashamed.
I'm still stretching
Time allotted, but it's a shame
Before the tears insulting for the country.

* * *
"There are women in russian selets"
N.A.Nekrasov
The wind with a waste winds again.
The village is at the stream.
Walked around the village with a garbage
Chernobyl, Syvuha, Chechnya.

Widow tears were cooled in pickles,
But in the outstands are full of drafts.
There are women in Russian selets,
But there is no man already.

* * *
And he is closer, a terrible day.
We came from the table with octask,
As if the psam. And even a shadow
It will not fall on the ground in Russian ...

Do not die, my country!
Under the evil laughter of an inner.
Do not die! Well, you want, on!
Take my gray heart.

SNOWDROP
(Monologue of a woman)
Did you start again in the grove?
Sunday? Well, so what?
Look: not shaved, skinny,
Who did you look like?

Other husbands are like people
Output so output.
Sat, drink - who condemns?
What are you hiding behind your back?

Oh! Snowdrop! To me? Where?
How could you be a miracle
Find in the snow in winter?!
Pathfinder ... Spiny ... my ...

Memory grandmother
Herbs smell so sweet
The air is warm.
For iron fence
Silence and peace.
Like a green cloud
Behind the fence - waste.
And gate cream,
And heat bench.

Strange it seems that
And doubts take:
Whether the sun is heated
Whether the angel was here?.
.
CAUCASUS
Where are the spear of the southern night blue?
Only stars as shots, worst.
It starts Russia.
Or ends? God is news.

Apocalypse in Russia
When the Lord comes off from heaven,
He will overthrow all in hell, karaya.
And only a queue in sobes
Translated to the gate of Paradise.

Gypsy with output
Parenyok, well, not kitty.
What are you sitting like an idol?
For a healthy lifestyle
Pull the whole glass.
Nu, Daria, Drop Paradam,
All the facade will show!
Show Kremlin Gadam,
What is alive in Russia life.
Explain to them, the gang - sob,
That the people are not a handful of Tly.
Show language people
You can only from the loop.

* * *
When not happy already
Hearts Roda Nature -
We are on the last turn ...
The opponent step is and no people.

This world can a lot of
He is arranged damn wisely:
Hypocrite and hatred multiplies
Umahly love and welcome.

Maybe sweetly drunk from blood,
For killing hand orders ...
What can I tell him but
"Get away from me, Satan!"?

QUESTION
Lord, I'm a wolf or sheep?
Go to her flock or in flock?
I do not know, Lord. I do not know.
And I do not recognize until the end ...

* * *
The soul has not yet cooled,
Still happens to her light
But the heart is poor ... it
For a long time, the grief has developed.

R R R.
Strip of gloomy dawn,
Strip of wet jn.
Divided the pumping. Is it?
And this, sorry, I.
I look at confused klyachu,
As if on the life of the ...
You seemed to you - I do not cry.
I know it is nothing.

* * *
I do not hear the bird I'm pegs
Although I go among the fields.
Today is the day of remember
The unfortunate homeland of mine.

It was easy to save it!
But every grocery is
Was endowed with those days ... everything! Late.
Silent, unhappy orphan.

Fragile world
I am visible from the window.
Neighbor hut half,
But closer to approach the window
I'm scared: suddenly, like Pinocchio,
I'm all the nose.

Terrible world
Have you seen bonfires screaming?
Not? So you do not know
That they are then crushed into boxes
And send mothers?!

KIND HEART
I thought on the young year,
What is a good heart - award.
As I became mistaken then!
Okay. Still, it is necessary to live.

"Yes, you have to live" - \u200b\u200blife says ...
But in the world of malice and debauchery
How it still hurts
How it beats to blame ...

R R R.
At the neighbor Galina
Son grows without a father.
Often I see the Male:
Everything he sculpts from clay
Men Nagich
And cabbage leaves
Gently rustled them.
I once bowed
Over a diligent boy:
"Will you sculptor, Petka?" -
"No," answered, "father."

* * *
I have any reason to be more expensive
Over the hutnika Babkina smoke,
Smelling quasher and powder,
Walking along all my roads.

Let any urrods sound
Passion and grazing sin.
Only the Spirit of God and Shard
Always filled with a soul.

Where are Russian quiet songs?
I would like to hear them. Lost.
Krikun is overseas, although crazy,
I need a hair in the booster.

Where are Russian kvass and porridge?
Where is Russian on the springs of the crown?
Where are our Russian women?
Where is Russian, finally?

Russia, Favorite, where are you?
What a hurricane smoke you? ..
Stayed on the branch
Unbreakable Russian glass.

* * *
People walk, scratch the topic -
Life gives a dangerous roll.
Have fun, - Your time! -
Macker, Broker Businessman.

I would give Russian words
You, of course, could call you.
Well, okay, God is with you ...
Only God is hardly with you.

R R R.
My native outback,
You seem to be created for sadness:
Curves huts, wet meadow,
On the shops of the slaughter of the old woman,
Born to bespoke to idleness;
Nights a terrible cry of owls.
Bewilder
Gover, Lord!
Alas...

Khututor
Not hungry, not rich,
But something styling
Scattered gardens and hut
Along the river farm.

Without special changes
Life flows here, without embellishment.
Here without any apology
Bread bridge a month once.

And they will bring cottage cheese
Or correctly: cottage cheese?
I dont know. But I'm roads
This quiet farm.

No, not the fact that willow bent
So pictured at the pond.
My grandfather here
I had to go back with the war ...

* * *
Typical day. Coastal meadow.
Above him in the fog, like stains,
Two herons fly, but from two
Screaming which is incomprehensible.

Fog, cry of heron, meadow, grass
Here, it seems, nothing to complain about.
But for some reason I hardly
There is enough strength not to burst.

* * *
We are lying on ate leaves,
Not loved, and so ...
You waited for a half of the prince,
I have half a holester.

Lazy you move
And not, confess, too lazy.
Golden, autumn day ...
Leaves fall on the face ...

OLD PHOTO
It is the old world street.
Golden, native year!
I, as a wanderer on a pack of "Pamir",
There remained soul forever.

Let the huts do not stand on the thread
And the shoulders boys on the chest,
You are on the windows, take a look at the windows! -
Without grids they. That's what's the point.

* *
Finally I waited for evening pores.
Slipped, crowded around, mosquitoes,
And stick with greed into the body of my
At least someone useful my everyday life.

Intelligentsia
Let not always be a rack
And bitter saw sneaking,
But still there was a layer,
And now you have become a gasket.

Monument for victims
Civil War
Above legendar Tacanco
Slowly clouds float.
And the wind sings sad
In granite manes. For centuries
Frozen basting horses,
At the pedestal of the sun glare, -
I put a bouquet of carnations.
Carnations are red and white ...

* * *
What do you mean dating on the road?
But I still remember it:
And I remember her deep,
And left running probor
And the table car between us
Screen-screwed to the wall ...
Do not youth this over the years
Everything is obvious to me?

* * *
Look at what draws frost
On window glass? No, not roses
And not white branches birches
And summies, summies, calls ...

And not a fabulous swarm clouds
On the window glass silver, -
Then frozen in the steppes of men
Bearded white faces.

A MEETING
Wind. Night street.
Along - lampposts.
The snow begins to break.
Legs doze away from walking.

On a blizzard already like
The snow began to fill the snow.
Thank God, here is passer.
- Do not be smoke?
I was delighted, sinful,
I thought, say: "on, pull."
But he said: "I am not here.
They do not smoke there. Sorry.

And left. I became terribly terribly.
This is some nonsense!
Well, of course, this is a joke.
He is a joker ... And if not?

* * *
I pass. On the wicket one
Inscription by the paint "Evil Dog".
And indeed: Ice view,
Wolf Wolf and Teeth. but
Writing the kid gate, -
Of the year three, he can a little more,
And riding a dog! Oh my God!

The boy seems to be a bow
On the chain kobel seats.
He doesn't know anything about evil
And the dog does not bite him.

R R R.
I remember everyone by name,
Who taught us that work is a reward.
Forget, cute! Do not...
Labor - punishing God's us.
How can my spirit be high,
When to sweat, up to Izmor
I'm a piece of beef
Palace is a luxurious building of the Warmer? ..
After all, I indulge in him.
After all, I am from them, coming out, samples ...
Oh, eyelids! Neither the heart nor the mind
Neither the Spirit does not find supports.

* * *
God gave me fame and honor,
Wealthy give - everything will be not enough!
Everything will seem not to count
Without her lips, burning alo.

Let God be suddenly poverty
As Ice Water Oskat.
But give the eyes and the lips of that
One single! That's enough.

Combine
In a dust jacket of canvas,
In boots and dusty cap
Gently jumped out of the cab
Man big and strong.

And rag in fuel oil
Man has his own man
Cools, not knowing that, in fact,
There is no hands in the light of the cleaner

NEAR THE WINDOW
I take a look from the book, -
What is there for noise? A - a, barefoot
The boys run on puddles.
Suddenly the thought is like black outbreak:
Not everyone will become an old man.

Unnavited
The collective farm caretaker goes to Nice.
Nobody cooks moonshine.
The last polygon is closed.
Lead the last killer ...

Peasant
Sits, smokes Machorka
Unshaven peasant
Looks with a smile bitter
On your land a bull.

While he is on Zavaling,
In it forces - on a chip,
But this small will get up -
Do not bring, Lord! ..

Do not wise!
We sing the songs, since we are bad.
And cry, since we are good.
Yes, we are not from the world. From God.
You do not care about us.

Tested us different hordes.
Burst into us in dusk hut
And horse hot muzzles,
And the tanks are cold foreheads.

And was at one time, NATO,
Zelo Popular Mother
And Hitler, and ... Enough? Do not?
Well, then. Look, do not wise!

R R R.
Not because suddenly got drunk
But again I do not know, -
Who is bitterly shouted so
At the entrance to my hut?

Yes, it's homeland! From dust
Gray, in the scape and the kenny ...
Yes, if we loved her,
Could she be like that?!.

* * *
And grayheads -
Ospels, not otherwise:
Why not pull -
Skull pulling Cossack ...

Unemployed angel
In a victorious retinue
He came out from the courtyard.
Hard to hide on a sweater
Two huge wings.
He walks behind the coffin,
But it looks in heaven.
On the face of Belolabom
Not earthly dew.
He will point to the abode
Path free soul.
This angel is a keeper -
Unemployed already.

Personal definition
Life is not a holiday, but life is not triction,
All illusion in it. All dream;
Even death for the living - the ghost,
And real - one poverty.

RUSSIA
When you are innocent and weak
The bride to meet
And you look slightly baba,
Where is your truth, and where is a lie?

Then mate will face wildly,
That is the tears along the chucks.
In the hand - then Shcherbataya Finca,
That violin is a magic bow.

You - in the distance field road
Ile Omut evil water? ..
After all, all of you, like God,
No one saw.
Never.

Divination by hand
The fight otgil. At the bottom of the funnel
The pebbles slightly smoked.
A little bit alone, just on the sidelines
Lying former hand.

On the cut of the thread tendons
Mixed with bone flour ...
Lee buried, stayed alie
He whose was she hand?

RUSSIAN FIELD
I'm under the sky your dull
Understood this not yesterday:
So that you stay Russian
Kulikov become time.

Otherwise you snorched,
Still's terrible trouble, -
You will become mongrel grief
Already to a terrible court.

It will be summer nights
Golden dream of rye.
Wooden crosses
Before the top tighten ...

* * *
I see the sky, the field in the armor,
And at the village council, the bust of the leader.
I see the river all in playful bursts
Warm jule rain.

I hear the thunder of long rolled, -
All this is fixed in me.
Russian shower, how wide you! -
There is where to raise Satan ...

Cross
And I understood on the slope of the day,
When the sunset is a river scarlet:
"I'm not my cross, and he
Carries in the life of an unprecedented. "

Exodus
From the world - rotten crypt,
From malice, nation and lies
Russia goes to the sky
Try her hand

* * *
And the age of our corrupted,
And I am clearly visible
Picture is sad one:
"Our mind is frozen"
And soon will pop up to the bottom.

* * *
I would only rejoice in May,
No, no longer a Yurtee.
And I understand perfectly:
Motherland comes the end.

Other not visible options,
And I, walking on the fishing line,
Live feeling toasting
Long departed emigrants.

21 century
Will fall with the eyes of your curtain,
And you cite as the world of people
Under the burial march of progress
Strive to the abyss everything faster.

But you don't see it yet,
You are in the bustle of the melted worldly,
Only the heart is a sensible poet,
As an atmosphere of the planet,
Among fear and longing.

* * *
Vitaly Serkovo.
In the so-called wilderness
Where do chickens walk on roads,
I understood who I am. Soul
Mobataya before God.

Only it is only a cotton,
Like mother child, cheri,
And I don't want to live differently
And I would like - not a mind.

In the sentence of a terrible court
Talk in silence about many
You come to me here
Where the chickens go on the roads ...

Motherland
Marsh alive in the ditch,
Bridges in three rotten boards.
Cow for Torch Otave
Tescape empty nipples.

Dry bunches of dill
Inhabsed the hut wall ...
My dear side!
My native ... Europe.

* * *
I love I quiet hour sunset
When the road dust cool
When a little wet and cool
From the river a breeze blows,
When the mirror is dam
Two or three stars meet a look
When words are smelted,
And melts will speak ...

From the past
We walked obedient to the celebration
Marxism ideas, sang OD,
But kabanov all these years
Always pour to christmas.

Cherished desire
Weak you, flesh, and the Spirit is not strong.
Oh, I'm trying to assure myself
That this world is only a pitiful cast
Since where we will be later.

* * *
So replaced the epoch era,
What about this sadness?
Before secretly we believed in God,
Today I secretly do not believe in it.

Winter Zarya
From Frost, the air is humky,
The breeze appears.
As in Phahi box
Measuring winter farmers

Posovit ridges
Light dawn. Crystal sound.
And smoke from pipes like stems
The wind is beveled south.

* * *
Fate gives us all as he wants
And I rush, burning,
Then up, then down, then the sidelines - how nomotes
With repeated head.
* * *
Holy to be even not honored
But I pray with diligence
Sucho, like Rudin:
"Let my blowjob and my people
The fate of Judine!
Let go in the night will overtake
Let the sacrificial sheep,
Do not give us, God, just become
Graves of depot merchants.

POET
Everything in the world is busy business.
What a lot of destinies!
Who makes the stones with breads,
Who in the stones turns bread.

Find a business to me, poet:
Only I am alone - nor something,
I sit, first in the hands of the planet,
Where it all happens.

FALL
I see the autumn late signs:
Forests and gardens were expovered,
But the trees that the wind is spawned,
Not shame their nudity

And grass surrounded by red
Sun puddles in the premonition of the blizzard,
The sky has become sad and lower.
... and the bums reached out south.
* * *
Remove the laurel crown -
I never went to the clikus,
But I know that the light is the end -
Goods to darkness in our souls.

I have nights at the shouts "Atu!"
To strive evil scary hary
I wake up in cold sweat -
Coronation in full swing

WIND OF CHANGE
Light memory Yu.P. Kuznetsov
Blown the country and did not notice
As if dust shook off his knees,
Strong wind, evil wind,
Crowd wind change.

In ruins of gusting
And sleeping around in ditch;
Something warm sprayed us
And salty. God, blood! ...

Century coming dick and gloomy
Like a wolf's old zev,
But we are alofty,
Previously, deadlines.

Love land
She loves everyone without parsing,
That right above it is given.
Holy elder or thief
She will bring her - she doesn't care.

From herbs and snow her dress
And the temper of her, by no means angry,
But who fell into her arms,
He himself becomes land.

And again free, again the bride
She, submissive and quiet,
And new ready place
For the groom.

* * *
Memory V. Hapovova
What did you do from homeland
Without returning from the war? ...
At the grave of Volodina
Chest color of wine ...

Aphgan winds subsided
Life is mortally wise ...
Above the urganan country
Now the wind blows ...

Over the road not passed
Disk of the Sad Moon ...
What did you do from homeland
Without returning from the war? ...

* * *
"And their own, and someone else's dotting", -
We repeat so many years already.
Interestingly, and our descendants
Those will tell the words about the soul? ..

The same everything will move around
And, offended by the common destiny
All do not understand each other,
Everyone will not understand themselves.

* * *
"God is love"
From the Holy Scriptures
God right, your mind
I am conquered. But with anger
I wanted this thought
Like a puppy with a huge bone.

* * *
Under the roar of the helicopter shelf
Isn't it stupid to write poems about the world?
War of people just got fed,
But poles, as always, her sides.

Feed, - It is terrible to think to me, "people.
What poems write to me? About love?..

OLD MAN
"Rest only in our dreams".
A.blok.
Charter with Planet Fly
Her beaten orbit,
The old man looks at all, how to get
With some kind of malice and offend.

Wandering in a mahorochny smoke
Cars buzz around.
Oh how you don't want him
Fly in a circle and in the grave.

***
All day, in the soul of Rewa,
Busy search in yourself
Clean thoughts, light feelings,

But they are like someone hides, -
The mind is worst, heart crying,
Suffer them I am honored.

But efforts are in vain.
Sleeping the evening is clear
Melts the hum of daytime
Someone somewhere fries meat.
Meat fries, damn it! ..

* * *
Memory early, early
Soul, do not regret.
Everything that was before
You remind her.
Rash on the wound salt
Horror znoby
After all, the soul is only pain
Gives yourself.

To the people of their own
Let's wait not razen
Will the father of the son of the sown?
Wouldn't we have enough blood?
Christ let's wait.

POOMURKOM SALE,
And the riza is chista.
Let's wait for Stalin.
Let's wait for Christ.

And throughout - therefore,
Listen to the poet you

He is one of you.
Listen ... at least once ...

MY COUNTRY
My country ... What is my whole?
Penny choleop work?
Or Curve Curve for the Blower?
Or a deaf place in the cemetery?
Silence grave in response ...
My country is a ghost? You are absent?
* * *

V.Sosnovsky
We slept in a Russian oven
Happy Russian children.
In the oven mother of Kalachi,
Tasty I did not meet in the world.

You, memory, do not be silent!
Like a vein, open your given
About how on this furnace
We read Russian fairy tales.

Where is the Russian oven today? ..
And where and the Russian speech.

ABOUT ME
You will notice somehow suddenly:
Friend got your enemy
And the enemy became a friend
Well, how was it - a fool.

Fools do not immane -
This is a clear plus in fate.
Fools do not dig pit
Is it just ...

Well, and get out, of course, -
This is generally not a secret.
And friends with enemies gently
Write you: "Poet."

Female
Terrestrial lady of paradise
Sorry, I could not listen
But you - I feel the rest of the second,
And the first is God.

I have such an opinion
And the truth is not different.
But still where I can
Drop with one foot?

* * *
And everything is terrible and worse,
At least someone goes to Paris,
But you like a loop on the neck
At the inch of the Vienna.

And someone gathered in Nice,
But big thinks part:
"At least in the madhouse does not get
It's better in a simple hospital. "

Although in the madhouse "not bad":
There porch gives from the millet ...
Such a bitch-era!
Such here, damn, times!

I know not the point of the poet
Write about the price of flour
Because perhaps for it
We'll have to hang on a bitch.

* * *
Today I swore a little.
And what was the fault?
That youth is my youth
All disappeared at the beer barrel.

And sometimes it flies from there
Cigarette with rings smoke ...
Well, think, is not a miracle,
What had ever been young?

I spent in vain today
Well, and that, that forever is closed
The path where my youth is always
Beer drinks and laughs violated? ..

HERMIT
... and in the crowd I go, as in the desert,
No one is doing business.
Whether the dust is split, then
I will notice my trail.

The sun is melted by the evening,
Each counterpart is not cruel,
But you sit down and tell them: "Water to me!"
Lect you, like sand ...

More wife
How not to choose the path - the godfather.
Well, mortal, choose any ..
I chose the path of the wrong way:
In darkness, where love is glowing.

And I will say without any false:
I managed to walk before love
I wanted to go even further
There is no further mortal path.

My consolation
Yes you yourself don't know
What is needed to you
But you dare
And God, and fate.

It is not necessary to look ask
Stop downloading rights
Sort and calm down
Like in the snowfall grass.

Be clean like a sheet of paper.
Trust heaven.
After all, what do you benefit
You can't know yourself.

DREAM
Get away from the outstanding syllable
From the all lying in the world,
And there, in the unknown silence,
At least a rapid soul
Touch God ...
But overcome the temptations of the century
And dispersed doubt
Not many given. Give me, God,
Although it would see a person
You helped so much.

INSPIRATION
As if wings are shredded,
You will write ready at least volume ...
How sincere silence,
You understand only then.

POETRY
Then suddenly a big bear
Then the shadow of blue in the snow,
Then suddenly the salary behind the river
She does not give me peace
As a friend, not as an enemy.

In the moment those when I am with her
I have a heart and mind,
I'm closer to truth and faith -
So it seems at least ...

Logical consolation
Although I was not in Paris,
I am calm like eggplant.
And who on the farm was our
From Parisman?

Russian wife
You are the incarnation of patience,
Soul and bright angel - you.
And I? Who am I? Just stump me, -
At least if there would be a colors.
You still do not lose
Neither the beauty of your own nor
Why just repeat:
"If only I didn't drink, just not to drink ..."

* * *
"You can only believe in Russia"
F.I. Tyutchev
No day, no month and not a year,
You should always believe in Russia.
And as for adversity,
They will go like dogs, obedient.
They run away in the same way,
Abscribed by the Beach Lord.

* * *
Melody, sounding in the shower,
Pokes ... here there is no longer
There are some trivia -
Here I turn them into poems:
Their sweet smoke and bitter chad
Again the melody sounds ...

* * *
Memory of V. Hapovova, S.Ivanova,
killed in Afghanistan

They graze cows with me ...
Snowballs like apples gnaw ...
Pass "hares" in the movie ...
For the first time try wine ...

Light them in my memory!

Once again about poetry
It's only words game,
These are pushing thoughts
This is a thin needle,
This is a sensual tale.

It's a thin horn
Sing it does not pruneure.
This is only death, friend.
Only death, friend. Only…

And when, ready to sail,
And burns farewell light
You come suddenly to open,
As in happiness, there is no happiness.

SLEEP
In a dream, I prayed and cried,
And the candle was compressed in a fist,
And wax with her on the hand of a drip,
And the blood glasses hand.

And steel flowing blood
River valleys are tested,
And the boy floating on the roof
Told me frowned by eyebrows:
"Do not dare to interpret dreams"! ..

New mausoleum
(from Chechen poems)
Soldiers killed in war -
One, at least, separation
Bury on the moon,
Let their bodies do not know the quench.

About their souls do not regret
They are now in paradise ...
You survived the mugs, stolen,
Fill with blue moonlight.

We will revive our country
With the Lord, not yourself.
And every night on the moon
We will be baptized with tears

* * *
Are you with you sufferers?
Do not anger creator, my friend.
Here sits a soldier without hands,
And it looks at the world ... Through your fingers.

Leftless
Somehow in the morning at the restaurant,
(And in my pocket a penny)
With the ubiquitous prince of the world
Gloomy met left-handed.

Hug a prince Levshchu by the shoulders:
"Friend! Go? For everything I pay! "
Sill fleece easier
How to answer: "I do not want."

And they went ... and came out
On the eyebrows - in all its glory.
It was Leftchea punished over:
He became right, like everyone else.

Antique weapons
If NATO Tanks Armada
The path will send to Rus - their wines.
An old man from the celi with a lamp will come out,
Illuminating all times
Looks around all the all-seeing ok
Will overload with peace other -
And all the tanks - how many were them, - Skop
Will become a rift ordinary pork.
And the dogs will be melted
In Great Rus: Who is ...
By the way, something like that was.
I just do not remember when.

* * *
Again, I come back to Russia again
With severe unforgivable fault:
I'm not saying goodbye to my beloved
And the homeland says goodbye to me,
Looks in my eyes bitter and jealous ...
Can I remember later without tears
TU "On the hill, among the yellow Niva
Chet whitewing birch "? ..

Christ in Russia
Violets already blocked
The sunrise was already broken,
But gloomy and sad on the landfill,
Where people live all year round.

And the views have long been extinct
One in them remained the question.
And the one blowing coals
In the fire, not otherwise Christ.

And where is he still? In the Duma?
There is no need for it.
He is here among the evil and sullen,
And he himself became also like that.

In shack, like Khleva, -
There are many similar Halup, -
Noticeably pale from anger,
He eats from a tukhlyatina soup.

And listens to the darkness
Malts with a dressed mouth.
Ends God's patience ...
Who knows what will happen then?

My Father and Son
I am Russian.
I missed a scientist.
And lasts a whole century
Sometimes our day is black.

Examples - without end,
There are thousands of them, quagm.
The medium of them and the life of the father ...
And maybe the son.

* * *
Wherever you look - grief,
Some smell in the chest.
Oh, Lord, Dock?!
Dockens, Lord?!

Like daws with bells
Words flies with mouth.
Who is forever dissatisfied
Sobody, he is not empty.

So the soul is fucked -
Well, known, not in paradise,
Not in vain from the glass
Deepat so gray.

Hell in a singe
Find him, look ...
Oh, Lord, Dock?!
Dockens, Lord?!

* * *
Fall leaves. Wind howl.
Raw drafts buzzing in the alley.
And feelings of mourn world
Even dark, even sharper.

Go to the buffet and no snack
With sorrow of this world
Take and deal in Russian
Of course, the exit. But not mine.

* * *
"And not shaved as Russian in paradise."
Y.Kuznetsov
Rus, - head for clouds
Medium sinless blue
And it is not visible, alas,
What is happening under your feet.

And not shaved, like in paradise,
I am in doubt standing:
Do they sing away
Now my homeland is mine?

* * *
Long the world rumor crawls
In the minds, born not in poor:
Russia will soon fall.
Do not having fun in advance!
Kohl falls - presses many.

Or maybe they are all.
What, besides the wet trail,
Then will remain from the world?
Pray better, gentlemen,
For our Russia, and the fact.

So the Lira prophesies me.

A LIFE
Pavel Kosyakov
When the soul recovens the sky
Lie down in the ceiling,
And think darkly: "Velip's life" .-
Here is my destructive vice

Already screaming my life itself:
"Saw away from the vicious mind!
Do not imagine me chimera
Fill the heart with a warm faith,
I'll live in a smile mouth
Believe me, seeing Christ ... "

Rowan grove on the break
Let your days do not scratch in vain
Do not get used to us to say goodbye to Russia.
Such a share of our depreciation fell:
Neither death gives her God or life.
Stand so on the verge on the edge
Having mourned chief property
Before the terrible court
Watching us there and here
In the spiritual confusion of eternal and donor
Ryabinovoy groves on the cliff ...

Optimistic
"Spronsia Candle is all burned," -
So lick the servants of the decay,
Do not understand the essence of the case,
What is not a candle of Russia, but a lampade.

It just burned oil
Only…

* * *
I pray for a wounded soldier,
About the horsepower wounded him.
I ask God grace
Living, all to one.

I pray for an old prostitute,
I pray for a gang from Yuntsov,
Pray four times a day
At six o'clock.

I pray for the way on the road,
So that with the eyes of them sleeved sleep.
... when the soul appears to God,
She is shy for evil.

Tale about Russian soldier
It is scattered in Russia:
It is here and the legs there
Where Kerosene trades
Newly represented imam.

That the soldier does not cry, "throw
Speak.
"Patch, son."
Allah himself plays in the bone
Russian hands and Russian legs.

And not baby strollers
Buried cities ...
Century passed in the soldier's helmet
In Russia.
As always.
* * *
And sins - throat!
How to help yourself?
I frankly stubbornly:
"The demon, I'm sorrow!"

But the creator sees
That I still drush:
And suddenly the devaiset
And grab the soul.

* * *
"Goodbye, unwashed Russia."
I do not say anything.
From Natuhi let yeah
I will be homeland from dirt
Miary, starting with yourself.

* * *
Spring air kvass sour
Shibets in the nose, and as in delusion,
All feelings old and thoughts
Acquire sharpness.

Sings a stream at the bottom of the ravine,
Breaks sun saucer ice.
And I'm up to wisdom two steps,
And to madness - one.

* * *
And I saw how the bomber beat
For ring sausages. Beyond for a long time.
Blill with him, slowly,
With a merciless smile -
Like a wolf.

He tried to bite her shoes
Under the counter wanted to roll.
And no one died to stand up
Only I decided ... Write.

* * *
Do you remember "Morning in Pine Bor?"
Do you remember: Warm Fog? Bear?
Girlet of the rods sleeping on the floor ...
Oh, how time is painfully compressed!

Soda themselves today lie
Semi-bridged baby.
And watch spiders for igro
Not aging cubs ...

Abandoned distance
Here are only owls - the people are settled,
And the wasps, a lot of wilders.
And the old garden, sometime light,
All in the buninsky zaros.

Falls up shadow on shrub
And roll china
Curve hut. And Tatarnik
He heads his head about the wall.

* * *
Raised Besnowness,
Enchanted our way.
"DOGRAY, MY LACK!" -
So pulls to tighten.

But smell to all hand
And go to Kabak -
Lighter easy, I will not hide
But now it will not be so.

* * *
Here is my flesh, and my spirit is there,
Where there are no shower places.
And jumps heart in the footsteps
Long generations.
There is the feat of the Spirit, the feat
The sacrifices of the edge save,
Strong there is my homeland ...
And the pork is the opposite way.

BY THE SEA
Which space! What a strength!
What ... fraternal grave.

I stand one at the edge of the solid,
On the ancient turning.
And terribly sweet soul
Neighborhood of beauty and death.

* * *
Until I went to the bottom,
Dressed in mortal shirt
Lord, give me at least one
In the mole of a shimmering line.

And so that from this Merzian
Said purely and light:
"He was a poet of the denunciation,
But he denied only evil. "

* * *
On the shore of the native river
I sit and the victim, and the executioner.
Live in this life contrary to
That's the task of tasks.

But how to beat his forehead about the wall,
Store smile on the face? ..
As in the task book any
Answer, alas, always at the end.

Stons
I am not a network at all,
Recalling past days
But I still had no woman, -
There are only women alone.

I drank vodka with desperate malice,
I grinned in a carass plate.
And love is not nice,
We went to bed with her,
like in dirt.
Is it possible to look for me a reason?
Maybe each light light
Quietly thought: "That's a man!
And fate is again a man. "

Autumn day
Go to the river. Retire.
Blously listen to the dothemna,
How the tit in Evniaka whistles,
How simple she is happy.

Then, breathing in the smoke,
Go with stars on the trail ...
And suddenly burst, as in childhood,
From burning pity for yourself.

Youth
Did not leave anything about himself
I say I'm not a reproach.
The heart is trembling, saying goodbye, forced
And it so far.
Life over the years generous on rudeness.
How are you? I say: no - go.
And the chalemon from our own nonsense,
Return is waiting for yours.

* * *
Peter Tkachenko
Returning from fishing night,
Wild ducks tearing from overdoor.
I'm tired and frozen like that -
Captain and builder ark.

Crazy in a quiet
In a complete darkness sailing at random.
But thumbs are thickened before morning,
This is checked by me, brother.

* * *
Egypt! Greece! Tunisia!
Light of the sun, women and potion!
Oh, Magic! Cruise! Cruise
Non-flow fun.

And I have a cruise - with longing.
I have a special sample:
By the sea of \u200b\u200bfoolishness of human
Between the islands of lies and malice.

Mood
Stitching of the Old Testament
Mauls in the sky bird wedge.
How the poet soul mourits
He knows only God alone.

All apparent melting
In an incorruptible embroidery ...
All I do not have enough
That is not needed in life to me.

From diary
"Get away from me Satan," -
I repeat at night and day.
Does not leave. It is like a wall.
God merzko to see us together.

I am baptized! I scream right in the MGLU:
"Leave!" ... but carries a refrigerator
From the hallway, where in the dark corner
He hid behind Cardina.

TWO BANKS
Noise, fun on the wrong side
And on this silent and quietly,
Only the mice are in stack,
Yes, the moon of sea buckthorn.

Somewhere quietly splashed out ...
It can be seen here, I will be met by the dawn
I am with insane welcome my:
Be on the beach and on this.

* *
You are not told that life is criminal,
Forgotten loyalty and love,
Any oncoming is available,
Jew to become ready anyone.

Do not say: "The soul is not glad
Holy Draw, warm hands ... "
All that is unjust - not true,
And therefore silent. Do not lie.

* * *
One day after drunk
Wake up gray and hmur
You look at the window: Yankees
For breakfast they catch chickens

Self-alone gustrain laugh
Brushed silence
And drag on fun
In the shed your wife.

Creek and feathers take off
The bedrooms dawn,
And you have a hangover
There is no strength.

INSOMNIA
Midnight enters lunar riza
Squeak mouse. Heaviness sigh -
Know now someone bad
Who my soul is close to me.

Lunar beam, not thicker,
Something writes on the wall.
To know who do not sleep,
When is it bad for me?

LOVE
With an evil word on the lips,
With a grimace angry, with a scope
How often we throw in dust
We have created from the dust.

But not guilty she
It gets up from the earth not with the thirst for the gym,
Gets up with a smile of all-up
Which is only given to her.

Poet
That wine as water, drinks.
This garden breaks at the cottage.
And poet, friends, lives
A little differently.
Yes, he also drinks wine,
Grokes beats, but still,
Every day and every hour,
Although it does not climb out of leather,
But he thinks about you,
And for you, sorry, too.

By the river
Out of heavenly chista,
Similar to the Rhiz of Christ.
Warmer evening! The sun is melting.
Rassed water meters.
Only faith is missing,
Only faith ...

* * *
Where is the clean shower high relative?
Find him - search in a stack of needle.
We all united theft,
How nightly, no matter how bitterly.

And let me housing lzpatrich:
"How does he dare? What he says?"
But, my people, are you worthy of AD,
When is the colors from grave plates? ..

* * *
A. Rudich
Wife will leave when the disease comes.
Friend grumbled crookedly.
And only poetry immortal spirit
You will get from the cliff.

Shoulder, like a brother, pat
Raisses the poet again
And I will not ask any ruble
For this.

* * *
All day like a cross
Thinking unwittingly:
"How can I save Russia?"
You find it funny? I hurt me.
Even the spirit freezes
From longing and fear ...
In Russia any thumb
Somomah hat.

Window
My favorite window,
What I did not see in it only:
Vaughn from the throat man wine
Swallows ... Volga rushed out.

And the last model
The luxurious "Mercedes" ...
And behind the corner is a brothel
Opposite the Sobes Building ...

The woman passes ... one ...
Voron sat on the top ...

I watched from the window,
To him attached a mental hospital.

* * *
Maybe my joy is not appropriate
Medium Nasil, Depravity and Lie,
But I believed in what is known
In the whole light - in the immortality of the soul.

But, alas, my joy is short.
Again faith doubt doubt
But I will remember the sweetness for a long time
These few minutes.

* * *
Low shore. Kuste Kalina.
On the bullshit, empty salas.
And over us, the caravaly
Wedge long in "Our Father".
Determined and elevated
Flies to nowhere
Sucking: "Better never,
The late. "

Baba Yaga
Unmarried you and childless
In each match you see the enemy.
And where is your innate femininity?
You are still Baba, Yaga.
But silent, only looking sinister on
This world, populated by people ...
That's what a woman becomes
Without love.

Fate
Husband died in Afghanistan,
Son - in Chechnya on the battlefield.
And stayed in this mol
Terrible, twilight,
Together with her in the world of this
Grandson sitting on the needle.

* * *
Life is so mighty, son,
So much in it is not enough strength,
That traces of bare feet
Deep ... deep, like graves.

You're more like angel heavenly,
And I already have a marriage.
I looked at the abyss in such
What I'm better silent about this.

* * *
Again, winter came to visit us,
Summer gazebo in the snow.
And I look at the world without anger,
It is a pity that I always can not.

I sit in a gazebo above the glass,
Snowflakes on a ram,
I want to know until you drunk
Snowflake smells like ocean,
Or a snowflake ocean?

* * *
These are black sunset horses.
They will drink to dryness our pond,
Our garden is flooded. U, Gada!
Call them, drain, from hut!
Away them. There is nothing to do it here.
They do not even have a native smell,
Not like our horses.
Call them, drain, rather!
Let them go back, west ...

In beer
"Go from here, not spending time, -
I whispers the demon, - go, are creating in silence.
You are not a couple of these alkashi. "
And God says to me: "Go, write,
But just remember: these are your brothers. "

* * *
Sun is up. As it should,
Dove the skies.
Whiten Brigade
"With Mat" climbs on the forest.

And the foreman, whirling the cheek
Flesh sickly prodigal gon,
Golongo girl
Drags into a wagon car.

The stiffness looks and angry,
And from envy languish, -
Tar "Prima" on the lip.
And in the kittel resin smokes ...

Look, Lord, what's going on here.
This is building the temple to you.

* * *
Oh, the days of the lucavia! Evil Summer!
Lie and betrayal lady.
Optees in a pistol blow
Take a look, the close to the eyes.

There is even a little poet here,
Here only God must be
To people for all for it
Do not hate, but love.

Great thirst
Great thirst worked
He sold an old accordion -
His last fourth
And he drank two bottles in a row.
Came home to the smoke, in the insole,
Having sat on the wretched lunch:
Great thirst worked
I forgot that I dug my accordion.
And the imaginary belts threw
And imaginary fur spread
And fingers lost
And forgot everyone, and forgot everything.
One melody just remembered
And it filled the room.
At least the emptiness hand met,
Music sounded, sounded.
And with horror, the wife looked
At such an unprecedented business.

Friends
Let we do not fit into the prophets
But what would be not so chames,
Friends let's call
As temples ...

PRIDE
We are the old temple restored
And the courtyard was cleared of the rubble.
And in heaven to the shoulders of Mary
Christ fell: "I'm scared, mom!"
And in the sky, the angels shouted,
That the sun was flattened in a melon,
But we, but we did not notice
We have worn pride.
But with the pride of this very,
Throughout Russia, sowing trouble,
Proud of wormless, as glory,
The temples exploded our grandfathers

* * *
"What do you know, sterling, about attacks?
You, I see, not to drink not weak.
We rushed with a grenade on tanks,
You rush only to women.

What do you know about the actions?
And I will kill the fascist butt?
What do you know? And, in fact, who you are
What is on equal with me here? .. "

Silently drank vodka a sump guy,
I hid a look that was Hmur and heavily.
From behind the table stood up and on a pair
Skipridge prostheses left.

* * *
Swooped over a pond,
Suddenly a rifle thunder
And swan on the water fell
Someone's cry: "I got! Hit! "

Then the engine roared in the bushes,
The shooter was taken by the ravoisi.
Muddly fadly birds gaze,
And noon remained clear.

Slowly floated clouds,
Swinging slow water.
And indifference nature
I envied. Slightly..

Crows
Black flock flies,
The sky is grunting.
There will be a tree - simple
Birch will be like a widow,
Il Mother that signed son
Yesterday is terrible: without tears ...
And in Russia these Kosnokov!
And in Russia these birches!

Victory
There was a day victory explosion of happiness,
There is even a pain of losses in it.
Joyful and often
Human hearts. And now?

Go for years, and with them troubles -
How from the suma broken.
And what are we further from victory,
Thus, we are closer.

* * *
Unusual era
Nursing years!
Anyone ask: "In God
Do you believe? " Immediately say yes.
Why do thiefs like dirt?
Yes, and whores are not a bit.
He should be so
Orthodox my people?

I do not want to write extensively.
Only strange. Very strange.
* * *
The world is terrible. Evil is huge.
Life is some spikes, without roses.
Why the heart is exactly
Bang, brother? Empty question.

Here it is jumping, jumps.
But not like sparrow,
And as a ball. Yes, like a ball:
Everything weakens, weak, weakens ...
* * *
I am still fully breathing,
And the hope is full of
What such poems will write:
The souls will appear at the soulless! ..

Leaked to anywhere
Like boys, laughing and pushing.
And I write poems sometimes,
The fact that these are poems, doubting.

* * *
"Is there really no God?"
Nikolai Rubtsov.
They said: "He is not.
This is opium and nonsense! "
But it was believed to poet:
"Is there really no God?"

Well this is a terrible torment:
Man - one ...
And once on baptism
He went to him.

IN THE HOSPITAL
This with the smell of the vile chamber,
And on windows lattice strokes -
Not high too much fee
For not necessary to people poems?

* * *
"Sotti random features
And you will see: the world is beautiful! "
A.blok.

Poet, poet in what are you
I lived a misfortune.
Erase random traits
Perhaps only with the world.

But so beautiful thought herself
Great poet
What do you celebrate the mind of the mind
And believe in the heart.

S diary

SATURDAY
It turned out to have Petrovna
From Rodney - one Christ.
We, neighbors, how is being done,
Called to the commune:

"So, the slave of the Lord
Departed, they say, in the world of others. "
We answered: "Today
The brigade is a day off.

In the morning at nine, on monday
It will be all right.
And Rudis Staruha
Let him lies, will not run away. "
MONDAY
Oh, throw on the head
She forgotten Paltecho
Or rug to rats
Did not spoil the face ...

* * *
Stayed from grandmother
And bright sorrow in the soul.
Oh, Lord, how do I feel sorry,
What is not with us already.

No one for me "Mykola" will not say,
But in the dreams of my full longing
I see: in paradise she. Knitting
Christ woolen socks ...

* * *
Where, I do not understand me, the mall has taken out.
I fly to the surround of snowflakes, as the years lived.
As far as everything is in life with meaning,
So without fiction
But how he still is fabulous to life plot.
I understood not suddenly with my icy fellow fellow
On a glast road to the cold forest showing:
Being above love and not dare - it will not work anyway.
To be below love, although it is possible, but only it is impossible.
And feeling such as a string of naughty worried,
Knees snow young fence, whisper:
"Buddy, be another, please revenue", -
Suede, kind, very fir foul.

Keep me a forest, never ask anything about anything.
Unfortunate people with you living apart.
Keep, and you get tired, I am also very tired
On the wind of the snowfish thump

Attempt to landscape
And wind warm, and evening dive
In dew coastal bushes,
And only I am fighting
To nausea ...

No, I am not what would be sick,
There is no such disease.
But I am dissatisfied with
As a person and as a poet.

* * *
V.N. Pavllychenkov
From you, young, I will not hide:
I do not know, but I knew grace
I saw my motherland
What you do not see her.

I saw such a power,
I lived in the empire
That forever for the last glory
I will hold on hand
Otherwise, I will ruin like a tree,
For the current looking people
Looking to the right, then left.
And we visited only forward.

Russian road
"In the name of Russia
We wore us in the womb.
In the name of Russia
Throw us into battle.
In the name of Russia
Give God, we have strength! "-
Sang boy hoagish
With a gun above the lip.
Chechen near the grenade rushed,
And the guy crashed, no longer breathe.
And Russian dear
Invisible and born
To the throne of the creator
Flew the soul.
And in the morning, according to part, the order was announced,
Then they celebrated, as usual, mother ...
In the name of the departed
In Russian Road
In the name of Russia
I ask you to get up! ..

* * *
My dear contemporary,
What was so buried slaughter?
Or very little money
Either money too much.

These extremes are dangerous
Avoid - severe work.
Sad in the unfortunate camp,
And the happy camp is not here ...

WELL OF WOMEN
Fate went to the concession.
You called me! God exists!
I take a tube, like a dove,
The good brought the news.

Behave like a contuge
Tears are broken by century.
Someone else I need
Nice, empty person?
* * *
Drinking a bottle of vodka a bottle,
Cooking some kind of question
Clumsy feet stroke
And I hit the Earth with my nose.

I did not have time to support him
And boiled on the heart of the insult
For you, my rus, whose land
And so here is the blood of the polita.

* * *
My poor verse, like flowers - winter ...
Forgive me, my reader and friend;
I am writing them, so as not to go crazy
From horror, creatible around.
I'm rejected, already hurts hand,
From demons, driving in a blizzard.
My poems are not at the century,
And only until the eighth day of the week.

At night on the porch
Green Month looks at the puddle,
Flink the stars, the air is clean.
I sit, silence does not break ...
But suddenly rushed sobbing soul,
As a "chrome" drunk harmonist.
Prayer
How sometime in Europe
Ghost of Communism,
Today wanders in Russia
Ghost of optimism.

He will affect the flesh, Il suffering
In Purple sunset,
Communicate fate together
His fellow.

Darkness will put out our candles,
The spirits evil will wake.
"Son, the Son of Man!
Let it be so! .. "

Motherland
You survived so many sons!
What could be worse? I dont know.
And your fee has become hard.
Console you do not even jerk.

* * *
I am the heir to love and sadness
My ancestors in hell and in paradise.
Then do not go whiten in the night, -
The ancestors of the soul found out my.

Castle night districts,
And crumbs under foliage feet.
I do not break out of this circle,
The circle of eternal love and kinship.

And do not be fulfilled, my soul, fear.
And you, heart, do not be afraid: "What if?"
Never crumbling
This etern is a vicious circle.

One of the largest modern poets - Nikolai Zinoviev is perhaps the only one who completely overcame the information blockade of Russian literature on a quarter of a century. As a man, a non-public, true reclusive, he, nevertheless, became the most quoted poet if not in literary articles, then - in our oral speech from Sakhalin to Kaliningrad. So even in the detective television series "Version", the intellectual investigator of Javisis suddenly recalculates already as the shittomaty of these Zinoviev rows:

"And the man said:" I am Russian ",

And God cried with him. "

Someone once told me that Zinoviev is a poet of one note. Objey, I published his "Favorites" from eight sections a couple of years ago, from eight different "notes." At the same time, I understand that in Russian literature is still too unusual and unusual poet absolutely secular, but who accepted the fate of the poet with the highest spiritual concentration and personal responsibility, with what will be raised only to the monks. Yes, a monk and crying, and laughs only as a monk. So Nikolai Zinoviev has not written a single voyage word for a long time, not a single line in the author's delight before their self-sufficient beauty. The poetry of him is much more dense than the story of Ruth or Esphyre, she, as anger and crying Isaiah or Ezekiel, is devoid of physicality, is only addressed to the highest meanings of our brief existence on Earth.

However, if it's more so much to look for the fact that in world poetry there were Zinoviev poetry like, how not to recall these, carved in marble, the lines of the symbol of Keossky on the site of the greatest Farmopil battle: "Travelers, go to build our citizens in Lactedaene, // What , their covenants are dishes, here we have fallen. "And it gives me the right to consider the poetry of Nikolai Zinoviev in the highest sense of optimistic. Only faith in the fact that the Russian man and the Russian people do not disappear today from the face of the earth, but only tolerates in the forefront in the world battle with evil, give, let's say, the unemployed intonation of Zinoviev poetry, the value is truly lifeful, for the life of an eternal guarding in us The image and similarity of God.

Nikolai Doroshenko , Secretary of the Board of the Union of Writers of Russia, Director of the Publishing House "Russian Writer"

Poem

I am Russian

In the steppes covered with dust breno

Sat and cried man.

And the Creator of the Universe passed by.

Having stopped, he's up to:

"I am a friend humiliated and poor

I'm a poor shore,

I know a lot of words cherished.

I am your God. I can do everything.

I feel the kind of your sad,

What kind of need you close? "

And the man said: "I am Russian,"

And God cried with him.

Let me not want, brother, die ...

Let him not want brother, die,

But there is a word Iron "need",

To replenish the heavenly rails

For battle with hell.

These arguments of the tank and the wurgted,

But, no matter how dare you and cool,

It is still worth waiting for the agenda.

Volunteers do not take there.

Meet the Peru

Want to know where I was?

There is no secret.

I went to myself

MiG is not for all summer.

I was gone like a dog

I returned back.

That from there brought

Recorded carefully:

"Don't write about my soul

So dark and slaughter

Know from the Russian Soul

The key is stored with God. "

Hopelessness

Here is the fruit of nights of sleepless,

Your nights, poet:

Fall into the number of saved

There are no real chances.

You were too impaired,

Yourself on trouble.

Your passions are scheduled

The limit, alas, in hell.

How nightly

No matter how terrible but

Everything in the world is not by chance,

You knew it for a long time.

You even sign

It was given, however ...

The world is on the edge, and they are not scary ...

The world is on the edge, and they are not scary.

They are not close to them.

What hell? What is heaven? Other important:

Would not lose CSKA.

Yearning.

Russia 2012 year

All feelings covered apathy.

Around only one mirage.

And drown per party party

Not in someone, but in his own lies.

And how many crazy around!

But sees only PIIT,

That the time of the Second Coming

Already on the threshold.

Doubt

Yes, do the poems please

Beauty of images and syllables,

When I do not give sins

Get a prayer to God?

Others write about the other

And I write only about it.

Maybe in case such

Can you call me a poet?

Summer Lord

Abolished sin to understand.

What to wait for us ahead

Kohl besides exclamation: "Curse!"

Nothing breaks out of the chest

Sedo-standard poet

With a huge I wonder in the shower ...

And breaks to the windows warm summer,

Maybe the last already.

He is not useful for society ...

He is not useful for society

Not the party line is oppressed,

And is Felix Iron,

And let the poet "into consumption".

Lyra is broken down

Forever dropping out of the hands.

Before becoming a poet

Maybe still think, a friend?

Impromptu

Life hangs on the hair

And not because

Man lives in longing

In other yudoli?

Beats the vein on the temple

Remembering to be a cunning

What lurks in the hairs.

Man lives in longing

About the heavenly kingdom.

Given the thoughts of locust ...

Given the thoughts of locust

And only one lit candle:

"What is a person waiting for the coffin?"

Answers are also rushing with a scope.

But faithful all the same,

And I lived to the village

Among the answers of different silence,

Thus, I am glad all the evil.

Leaving Russia

Study that there is no luck here,

What one trouble lives here,

That you don't have that environment ...

And you would wait for Sunday!

Conversation with an old woman

Always alone, not humpy,

In it is flesh - on a chinful.

Who rules us now?

Lord, Milok, Lord.

But I asked: "And Putin?"

Lob touched hand

The answer was full of essence:

"I do not know who is."

In beer

"Go from here, not spending time, -

I whispers the demon, - go, are creating in silence.

You are not a couple of these alkashi. "

And God says to me: "Go, write,

But just remember: these are your brothers. "

Stons

I am not a network at all,

Recalling past days

But I still have not been with a woman -

There are only women alone.

I drank vodka with desperate malice,

I grinned in a carass plate.

And love is not nice,

We went to bed with her,

like in dirt.

Is it possible to look for me a reason?

Maybe each light light

Quietly thought: "That's a man!

And fate is again a man. "

Case at train station

He shouted to me on the left cheek,

But I remembered: "Following the other".

And put it, but with a shiver in hand

He did not hit me, imagine!

"You forgive me, brother," said,

And, in the crowd, dissolved, disappeared.

This see, of course, Christ,

And he again as if resurrected ...

Sun is up. As it should ...

Sun is up. As it should,

Dove the skies.

Whiten Brigade

"With Mat" climbs on the forest.

And the foreman, whirling the cheek

Flesh sickly prodigal gon,

Golongo girl

Drags into a wagon car.

The stiffness looks and angry

And from envy languish -

"Prima" on the lip.

And in the kittel resin smokes ...

Look, Lord, what's going on here.

This is building the temple to you.

Opening

Remember, brothers, more often,

The essence of the opening of mine:

Sweet sin, but much sweeter

Refinure from him.

I do not teach you,

But believe me, I know.

Tired!

And write something not with the hands:

Then row, then drunks.

Began to live like spiders

In a three-lit bank.

Yes, write me not with my hands

On such topics.

Yes, make a man!

Russians are all all.

Gorky, sad in mind,

No long ago in her Lada.

You people or already

Only a ram of herd?

In short, grab water pouring.

In general, choose:

Or live how to live

Or die away!

Everything has become a vulgar or frozen ...

Everything became vulgar or frozen.

How to reconcile with this?

Perhaps with whom to talk to?

But I looked around I - not with whom.

No people. Well, in the crowd

What is common or power?

And as a mock on the post

Poster: "United Russia".

Even in the province of Rusea ...

Even in the province of Ruse

Fully soldered by Pharisees,

Christ taught her to be afraid

And God can not be mistaken.

I do not call for anything.

On the dark I am not ashes ash,

But for the Motherland strengthened,

I call things in the world

Always for your own names:

Bludn, thief, thief,

Empty promise - lie

My country's rim - ruin

And God's will - the will of God.

Russia

Under the shouts of the shaggy latch

Strangers and their own Juda

You barefoot in your shirt

In the place of the frontal lead.

And senior son decree reads

And the middle son of the ax takes

Only the younger son rher-roar

And does not understand anything ...

Rus Troika

Sani Fast, horses bricks -

Dimmed in the manems of their wind.

But, alas, to the restaurant rack

The rimmer is sophored in the morning.

He sat the honor of honor -

Released in sticky darkness:

Troika here and Rus on the spot

Yes, fake, not those.

He did not notice the substitution,

I did not hear the laughter,

And went here for change,

Rus was let down from the hammer.

What to seek reasons now?

What to look for traces of trouble?

Little, or damns:

Vodka, stupidity, laziness, Jews.

Window to Europe

I don't want to live so much.

Oh, give me an ax, a holope,

And nails, I'll block

Posted window to Europe

And there is no conversation here.

After all, only thieves are lit into the windows.

I do not know where it carries us ...

I do not know wherever we are

Our troika, in the past,

But throws her and shakes

So in Russian hills,

what is growing

Each MIG Population of Paradise.

Here is my flesh, and my spirit there ...

Here is my flesh, and my spirit is there,

Where there are no shower places.

And jumps heart in the footsteps

Long generations.

There is the feat of the Spirit, the feat

The sacrifices of the edge save,

Strong there is my homeland ...

And the pork is the opposite way.

In vain modern Russia ...

In vain modern Russia

You are looking for y mayor on the ball.

She's gray old woman in the store

Loaf bread hides under the floor.

But, my God! Where with her skill,

With hands that worked the whole century?!

Saw, of course ... and "thief"

Called her non-Russian man

We lived in a big and rich country ...

We lived in a big and rich country,

But drove to us the rider on a black horse,

Found who opened the gate to him

And everything plunged into the fatal darkness.

And the dally, and the darkness is thickened,

And the fates of human - prison Ile Sum.

"That will of the people! That will of the people! ", -

Screaming scoundrels that opened the gate.

I am writing poems my ...

I write poems your i

Became Russophile Russophobe.

I know it is very difficult

But if, in principle, it is possible

Ready to write i day and night

So that the country is to help.

I am ready to challenge

So that only the homeland will save.

About this, actually, and speech.

Save Russia is very simple ...

Save Russia is very simple:

Everyone needs to crash with a shower

Neverness, fear of Bremen

To all discard times

And that's it. Russia is saved.

Prayer

I ask no glory, nor jea

I ask you, grieving for my brother,

Save my country from those

Who painted you once.

Christ, they are your enemies!

They are slaves of the Caltz,

You know myself, so help,

After all, your pretty words ...

The new book of poems of the beautiful Russian poet, our contemporary, a repeated laureate of many literary awards of Russia - Nikolai Alexandrovich Zinoviev ("Poem": M., Russian Writer, 220 pp., Circulation 1,000 copies.). The entire circulation is from the author in the city of Korenovsk Krasnodar Territory. The cost of the book excluding the costs of postal shipment - 150 rubles. The author who has no other means, besides a very modest pension, asks to help him distribute and sell the book. With it can be contacted by email:nikzinkor@ mail. ru».