Painful condition
Once on Thursday, I woke up weak,
having been covered with a warm quilt,
with a merciless temperature,
I am dying, and I am bleak.
Like a pendulum,
hearing the run of strikes in the
clock’s click.
Laying in bed, I had exhausted from the
undead,
I am similar to a sickly chick.
Contemplate on the white pills,
that had become the colour of
capitulation.
Please, God, stop all human ills,
overcome the pains and be a healthy
nation.
Feat of tankers
Sluggish frost on the grass
a crawling caterpillar in the dewdrops,
Serhiy's crew is preparing the papers, a
military pass.
Leaving the fore post,
steel power hums on the battlefield,
in the funnels of mortars disappears
like a ghost.
A projectile flies, blind,
sows the earth, bang sound, raises the
ground,
be careful, defenders, don't lose your
mind.
The battery beats
stench and embers crept into the forest,
thank God that the tank has 4 seats.
Enemy tanks hung their noses,
the wind spies on the sounds of the
shafts,
our tank is hunt,
we will see, there will be iron roses.
One of our tanks to ten of them,
Is that justice?
The trunks of tanks, the oak stems.
Nightmare
of Russians
A green bush crunches,
a rut winding in the field,
the cabin compartment opens,
the machine will fry enemies like delicious lunches.
HIMARS, power even in words,
a storm of night fires,
countries in queues behind the car, buyers.
Six shells fly in a line,
the rocket buzzes sharply,
the night turned into day
in the sky, with tongues of fire, shines.
The occupiers moan and cry,
HIMARS beat equipment and supplies,
nothing more to attack
but You, a Russian soldier, live in a lie.
Bohdana,
she is a woman, a defender!
Holy Mother of God,
that gave knowledge with mother’s milk,
to create a wonderful fighting machine,
with a cabin and a crew, their number is
odd.
The car has an affectionate name,
Bohdana,
as a tribute to the designer’s bride
Bohdana is preparing rockets, is in a
hurry,
she confidently leads the gunners as a
guide.
Six shots up
kilometers of volleys count in the
distance,
the captain looks calmly,
his black coffee is not yet ripe
coffee in a cup.
Bohdana throws shells from a cannon,
like a naughty girl
ready-made artillery stories for the
grandson.
Bohdana, the reactive system,
spotted by an enemy howitzer,
the soldiers praise you as the goddess
Aphrodite,
I am glad that I became a co-author.
Ukrainian
Coolon
Iron needles are falling to the right
and to the left,
the master holds the welding machine
menacingly,
near his sledgehammer instrument lies,
own, without theft,
sad, the equipment of the soldiers is
bad, depressing.
Had a business, the master before the
war,
boasts an electric car,
grief opened him a new purpose like a
front door,
a cut is visible on his hands, and then
there is a scar.
A tireless worker gathered a cohort of
inventors,
turned workshops and garages into
industrial centers,
construction jeeps leave the assembly
line,
soldiers say that jeeps are fine.
The guys assemble 20 cars in 10 days
quickly,
knots, aggregates in machines are
prickly,
16 hours per day, garage jeeps assemble,
the thought of volunteering makes my
soul tremble.
Vyacheslav Konoval is a Ukrainian poet whose work is devoted to the most pressing social problems of our time, such as poverty, ecology, relations between the people and the government, and war.
His poems have appeared in many magazines,
including Anarchy Anthology Archive, International Poetry Anthology, Literary
Waves Publishing, Sparks of Kaliopa, Reach of the Song 2022, Diogenes for
Culture Journal, «Scars of my heart from the war», «Poetry
for Ukraine», «Rhyming», «La
page Blanche», Norwich University research
center, «Impakter», «Military
Review», «The
Lit», «Allegro», «Innisfree
poetry journal», «Atunes
Galaxy Poetry», «Atunes
Galaxy Poetry», «Ekscentrika».
Vyacheslav's poems were translated into
French and Polish languages.
His poems also have been read at meetings
of various poetry groups, including Newman Poetry Group, Never Talk Innocence,
Voicing Art Poetry Reading for Ukraine, Worcester County Poetry, Brussels
Writer's Circle, and Poets Anonymous May Middle-Met, Brett Show by Andrea, and
the Manx Bard group.
He is a member of the Geer Poetry Group
(Wales) and a member of the Federation of Scottish Writers.
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