Five Poems by Vyacheslav Konoval

 

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.