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Tatiana Pahlen

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Life after Life

by

Tatiana Pahlen

I lie next to you on the sand
gazing at the sky
The roar of waves
The seagull's cry
Light winds sway our tent
Your arms leisurely reaching mine
Your whisper's soft and faint
I gather words through a woeful smile
Our bodies closely bent.
The sun is smooth, barely warm
the birds are heading south,
Fast moving spearhead aligned
Fall is passing by.
Soon the leaves will turn to rust
but memories will last;
We said our prayers by the bay
no one forgets the past.
Yet, overall we welcome life
on this mournful day.

Poet's Prayer

by

Tatiana Pahlen

(written on a fallen leaf)

If one can't incite,
Why toil to rhyme?
Write as you hold an urge to say,
Instead of squandering the reader's time
Interrogate your own essay.

Once blown away from a sturdy tree
The withered leaves like fallen thoughts,
Struggling against the wind,
Keep changing hues - chameleons.

The autumnal air then shall not stir
The poet's pallet free of foam:
Follow your senses, nose and ears,
Let your eyes adjust to the highest form.

Outsource

by

Tatiana Pahlen

This government shows no remorse
Providing a shameful power
To companies willing to outsource
Labor elsewhere
Except mother soil
Trimming pay per hour
Giving pink slips
And lay people off.

Today I’m stating my concerns
To keep these jobs in the United States
If anything else we must outsource
Let’s begin with our government
Along with a funnyman on warlike events,
George W Bush,
The illicit 43d president!

Autumnal Reflections

by

Tatiana Pahlen

When dried leaves are leaving trees
Spinning, colorful butterflies,
helplessly falling,
My open palms welcome their landing
with arms spread out.
I savor their spicy scent;
The swiftly changing hues touch my eyes
with cordial sorrow:
These flaring colors — the hidden cry
and glamorous self-defense
to counter ever fading.
Saddening, seductive . . .
I'm spellbound by the fleeting beauty
of venous pattern
deeply stamped on the forms so fragile.
As a child, I walked past naked trees,
picking dry leaves
To place between pages,
and carry in books
treasured for years and years.

Abandoned Shadow

by

Tatiana Pahlen

The darkness of the hollow void
The shadow which forever scares,
Like a hidden, undeveloped soul
Once raised is venturous and careless.
Innate to build these bars and walls
Selects the rain instead of sun rays.
By privilege survives alone
And seeks the memories of errors.
What's hard to reach that spins you on
To reach and punch your own shadow.
And find the grave of once buried soul . . .
Your only friend - an abandoned wanderer.

Challenge

by

Tatiana Pahlen

Once found
Your heart is broken,
Aim not to break
Other hearts.
Try this aid
A spare token,
To place your temper
In the arts.
The challenge is grand,
The rage of healing
Could lead your genius
Above the minds . . .
Grow beyond
Your old renewals
Charge your muses
From the heights!

Seeds of Weeds (Meeting Morons)

by

Tatiana Pahlen

If someone's mind
Is meant to be minute
Strive not to expand it,
If you're astute.
Leave them in peace,
Sow not fine seeds . . .
Nothing would grow
From the hollow,
But weeds!

To Russia

by

Tatiana Pahlen

Do not try,
I shall not turn my head
Toward old times to seek help
From my homesickness;
Those who strolled across Dante's hell,
Rejecting sacrilege at their past torment.
The new chimes cannot blacken the truth,
Glamorizing the graveyard's monuments,
Many times you were charred and raised anew
From riots and wars, my poor Motherland.
Yet at Spring, there lures a scent of thaw
Migrant birds rushing back from banishment . . .
Why are those odd, stifling dreams,
Once again, ruffling my soul?

An Inkwell

by

Tatiana Pahlen

Again my skin is catching fire
I'm losing nights of sleep
Turning into a vampire

Instead of blood I thirst for ink.
I dig a graveyard for the corpses
Of inkless pens I dispatched earlier
Chasing after furtive words
My traps are nothing more, but folly.
I shut my eyes to spoof my foes
Bluffing I gave up desire
Instead, I'm having tea with ghosts
Hosting Whitman, Blake and Byron
To share voices long endorsed.
We have a ball before my neighbors
Begin rapping on the walls.
When laughter halts Whitman cries,
"Beat! Beat, Drums! Blow bugles blow
Through the window - through the doors
Burst like a ruthless force!"
Byron grins, "Oh captain, my captain!
I ain't surprised you're causing noise!
Let's go Tiger, burning bright
It's time for us to call it a night."
"Wait," says Blake.
"What the hammer? What the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What was the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?"
"I see the bursting morning light," goes Byron.
"All that the proud can feel of pain
The agony they do not show
The suffocating sense of woe
Which speaks in its loneliness
and then is jealous lest the sky
Should have a listener, nor will sigh
Until its voice is echoless."
Without effort, more than less
I thought, indeed, all echoes lie.
With guests all gone I pull a pen
And promise never let it die;
Oh glory to those magnanimous men
Bringing a house gift — an inkwell!

Bewitched Leaves

by

Tatiana Pahlen

Dancing wildly on the sidewalk
twisting, spinning, twirling aimlessly
the turning leaves turned to tornadoes
hovering above the walls
like countless elated dervishes
Possessed by the spice of faded Fall.
Conducted by the wicked gust
In harmony with a bully orchestra,
all mature into a whirling waltz
Luring the straying bits of trash
To join them in a magic dance.
My eyes are dazed by its performance;
Sadly, tomorrow it will be rust.

Send-Off

by

Tatiana Pahlen

From the morbid, immense tower
Loudly clicked both hands of the clock
When choking fumes of cheap tobacco
Fused with sweat and sweet perfumes.

All bustling motions at the terminal
Plaintively drooped and froze for an instant.
In the drop--restrained, but crystal
In agony concealed the cry.

Amidst the haze our arms apart
More ardent than our last terse chatter,
Before that lumbering, run astray train
Rolled through the platform to nowhere.

Girl with a Pearl Earring

by

Tatiana Pahlen

The glow of the solo pearl,
Once lost in rays of beaming light,
Appeared in the sparkle of the eyes
Bursting through the bewitching frame,
Aiming at me those lonesome mirrors.

I'm drawn to their lucent charm
They stare enduringly with a prudent drive.
Standing dubious and disarmed
I study the face of the Flemish maiden,
Capturing the viewers from the wall.

I cast a smile at this solemn soul,
She smiled back, then leaped out of the frame
To give me her second abandoned pearl,
She gave up for the sake of a curl
Fixed on the side of her covered ear.

With chills up my spine I clasped the pearl,
Still warm, which made me feel dazed.
Looking back at Vermeer's canvas,
I caught the artist's withdrawn gaze,
Hidden in the eyes of his numinous maid.

Rain

by

Tatiana Pahlen

It rained and rained twelve nights and days
The old mischief must have damned the faucets,
The sky turned gray to my dismay
I smelled strong spice and acids
Charged the stifling air.
Our long awaited trip to the Bay
Has been delayed. And once again
I hear you're saying out of vain
Some cheerful forms of nonsense,
Akin to stop the falling rain
With nothing else but magic.
But how, in fact, I'll trust your words,
If I believe in logic?
There is no sign of flying birds
The dogs decline to be let out,
No passing vessels, sailing boats,
More wrecked umbrellas lost or tossed,
And draining fleet of unfinished notes
I am battling about,
While longing for your magic smile.

Nike and Mike

by

Tatiana Pahlen

Ravishing Santa and Mrs. Claus
welcomed me with joyous jumps
before sniffing my flannel gloves
each featuring a face of a smiley cat.
Santa sprang backwards and showed his teeth.
Mrs. Claus wiggled her body in a display of goodwill;
She placed her chin on the cat's ear
and slobbered all over the glove.
Sneering Santa leapt from the other side
tackling the second glove.
The smirk vanished from the cat's face; I heard a hiss
as Santa received a scratch on his pug nose.
Mrs. Claus jumped for joy but stood by her Santa.
I touched their glitzy costumes, red and warm.
"Nike and Mike! Come on you guys, time to go home!"
A whistling slim man attached short straps
to their fancy coats,
pulling away my festive friends.
"Come on! Show is over!"
Santa made a fool of himself;
He made peace with the cat
by licking its knitted head
and barking happily.
I looked back at their wagging tails...
Happy Holidays, Nike and Mike!
Will I see you next year?

The Sisters of Mercy

by

Tatiana Pahlen

Amorphous fluids flow into my veins. Alas!
My pupils wide open tiny, black dots,
All limbs are heavy but my brain remains
Producing a vibrant pain
As the throb is soaring.

The frame of the iron bed
Is fairly small
My numb feet are nearly touching the floor,
I'm bending my body, fatigued and sore,
Studying the motionless clock
On the hospital wall.

The sisters of mercy, sweet angels,
Nursing my fiery forehead
With faces radiant, tranquil
Draining my blood;
They exude kindness
Through eyes, weary and sad,
And go extra miles
Resurrecting the dead.

Hoary clouds gather at my bed,
A bunch of Bedouins,
Gliding through the window,
I'm counting but neglecting their number at once.
As they transform from trailing phantoms to inert units,
My benumbed body begins to spin and dance.

I dance my way through the tunnel beyond wakefulness
To find luminous lights at the end of the den
Where arms of an unknown being
Spread towards me,
A dulcet sigh, "Come near, child,"
Leaving to deem if I'm blessed or damned.

I'm feeling my cells filling in rapture
A blissful tremble stirs my limbs as one,
Before the edgy voices of sisters of mercy
Yell hard, as they keep punching and pressing
My besieged heart.

Winter Dread

by

Tatiana Pahlen

When days are shorter, nights are long
My heart starts sinking, mind is worn
Clocks like drums, beat after beat,
Troubling my temples with an iron tick.

The dire howl drags me out of bed
I stare at the window - the streets are dead
A full moon spots a lonely corpse
It's the stray dog I fed and nursed.

My old true pal won't live a day
To see sunlight or chase the hares
Off trodden paths we traveled in the fall
Collecting dry leaves to cheer our souls.

I'm dazed to lose my stubborn friend
His pride was making him rebel
From dwelling with joy under my roof
He chose to latch on till the end, aloof.

I put him to rest near a much loved tree
He'd lie next to and lick at his fleas.
My heart is sinking, mind is worn
All days are shorter; all nights are long.

At Night

by

Tatiana Pahlen

Spending sleepless nights in solitude,
looking for a solution
the conception of life
and never finding it.
But as long as your consciousness
goes on and on,
your mind is still searching...
Be not fearful of being alone;
believe me, it's better
than being with anyone!

Before Christmas

by

Tatiana Pahlen

(Omen)
All foreshadows him again.
I fear the omen charmed my china
it slips off my palms and merely shatters
with a festive sound
following the Christmas feast.

My name is called in the sobs of steaming pipes;
the straying winds struggle to find its way out
Shivering, I tune to the carols
covering shoulders in a cozy shawl,
I answer every bang at the door.

The chill outside is biting like a wasp
my heated heart is pounding wildly.
With arms of the clock frozen at nine
Fear my revered guest would not arrive
Grows in the eyes of a black canine.

My trusty dog knows ahead of time:
the blooming lilacs will prevail the snow;
the last Christmas carol won't survive the thaw,
all will return to its usual pace,
soon after the winter dies.

The Dream

by

Tatiana Pahlen

The dream was torturous
I battled to break away from a choking fist
That gripped my throat, and cursing fortune,
I fell in the pit of a fleecy beast.
His loathsome corpse pressed me against him
I felt like an iron bulldozing my lungs
my tongue, numb, glued to the palate
I couldn't lift my voice or limbs.
Suddenly awakened, my eyes seized the ceiling,
a gruesome shadow stared at me
When I blinked it turned to a woman,
I combed my brain who could it be?
With awe I glared at her sorrowful eyes
Spreading rays across my place;
I sank in the bed brimmed with horror
scratching my head do I know this face?
I turned on the lamp clasping a pillow,
my room lit with the burning light;
The shadow slithered inside the mirror
Leaving me baffled - will I sleep at night?

My Belief

by

Tatiana Pahlen

Over the infants lives
capricious fate hovers and rises,
Engraving each destiny
with twisted lines,
where amidst constellations, beneath snowfall,
I fell into arms of a celestial pal, 'Capricorn'.
I thankfully took my first frosty breath,
gripping a prickly toy
your son's genial boon, a wreath of thorns.

The January infant's steadfast
Determined to climb hills fast.
Fostered by its cold cradle,
it grows hastily like a large thirsty sponge,
embracing the vastness of the Universe
With its poignant, tongue-tied verses.

On doomsday I shall appear at your knees
as a toppled soul, yet a 'saint'.
In communion thy body and thy blood, oh Lord, I savored!
During rambling confessions I bent lower my stubborn head,
recalling my merry baptism, 'fore turning nineteen,
long before the Berlin Wall crumbled,
when my former country was hopelessly "red"
Please God, do not resent:
My Godfather — the convert; he is an indulgent Jew!

I joyfully fasted, banned the forbidden,
but relished wine,
I lured all my cronies to revel in your Lent;
None of them fancied to join me in Christ
Yet, I loved them all the more.

My vainglorious prayers
were the sweetness of being tamed,
as my sinful lips strove to reach pious icons;
there are a few days between thine birth and mine
and thousands of endless years, my lenient Lord.

Spinning at the edge and flirting with eternity,
I faced the dangers with a daring smile.
Believing on the earth I'll be a while,
before I slip into a silken shroud,
for you hold on me Your Mighty Eye.

To Friends

by

Tatiana Pahlen

My friends,
I long for you again!
I lost you one-by-one, leaving my Motherland.
My poor country was reformed but still looks counterfeit.
Unable to inspire enthusiasm of desire
to rejoin the new obscure clan.
I, too, have been transformed since in New York,
where imitation of life devours body and spirit.
One learns faster if one foolishly wants.
Who's looking for work, may find some, indeed.
Shunning drugs becomes a thankless task
If from illusions you're speeding away,
your thoughts — keen jackals are trailing behind;
the higher that you can spin,
the higher the price of pain, along with disclosure:
your brain was cruelly raped — that overwhelms you days later.
I buried many friends, who chose another stage,
for struggle or success, or seek any other sense.
I should turn this page; my eyes are full of tears.
I long for you, beloved friends!
Why was I blessed, not you?

Tsunami

by

Tatiana Pahlen

Monstrous waves beyond belief
Smashed into the pristine lands
Scooping, turning into sandy grime
Snatched trophies in its way.

No lucid brain could grasp the toll
Of losses in one day
Prayers turned into anguished cries
Cries into dire prayers.

If nature holds another crime
Against the human race
I’ll never form another rhyme
To glamorize Your Grace.

While souls are plagued with torrid grief
Embrace what’s left behind
The water beast was not a myth
Big hearts are poured into relief
As humanity abides!

Tribute To Peter Beard

by

Tatiana Pahlen

Once an illustrious Jet Setter,
A graduate from Yale,
You think one’s life could not be better
To be found on the best dressed list
Yet, evidently, not for him!

Fine gear reduced to a pair of sandals
Four seasons fitting one plain coat
A faithful friend, a piercing camera,
Took over his forsaken world
With lenses focused on the road.

Big-hearted lover of the fauna
His snapshots fought against the cruelty
Of hunted rhinos, cheetahs, crocodiles
Slain for their hides and aphrodisiacs;
Blood all over his printed rolls...

Dali, Picasso, Andy Warhol,
Bardot, John Jr. and Jackie O,
Iman and Dickenson among his trophies,
Sir Jagger and Blixen mounted his horde;
A gang of models camped in Montauk.

He tried the death chair at San Quentin,
Relaxed inside the caiman’s jaws,
Stomped by the feet of a rampant elephant
But suffered more from a bouncer’s blow;
His diaries are odd and raw.

A man without breaks or fear
An artist enduring his burning lens
Renowned photographer, Peter Beard
Who made his books a rare breed.

Once an illustrious Jet Setter,
He honorably described himself,
"A parasite of subject matter,"
With harrowing disdain for wealth;
His precious prints are collected nectar.

Between Two Roads

by

Tatiana Pahlen

One day we're hailing the rising sun
Next crying a river;
What power makes us to fall in love
Then suffer this blissful fever?

My feelings, stashed inside my notes,
Laying bare through smile;
I'm happily lost in between two roads,
Striding with you extra miles.

Valentine's Nocturne

by

Tatiana Pahlen

I’m no longer passing time
Waiting for my Valentine
Roses, chocolates, cards and wine
And vows to be forever mine.
Sweet old Cupid,
No more lies,
Love does matter,
So does size;
See a twinkle on my hand,
A giant, perfect heavy set!
Yes, I’m happy;
Why do I cry?
Oh, my darling_
Never mind!

38th Parallel

by

Tatiana Pahlen

It's a pain on the human ear
growls scattering across the gap,
Is it true that North Korea
plans to build the atomic bomb?
Are these nation's leaders dumb,
if the tribes play with nuclear
weapons, what would happen to this orb?
Why constructing then to tear
labor's tedious long toil?
What's the cause for dolts to opt
for destruction? One must fear
to be found in the dump
whilst the rest would disappear
breathing air with lethal gulps.
All be gone, no one be near,
not a single ancient tomb!
Why one needs to build nuclear...

Assassin

by

Tatiana Pahlen

With a plain face drawn in silence
This man stands straight exuding pride
His brown eyes convey no violence
Collected, warm, intense and bright;
Odds are low with these features
One would willfully pick a fight.
Why he turned into a monster
Holding calmly a killing spree,
What's the moral he gained to bolster
Of shooting guns to run off free?
Time to learn from a dire lesson,
That's the product of the society!

Merciless Passing

by

Tatiana Pahlen

(On Terry Schiavo)

I am drained and dazed,
Minding a daily media,
While suffering headaches:
Hour after hour,
Except for weather breaks,
Every single channel
Airs the Schiavo’s case;
The argument empowers
To starve a brain-dead woman,
Or keep her tube in place
Against her spouse’s wishes
To see her name erased.

Schindlers show despair,
The counselors worse than vultures,
Equipped by senseless law,
Achieving a slow torture
Of a feeble, smiling prey,
Affirming a death row
To decompose the doe.
Rejoined by a horrid prayer,
All counting down days
To catch her closing score;
Is there a speechless unity
Amidst the left wing praise?