five poems
by Mykyta Ryzhykh
***
Copper night knocks
On the back of the head, asks:
"What street is this?"
And this is not a street,
This is the whole life.
Here at the age
Of 4 I drank sleeping pills,
At 14 I lost my virginity,
At 24 I lost my family,
At 34 my father died (thank God, my father died).
Now I'm free like the cry of a newborn.
I'm single, like when I was born.
A lonely body without everything
Meaningful, invented, composed.
The body, by its movement forward,
Has reached the very beginning.
Ashes close to dust.
And suddenly the night opens its
Lunar hood, and now death looks
At me with its bony eyes.
"Come on, friend," I said to death,
"I hope you don't turn me into a zombie."
The door of cast iron milk opened.
And I started drinking.
My teeth turned black and fell out.
Birds pecked out my eyes.
My body fell off me. Copper night,
Pig-iron milk, golden memory.
And suddenly: emptiness.
*Reprint by Crank, may 2023
*****
Untitled #2
We were stolen at birth and brought into this world. This world has robbed us. Cats will never again sing under the window about their nine lives in the nine circles of hell. We are no longer cats. We are no longer dogs. Only occasionally does one of us like to sit on a leash in puppy latex. We are heavy, sir. We are light, Lord, like fluff. We are airy, Lord, like chitin. We are homeless, Lord, like heaven. We are rich, Lord, like the poorest poor man. We are your angels, Lord. Wash our feet, Lord, we can't stand you. We love you, Lord, like dogs do. We are on your leash, tied to you, Lord. We are the gods of death in your realm, Lord. Ash. The last candle for your rest in our hearts, Lord.
*Reprint by Crank, may 2023
*****
children making sand castles
adults making sand castles
high tide
*Reprint by Neologism Poetry Journal, 2023
*****
This poem smells blue
| | |
The color of wrinkles in the sky
¶
Black shapes in clear water
∆
This verse will be picked up by crows in the morning
And they will be thrown from heaven
On icy concrete heart rocks
~
All in vain
.
*Reprint by Stone Poetry Journal, 2022
*****
As a child
I did not understand the meaning of the words emancipation devaluation evacuation but now
I am an adult and
I want to cry at the sight of children who have known the meaning of these words since childhood
*Reprint by Decadent review, 2022 (defunkt)
Photo of Mykyta Ryzhykh
BIO: Mykyta Ryzhykh has been nominated for Pushcart Prize and published many times in the journals Dzvin, Dnipro, Bukovinian Magazine, Polutona, Tipton Poetry Journal, Stone Poetry Journal, Divot Journal, dyst journal, Superpresent Magazine, Allegro Poetry Magazine, Alternate Route, Better Than Starbucks, Littoral Press, Book of Matches, TheNewVerse News, Acorn Haiku Journal, The Wise Owl, Verse-Virtual, Scud, Fevers of the Mind, LiteraryYard, PLUM TREE TAVERN.