Nikolai TarasukLyndonville, NY, USA |
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Nikolai grew up in Medina, New York. During World War II, he served as radio operator aboard the USS Pasadena (CL-65). In 1989, Nikolai retired from the Lockport, New York Public School System. Today, a widower, he lives alone on a farm in Lyndonville, a few miles from his birthplace. He says, "Writing poetry is the noblest way I know to honor my father and mother." |
WeaversWe are the weavers, you and I,Who tend the looms with ease; The rainbow strands we pick and try, Always the eye to please. Cascades of filaments align—
As slides the shuttle to and fro,
Yes, dexterous, we the weavers be,
The threads of life are ours to choose,
5-7-97
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ParadoxTwo hands that once in their palmsHeld the world I no longer know: Gnarled, distorted phalanges augment The natural road maps of my life; Prominent furrows and runaway lines That crisscross, ray and merge With concentric ovals and odd symbols, Like faded constellations, Evoke mystery and wonder! Across the millennia hands like these, Sometimes shackled, have bled in sacrifice To build monumental wonders, to serve despots, Often to perish in bondage; These powerful hands have crushed enemies, And have held back floodgates of anguish; Hands like these have touched the weak and dying, Blessing departed creatures great and small; these crudely sculptured hands that know Of love and tenderness—how on earth Could they once have held the world? 11-21-97
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Untitled CinquainsCandlesI will light in Faraway lands hallowed By monks; I pray you'll fly away With me. 9-17-94 Kyiv, Ukraine Rings Rings, rings For ding-a-lings! In the ears, eyelids and Nose, plus tintinabula for The toes! 8-4-96 Los Angeles, California |