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Rambler's Top100




By the Train
(M. Scherbakov)

I couldn't take off on wings, into the night, a rail;
On time isn't happening, the sleep might well prevail
But with day's blaze in coup -- wayfarer eats some food
And says he knows the scoop: in hell he can burn good,
Inferno taste as soul -- and touched by flames but whole.

Bandana gives him ruds -- in wins he sees no fits:
Some HQ base deprived him of some benefits...
And he is heading there, from the Point M to N;
In debt is every square and they'll be punished then!
He waves the fists at night. He can't be helped, not quite...

He knows, he's right, and dub -- in hell he's well appraised
That to sow ashe and blood he wasn't prod by the base;
That to badge up the trap and boot up an old toe
He is from birth made hap. It don't take an auto...
Wayfarer drinks, I'm near -- I'm stranded with bad fare.

The night fades out with nought, as ashe and blood is shed --
I feel I've tied the knot but can't contain my sted:
I wasn't born for prods, I haven't earned my burn
But fare is all I've got -- wrong ticket not returned
And right one not procured: I'm late and I can cure!

Stars and Stripes, One Brush with the Law, Hester Prynn
(M. Scherbakov)

About the fortune, don't believe me Madam others, blindly --
Not me, the dainty visionary, not profane in deals on sex
And on the sky piercing an eye can read each fate benignly --
Would you believe -- Roberto Benigni -- benignly
And never needlessly whatever's your reflex!

The vortix anticline, that's even daily filled, not empty
Was dragging by the centuries the Calculus of Lucifer;
There were a lot of them who wished, but I'm the one who went there --
It being the case, that I had never meant, but somehow went there --
All were just screwing eyes, but I have deciphered!

The flowers and prizes don't endow my hand, for being thought degrade,
And my inebriating world-view doesn't praise me at each turn
Because, I did not mold, for guys the great ethereal secret;
I did not give them wit' the great celestial secret --
They are rambunctuous -- but I don't love, I spurn.

To live is not to bed a rose and I won't tithe inducements;
Protruding ninsulas and nuns abut and boundaries to know.
Today I started to respect your betty-orbs and luce mints;
I'd even say, not disrespect your eyes and luce mints
But unto you the truth I won't likely bestow!

And even if I do bestow, why ass you need the tidings?
(Let's keep it private, for God's sake, and don't ask no one who the teach)
Non-Cousinard, you're in the coveralls, the dungarees and jump suit.
On a utility tesecher coveralls and jump suit;
You're playing Dungeons, but the dragons filed the suit (you've been pursued!)

But you have staminaed endurance, and you know to yoga
And you instil in me the nous even of the broccoli rabe age!
And on the combine car machine, dressed in a funnel, (sister) Polgar
And I'm in flannel, and I no longer know Volga
But I'm phenomenal, so take me longer on an analogular,
Re-intersection of reester and foliage...

White Trash Justification
(M. Scherbakov, 1984)

Upon the levee but a crowd -- both castigates -- intreps -- and beckons,
From far off islands the ship came, it was awaited by all wharf...
Every incominant breaks clears, and every gaze is looking wretched;
The salut thrives, the levee breaks but that is only for the dwarf...

The fortune's flora dazzles them and intrepids them the regalia;
They're ready with a decent tale, a fragrant story for the rogue:
How they could not spare a tongue whale and sacrosaunctly honor guarded;
And greeted all, abated all, and dedicated rest to bogs!

You know I won't, be heading to an access weight extermination;
For the whole nation I will run to see the grandeur in its tithe:
How long's it possible to stare and watch you drooling, to ovation?
And carry on for the whole night with only you, repeating blithe?

We're tears away and steps away, from the intense interrogation
Of waves and breakers, and the billows overtaking bayonets --
And you are laughing at my heart and eating cherries out of ration
Small as the university, and big as pigeons' parapet...

And so each year insteps a year, around us, jelly of perception
And century on century stands like a whale and greets the small;
While you are intricately grieved, you eat the cherry pop and wait there
As the cat purrs and dogs are clean and evil students get it all!

The bent of heaven bodied arm is ever one and always changing
And on the spoon vessel a pit starks rapid, not hitting the mouth;
Not blood, not tears, and not the wine -- the cherry juice attaining habits
But I can't walk away from you not this year, that -- not North, or South...

(M. Scherbakov)

Then and thereon whenon and where you schedule,
Oh heaven, to be living us again,
Will you instruct us sing but note the pendule
Between those stars we never can restrain?

Beginning from nil to the optic glasses,
The scan of heights as presently and thus
Not secret key, but the sword of Damocles
Will we find there again, for us?

Today -- tomorrow -- to be gaining speechly,
By borrowing, we have to no one's tune
Maybe, but with the taste and salt for beachthemes,
And few have left, not having paid the loon!

But when tomorrow, our tautologismi
You notice, heaven, meet us not with "seems"!
Let us not sink in dark rays of your gizmi --
Let's not burn up in shallow beams!

Oh star's Habsade -- tight gossamer's material,
When to the shadows flesh and blood will come
Teach us, from get-the-go, how to eat sereal
And not be serial as a hired gun...

Sacrilege us of heavenly protection,
Retain the hymns but forgo the relay.
Let it get sooner to us -- than infection
Of stately bread for daily day!

(M. Scherbakov)

To live this way -- why do you need old drudgery? It's all slogans and a dictation;
Shakespeare is deaf; Pushkin's black!
Back from the crib, mama's tempted me -- not straight to target, but missing...
Mama, train a child to stop harrassing -- crying -- embarrassing cowards and then certainly, do buy him a good bike
For forty years and urge onward to "take a hike".

In sleep all night I saw money,
Ripped flat my eyes -- walking drowsily.
Where is the money? The music sucked I slept to warmly, but wetly...
Mama, teach the child to swim on wake up, there increasing his awakening caution, not to breathe when dead or underwater -- then your bag
And buy a vessel, what the hack!

Bing cherries in yard -- in kinship, kin; cosmos if you add metric from the hedges takes straight a that-a-way.
Is that what hankered you hunkering down? you, incapacious children, nobody'll ask neither this nor that time.
Help not just anybody, they say, and if you don't love to move, don't!
No matter what I've comprised and hoodwinked to adventure on some money, nothing seems as is or come back not to strangle me on neck,
And whither money? What the heck!

All bad's from music, and evil too -- educated it's venom, I'd long fell deaf with a restitution
On both ears, even if one is off -- listerine, if you sing along, will send cartelway with a cherry...
A sandbag-looking pursued by gun, that popped the heart out -- and filliped...
Mama, you can't teach a child to fly, void your account -- in a veracity to kill! it's all in vain,
But don't indulge in an airplane.

New York is Horror, Mama Got There (Derivative of "Deribassovskaya"), A guy menstruates
(M. Scherbakov)

Again the peddler of joy on paper
Is barrelling through the yard and pressing on a handle!
Devoid of fervor, deserving favor...
A lot of dough flows, but he's playing Purcel Handel...

Illness is dull -- one needs a scull;
The art is dribbling!
And you say thanks -- somebody yanks
You out of ribbed wear.

Haight street oration interrogated
The same omnivorous oblivious pedantry
Which is betrayal -- which took berated
For merely criminal, third rate and Elmer Gantry!

"Katrin-Sharman" -- the love is gone,
And yet he's drooling.
Lying in bed, noone instead,
To prove his schooling!

The nephew's happy -- uncle belated,
Ain't cool the lavary and Battery Park is nowhere;
Grubhub is paltry, room overrated
And everybody is listening to Beethoven:

Obey me now, West Village cow:
Your Berkanau seems naked
But naked is the jury grease
And one says please to bare skit...

The shutter'll fall down, the organ groundhog --
Our fair anatomy is fair obliged to die now:
In any bedroom one needs a found dog
To pay the fines and then continue in Chinatown.

All ages cling to bartering
And we do sing depeches
Instead of mode -- the antricote
As in the last song mentioned...

The ugly duckling in California
Is passing the smog laws and listening to Tom Waits,
Trapezius turning, the orbit horny
And in NYSC, the deadlifter lifts some weights!

The eyes have lied -- again roadside
It is not a prostitute
But simply on Fannuci Don
As said the one institute.

Rebel without Cause
(M. Scherbakov)

Where are you now, the pedestrian barefish?
Barrels are void, tiderush is fair...
Fishtide geseungt it is oafish or lavish
You're in a den or in a lair.

As for me, having geared fair licences in aggression
I drag an empty driftnet up to the sultry shore.
However mine -- none's -- shore won't divvy away from me on,
So I can not pretend that I've much store!

Daintily countried-in, rooted, entrenched and resistant,
Local potato salt reached me by knees.
I know the local speech so indepth, in an instant
No aborigine will tell would you please!

But by the Mech embraced or bearskin, or deerskin deftly,
Sunny drifts duty shifts by, I go up to the board
Of insagacious ads or ludicrous dollyorders --
Can there be anything where I'm abhorred?

Electorate, fish's no longer in mention:
Wherever yes, there is no truce!
Anew now in my box, there's tomorrow's dictation
Not to oppress, but to produce...

Give him a hairy dose somnolences without treason;
Unmadagascar corner, furniture for the cane:
Let him impress himself as feeling here without reason
Is he a guest, can he remain?

Daily, nocturnally, gavel with sentence...
Sheets are amusing, cold is control.
Rustle inveigles me down nobody's commencements --
Local the salt, local console!

Never've I droned myself as either a guest or nephew --
All merely simply favors and curtinaceous gifts!
The News forget to change, but nails rattle in Nepenthe!
Local assortment by the gavel's thrift...

The Shadow
(M. Scherbakov)

I've gotten used to a celibate shadow, observing no farther than a s-
Tep; the book is only a paper; a looking glass's but a glass.
In it a razing twin and submissive listener, full of pennance,
Fades, wouldn't be even blinking let alone drooling -- it was well as!

Yesterday, he did get tedious and attempted to please his appetite;
Didn't indulge or wasn't enticed by my elocutive tune --
Whereupon he shot out of the house to weigh, and compare, and happen,
All along with some new tunes what are they doing -- once in a moon!

Well it is not some show wagon for the new age, it's not always funny;
The hearing's waiting for a grandiloquent essence, a relic, tone --
You enjoy your rife walk, my sagacious echo, obsconding money,
Conquer the noise without laugh, if you don't find music -- just move along...

The brigant crowd has been dictating to ancient choirs some amiss-notes;
But the moment that something's athwart, speedy gracious, away and down,
With the choir, it's unbearable, while at the bottom, okay in distance --
Whether it's that or this way, akin and identically not fun.

I am dazzled and fading; my debut is lost and the benefit's needless,
Necessary now away from the stagings, to the dark silent prayer;
This way, that a way, broke some rules, barefoot bent some needles --
Time away from the searing acutest to dulling one, when it's bare...

With that abated ache, the care's art, but the maximum's two tablets --
Secong, and all the insane pain, and residual head-piece have flown away;
Hey you twin, when you do return from your intricate walking habits
Reinvent lackadaisically, how to thence occupy your day...

Scherbakov is a Cuckold Full Putrid Animal
(M. Scherbakov)

A citied tears, bedlam, bedlam --
An autumn-instigating pass...
Hue it in black, hue it in lamb...
For ever it will be blind as

Justin Bieber's imbilical
For favors biblical as death
And it's too bad that bells with mendicant
Smoke meth!

Hence, teeth for teeth; hence ant for ant;
Hence, nobody is welcome by
The patient's bedside -- and cant
From New York Times besettles dry

Replentitude of Max Grove fruit
Not welcome on the devil's grave...
All people institute Lancombely
The gavil's crave...

O cities tears... tranquilite,
Jean Jacker, Nadya Suleman...
The psyche-ward lets one out today,
Tomorrow the whole Taliban

And exit off the high way ramp
Imbilicals back up the prop --
Don't tell me, if I need a harem,
To ever "stop!"

I am the one -- the only one --
Send off the naked Michael Phelps!
Who said, that I've by Gary Oldman
Committed clept?


Fillip, Ulyss, I flip the bliss,
Avenger comes to the newthink.
They need corroborate in Spanglish --
I.e., drink.

Rambunctuous lumpseat + Evtushenko
(Mikhail Scherbakov)

It is me not some crazy onlooker, and not somebody up there beside...
It is me, not the tenth -- not a hooker, not a he, not a she -- having died.
It is me, donkey, weeble, a weezel monkey-Bonkey; surrendering type,
Exponential salt, a specimen, an exhibit debunking the hype...

Who has said that a trainer has volume, a display has both hands and the feet!
Having tergiversated asylum, I explain I ain't facing defeat.
Who am I without documents heavy, giving hundreds of concerts for free?
There's no red; when I hear When the levee breaks I look at my face, it's to be!

It's me, heavenly size or a wisely chosen weight -- it's not him, it's not it
Even if it's not me -- still precisely disillusioned, illusioning spit
It is me, from the cuvettes and trenches climbing whole, climbing free, climbing pure -- but rife
And thereafter announcing as wenches, that the art does not beg a tenure -- never theft, never life!

Lithium of beaurocracy dumb-faced, sitting next to me on the back seat
Whereas usually in front -- am I homeless, do I need to be derelict beat?
I'm disparaging such a nuances' plate, lotto, detonation and bomb,
Ghotti family, Gambino trances, better just Don Fannuci, you're dumb. Imbecil, horrid scum!

Unsagacious hammer and anvil -- neither one, I am reasoning Bush,
It is me loving booty and navel, rather than operation and kush!
It is mine various-metered endeavor was begreeted by Tutanhamen. --beats me!
It is me, whose favorite was never Dzhigarhanyan, whose first name's Armen! --for this country is free.

It is me shedding tears with no greater frequency, than fidelity kill,
It is me who can wait for the later -- not preserving a will, or a thrill;
It is me, fleeing talent, admiring innocuity's every caveat -- for tooth,
It is me, perspicating a tyrant not because he is keeping his seat -- but because he loves truth...

It is me, whose own face is a griddle of a Scherbakov -- call him that tar!
It is me, who likes face of a widow of a bard, and hangs her the guitar...
It is me when am drinking, am merry but not gay -- let the manuscripts burn in urn
Of mere being, when I still like Jim Carrey and I work out and when I my burn can't earn!

Hence come rats' colloquy in a subway, but of never the capital un-derground --
Abgemacht and I'm shooting a Sun Trail in some city down south, it's a sound.

One More Prop and I'm Good to Go! Off the Pull Up Bar (It's a Hoopla)
(M. Scherbakov)

With onearth props it's hard to beckon,
Too late to argue -- arguments all ague,
The brains are wasting -- boat is begging,
The rower's arid as an unhappy glue.
As circus predator loves bullwhip
The whole crowd watches lividly at the jet.
Too late to rescue; we've been hoodwinked
And tightly boat's surrounded by rivulet.

All rivers wrecking, reaching the sea in mongoose,
We love all bitches -- but the old spots are bitt'r
Upon their countenances -- Evenk should have been Tungus,
Aaron Burr stating, lechery drinking beer...

We're justified now to be defying nature,
To hit on stonerocks, wetly exclaim Au...
But we can never trust the reliant pager
For the sustaining "as if cunt" on the blue...
No one remembers why drink milk thistle --
Not many furnish a belt or a black belt!
Along the firmland late to bristle,
Too bad to curveball; the shoreline tastes like smelt...

All rivers wrecking, reaching the sea in mongoose,
We love all bitches -- but the old spots are bitt'r
Upon their countenances -- Evenk should have been Tungus,
Aaron Burr stating, lechery drinking beer!

Translated by Genia Gurarie

прочтений: 6
раздел: стихи к праздникам
дата публикации: Jul 7, 2018

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