MY TASK AS A POET

At an early time
in sorry sightings
I knew my task
was to sum up
the age
in story and writings,
a poet is strange
so why ask
to be understood
by my language host,
this is a good friend
as spirit and ghost
who take off my mask
why do I pretend
or boast,

My muse
refuses to be lethargic
without courage or limit,
on earth and space
waging his diction,
to complete the race
with grit and grace
in aesthetic fiction,


Here at my critic's pace
an actor on every stage
cross a star's heaven
in wind and cloud
with theatrical acumen
locate my literary shroud,
and close the page,


Passing arbitrary leaven
with so much fun
over the crowd and masses
from a logical phenomenon,


Linking up with those poets
who gravitate to the past
or current avant-garde,
allowing every murmur
of fear and trembling
to haunt me as Kafka
or Kierkegaard,


outside this globe's stage
with a possibility of rumor
orating with a fearful
Shakespearian rage,
my hour disses
now dismisses with a beer,
into this abyss of a cage
and manage
a last spent kiss,
with some class
on this creator's last page,

we will expect to wink at you
in Russian- American humor
from the globe's stage
and proudly drink
a glass of kvas
to poetry's homage.