Poetry Series Anastasia Rhobolonskaya - poems - Publication Date: 2013 Publisher: Poemhunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive Anastasia Rhobolonskaya(June 18th,1901) www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 1 A Fear Expressed Shadows creep Shadows lurk Shadows wildly dance and jerk I little fear the dark, But I am not fond of shadows Anastasia Rhobolonskaya www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 2 I Believe I Should Like To Be A Cloud I believe I should like to be a cloud Such a glorious, airy thing! For I’d close to God in the sky rest, Where daily, angels sing If I should soon be a cloud, I’d float and tease the birds A puff of breath now, a teardrop then Away they fly with scolding, squawking words When I someday will be a cloud, Living with the blest, I’ll be the far off, peach one, there Smaller than all the rest Anastasia Rhobolonskaya www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 3 I Felt A Song I felt a song within my mind Vibrating through my soul It and the sun were of the same kind: A gold-bright joy and brilliance My song wove the grass with wind Then stretched small fingers to the stars It claimed a kinship with Adam before he sinned- A link no longer ours It shouted from a mountain to a solitary cloud I hummed it to a rose As it in Nature’s voice grew loud Then echoed, echoed, echoed I saw my song within the trees Stronger, deeper than I first thought And it ever more seemed to be That my small note had changed Anastasia Rhobolonskaya www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 4 Lost A familiar face, more welcome than spring A familiar face, one best beloved A familiar face, gifts of memory to bring A familiar face – no more have I. Anastasia Rhobolonskaya www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 5 Maudie - Part One The Fuller’s house on Rivermont Avenue was close enough to the sidewalk that a passerby’s shadow tended to startle them by popping out at the first corner of slate grey siding and remaining close to their side like an intimate acquaintance until the last of Mrs. Fuller’s azaleas and the same siding had been left behind. It was rather new, having been built only a couple of years after the first baby had been born; a necessity as the last bungalow became sadly inadequate. The size of the new house - over forty rooms, most unused - was unnecessary however as Maude turned out to be the only baby, as well as the first. “You promise not to take too long Maudie? ” “I already told you Ma. Of course not.” “Good ‘cause I’m going to need those greens for your daddy’s dinner. You know how he loves his greens.” “’Course I do Ma. Now may I go? ” Maude sighed, knowing that if her mother got to talking, it would midnight before she could leave. “Alright, alright, but you remember to be careful! It may be 1924, but that don’t mean I think it’s proper, much less safe, for a lady to ride one of those contraptions.” Setting down the meat knife with all the due solemnity of Cassandra, she silenced her daughter’s protest with a hug then clucked disapprovingly. “Maudie! What are you wearing that for? You’re likely to tear it and you know your father can only shell out so much for new clothes.” Pushing away and towards the door, Maude grimaced. “The way I see it, if I’m going to be riding some ‘contraption’ and attracting so much attention, shouldn’t I look decent? ” After shutting the door, perhaps with more vigor than required, her mother’s voice stopped as if someone had taken her record off of the gramophone. That’s a pleasant thought, Maude laughed to herself. And even better, she couldn’t get herself back on the gramophone and would be obliged to wait for me, when I wanted to listen. For her, racing through the downtown of Lynchburg, riding what she fondly thought of as her “little treasure” and her mother considered a “heathenish contraption”, was not simply an escape from Ma’s constant attention, or a daughterly shopping duty, but a stratagem: her usual route paraded past Simon’s house. There was certainly something special about Simon Lombard, something even she, who had formerly boasted of being tomboy, saw. Ma would say it was that he had pretty eyes, but she seemed to have the embarrassing habit of saying that anytime she met someone who was vaguely her Maudie’s age. Maudie. www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 6 She hated that nickname. Simon would likely find that ridiculous; that was a constant mental refrain of hers, one that hammered at her ears with the wind as she turned around at each whoosh of a passing automobile, one of which could be Simon’s. None were though, and Maude glowered as she parked her bicycle outside the store. Inside, the cool, dark air which smelled strongly of the gardenia perfume of Mrs. Haroldson, the proprietress, did little to soothe either Maude’s temper or cheeks, both as red as her hair. Anastasia Rhobolonskaya www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 7 My Heart Lives Again My heart lives again, Awakening with a cry. I feel it stir in my breast, A beast that can never die. As it curl out, blossoming like a star, I know that I will live, And you will not, though For that, my soul I’d give. I live, I love, I laugh In memory of you. I dream, I cry, I scream Of the memory of you. As you left me, under the birch Your life spread warm there, I found new purpose, my heartbeat: The remembrance of you shall be my care. Anastasia Rhobolonskaya www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 8 The Fragrance Of Lillies {1918} What is the meaning of life ended so soon? Of death, sudden, under the wide eyed moon? They wakened the children from their beds, And then on the floor let their blood run red. They left the last house; carried them to the wood Quickly hidden where the wild lilies had stood. Sorrow and guilt lay there for long, almost eternal years; For them, with only the clouds to shed tears. They met, together in peace not found in life, The lark and squirrel, none to start strife. Over and through their bones grew the lilies, pale through speckled light As soldiers of honour standing firmly upright. “We know their names, see their features” Chanted those faithful, interminable creatures And though the girls in white dresses and small prince are no more, They dance and breathe on through the lilies’ lore Anastasia Rhobolonskaya www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 9