MP –   Meet  Neeli Cherkovski  a great  poet  from San Francisco ,California  .Neeli  enjoys  writing  mindboggling verse  creamed with  heart rending satire . Young   poets  from around  the world  should   also  take a leaf  from  Neeli Cherkovski’s  writings and poetry. Neeli  is  one among  great poets to come  out of the California  .We are   greatly humbled by  his  will  to exchange  with other poets  and  writers across the globe.  Readers Contact us through our email address, Chirasha

 And let us   all enjoy poems by Neeli Cherkovski

Image may contain: 1 person, sitting and indoor


Ownership belongs
to a spider
Strangled in the grass
Nobody doubts it’s ability
To think back in time
To the lava flow

We engage meditation
In order to sort
The insanity
That crosses us
And brings envious thought
To dawn’ light as
The sun breaks through a cloud
And settles on our kitchen table

Odd world
Of wealthy spiders
Sailing on yachts
Through the straits

Odd world of wounded pelicans
In the harbor

Old planet
Of orangoutangs
Devouring clumps
Of grass

Odd plain of
Inter-tribal fear
The fear of death
By hanging or
A slow process
In hospital wards

Odd signs
Of life percolating
From the drum sound
Of man in his infancy

Nov 2017


unlovely beauty
of the dead star
hanging around
before the division
called old world
new world

unlucky light
of the star, odd distribution
of blame, white moth
dead moth, unspooled
mantle frail conquest
of the old word
by a new one

unscrew the bulb
lock the door and
put up a no trespassing
sign at the garden gate
to keep the strangers
from abusing the plants
and destroying
the green benches

what is beauty? does
it exist? is a mortal thing
beautiful, ever? are you
ever beautiful? if you are
devoured by clover
where is your beauty?

Nov 2017


Sing for my buttercups
And forget me nots
For marigolds and roses
Clover and freedom

Sing for the garden
On an overcast day
May branches of the trees
Collide, may rhododendron

Stay in place, forge an
Alliance with roots
And groundwater, allow
The flowers to gliter

In spite of winter’s
Insistence, lean over the fence
And talk to the neighbor
Of politics and poetry, and

Tell me how does your Music
Grow? Have you written an ode
For a future made out of glass?
Will you come tend

These daffodils when I am off
To a distant land of machine guns
And drug cartels? My neighbor
Grins, he asks about assault

Rifles, we have bigger worries
I tell him, stilettos and lynch mobs,
Nuclear bombs and poison
In the drinking water

Then I turn the conversation
To gardening, what is the best soil
For the tree fern? It seems
About to die as if it’s chemistry

Has gone wrong, sing for
My plants, praise simple stems
And stamens, plead for
An awakening and a bloom


Read a political tract and
Turn onto my block
Where the blood of the poet
Flows like liquid gold

Imagine the blessings
Of a poet undisguised
When our block sleeps
On the metal of a new car
Pick a poet’s mind
On my funny block of
Vintage houses and shout
For the human face

The bloom in knowing
When to praise thin wires
In the dramatic clouds
Hanging over our block

We need an insane code
For conduct, brother, we
Need your lipstick, lady,
I strut in a black gown

Kiss my street corner,
Sister, bust my balls,
Father Sleep, comb your
beard, old poet, rip your

Shirt in protest of the
Angels, cruise your catacomb
Brain and slam the dumb
Stars twinkling over my block

The postman wears shorts
And carries a trumpet
He flings a death notice
On top of an eviction

Or block is the United
States of America and
Ask for approval
From the nasty trees

These trees send sap
Onto our windshields
Exhausting our sense
Of national pride

Tell me about the politics
Of grass growing in cracks
If asphalt, green and
Yellow tufts of life

Raise a filthy flag on
My block, play folk tunes
From the mythic past
When little birds chirped

In honor of the melodies
That rise from discord
And shut down our peace
And practice the art of wa


if you care to talk about these streets
follow shadows from pale facades
shrouded by decades of rental
and cold sea breezes reaching

hallways and closets, flow as if
your life was on the line, listen
to wheezing fire from renters trapped
in narrow passageways on the road

to Byzantine solitude, water the plants
and sort your garbage, consider all
notions of beauty dissolved, leave
camellias to ponder mortality

on glass-topped table, and go
onto the streets, go to work, go
find release, untangle the lies,
grab a seat on the express bus

and watch the eyes of hopeful
old women with crates of pottery
waiting for their stop, look down
on the sidewalks, turn the city

into a floating palace, join one
of the tour groups, look out for
the intersection, a shaft of sunlight
trembles against the burnt-out shell

of a hardware store, racism is
afoot, it leads us to damp corners
of the neighborhood, God bless
untamed blood, God love street

life, love women with strollers
streaming on the walkway, come
into the circle, every door on
the block holds out hope and

ambition, the streets are a web
of opportunity in this trial
where opportunity demands
patient hands and fortitude

awaken everyone, may their
language be comfortable on
cold November mornings
when Autumn reigns, may light

hit the flowers and make their
magic bloom, on one of the streets
the grackles burn, they amuse
my eyes and animate a dream

of lyrical fingers made out of
the grid, or is it a prism? shadow
birds, tree birds, municipal transit
grackles at the bus stop, life

on a short leash, gardens of
forget-me-nots and thoughts
that please a citizen, the street
talk, they propose endurance

though Autumn will give way
to frigid dawn down around
the depressions, the diminutive
policeman and his oversized

partner partake, they have
grackles on their arms, I
quietly salute them and borrow
success from the scene

Nov. 7, 2017

Neeli CherkovskiImage may contain: 1 person, smiling, eyeglasses, beard and closeupis in internationally known poet living in San Francisco California. He is the author of many books of poetry and prose. His latest collection, Elegy for My Beat Generation,” it’s published by lithic press.

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