"Distant Thoughts" by Robert Florczak‘The Poet’s Purpose’ and Other Poetry by Gleb Zavlanov The Society August 31, 2016 Beauty, High School Submissions, Poetry 11 Comments The Poet’s Purpose A poet praises all of nature’s treasures, He seeks to find the pathway to her core, To laud the rarest beauty in spring’s pleasures And marvel at the waves that kiss the shore. He sees a butterfly amid some roses, An adder hid within a leafy plot, And with such sudden sense, the world discloses All of her secrets to the poet’s thought: The ladybug asleep upon the leaf, The nightingale hid in her monastery, The weeping clouds that lave in nature’s grief, The smile that tinges both the rose and cherry, All in one stream of wisdom’s source united, All in one mingled essence swiftly pour. The poet drinks it all and thus delighted, He shows us nature just a tad bit more. The Evening The evening twines her beaming hair, Her braids around the eyes of day. The sun retreats into his lair, Paving with red his solemn way. The clouds meander with no aim, Bright aerial spires careen the streams, And look, the pyramids of flame Puff out and fade like minute dreams. The sky stands with her hair untwined, Clothing herself with Heaven’s hues. The twilit calm assures the mind And flirts and lures the cautious muse. And tangled with God’s sundry blooms, Breathing their spells and potent charms, I sit and rest while pleasure grooms My heart’s worn strings with graceful arms. No music but the mill-wheel’s whir And breezes playing in the stalks. All lifeless save the trilling stir Of bugs and worms beneath the rocks. The quiet holds me captive there, Tugged in oblivious solitude. Upon the sinking sun I stare, Content forever there to brood. To the Cricket They mock you for your minute form and hue Of muddy pallor. Still, small insect, don’t Despair for there’s no other creature who Continues the earth’s songs when the earth won’t. Oh cricket, bard of parting noon, whose cry Pulses along the trembling lute of night. When murk-corrupted twilights wane and die, I rest and hear your ditty with delight. How passioned its soft trembles glide and fade In timeless numbers from the leaf and thorn, And drift across the moonlit shore and glade Before they vanish in the coming morn. But still when noontide fades, and stars unearth Your voice continues with a greater mirth. Gleb Zavlanov is a high school senior who occupies himself with literature, language and music. His poetry has appeared in The Phoenix, the literary magazine of the prestigious Townsend Harris High School in Flushing, New York. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who harasses or disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comment or comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 11 Responses Carole Mertz August 31, 2016 I love your poetry, Gleb, the “To the Cricket” in particular. This one particularly delights because of its end-line rhymes and with lines such as “whose cry pulses along the trembling lute of night.” You attend a school several blocks from where I used to live, on Oak Avenue. I’m glad to know crickets are still chirping there. Reply Gleb Zavlanov September 18, 2016 Thank you for reading. I’m glad you love it. And yes the crickets are still chirping here, 🙂 Reply Neal Dachstadter August 31, 2016 “He shows us nature just a tad bit more” – is profoundly true, and the case with the best of poetry. “Content forever there to brood” is typical of the compelling flow of your offerings the Society featured here today. Thank you. Reply Neal Dachstadter August 31, 2016 Speaking of “Content forever there to brood” I wrote about Maine tonight. My father was stationed there and he took us there – several decades ago. Reply Gleb Zavlanov September 18, 2016 Thank you so much for reading and enjoying. Nature truly is important to any artist, especially poets. Reply Kathy F. September 1, 2016 Delightful! I really enjoyed reading these poems! Reply Gleb Zavlanov September 18, 2016 Thank you for reading it. I really appreciate it. Reply James Ph. Kotsybar September 9, 2016 I enjoyed these very much. I look forward to your continued development as a poet. Thank you for sharing your talent here. Reply Gleb Zavlanov September 18, 2016 Thank you for dropping by and reading. I really look forward to sharing future poems. Reply John Kolyav January 10, 2017 I read these poems a few times. The Evening and To the Cricket impressed me more. The last one reminded me of my younger days (now I’m 54); “When murk-corrupted….ditty with delight.” Nice! Continue writing! Regards! Reply Gleb Zavlanov February 12, 2017 Thank you for reading. Reply Leave a Reply to Neal Dachstadter Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.