Pushkin It’s Time, My Friend

It's time, my friend, it's time! The peace is craved by hearts...  
Days flow after days -- each hour departs
A bit of life -- and both, you and I,
Plan a long life, but could abruptly die.

The world hasn't happiness, but there is freedom, peace.
And long have I daydreamed the life of bliss --
And long have planned, a tired slave, the flight
To the removed abode of labor and delight.  

The meadow, A poem by James Tucci

The meadow

I walked down the road

Up ahead was a fence

When I saw that fence it made me wonder

What lay behind it

It was a low fence

I reached it and lifted my legs over it

Beyond it was a meadow

With wild yellow and pale red flowers

Popping out of the tall grass that swayed in the breeze

The meadow had some standing water

So I stopped and gazed out

To where the meadow crossed into the sky

At that moment I knew that life was endless

I would never know all the paths or all the answers

But I knew I was glad to have climbed over that fence

James Tucci

Thanksgiving Day

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Palm Bay Yacht Club, Miami, Florida

What Makes the Russian Soul So Deep and Unique?

Thursday July 24 WWW.I-NETRADIO.COM Maria Lankina The RUSSIAN SOUL: The history of Writers, Poets, The Russian Winter and Spring, Gogol, Pushkin, Tolstoy, spirituality, suffering, identity 1, 4,7,10 PM EDT NY + The Classical Music Hour 12 Noon and 8 PM and DJ Tony Techno Music 10 AM and 9 PM EDT NY – Add +8 Moscow +15 Vladivostok – 10 AM PDT LAsoul 20

Pushkin and The Burned Letter and Tucci-Never to be Read

WWW.I-NETRADIO.COM is looking for poets to come on the show and share their magic. We are at spinmoscow@aol.com


The Burned letter


Farewell, Letter of Love! farewell: it’s her desire.

How long did I delay! How long refused, in ire,

I to destroy the single joy of mine!…

Enough! The time has come. Burn, scripts of love divine.

I’m ready; nothing else can call for my sad soul…

Now the greedy flame is touching its form whole…

A minute!… it is flamed and blazing – smoke, light,

With my bitter laments, is flying of my sight.

And now the ring’s stamp forfeited its form previous –

It’s boiling – the seal wax… O, Providence of Heavens!

That’s all! The letter’s leaves are twisted, now black;

On their light ashes their well known track     

Is whitening… My heart is squeezed. Oh, dear ashes,

In my sad destiny, my poor consolations,

Forever lie on breast, so fully, fully wracked…







Never to be Read


I wanted to tell you

How much I loved you

I wrote a birthday poem for you

From the heart and the soul

My thoughts and love were bared

Naked for you to behold

You would know how deep my feelings were

How much I cared for you

And loved you


When the day of your birth came

I could not send it

I could not let you know

How much I yearned for you

I could not let you see inside my secret being

My deepest thoughts

I just could not let you know

I could not bring myself to tell you

What you meant to me


Instead I kept it

Never to be seen

Never to be read

For you to never see my folly

And how foolish I’ve become

I wish that I could have let you know

How joyful I was

That on this day

You graced the earth

And made the world a better place

And let me know what the deep deep Russian love

That you once explained to me

Really is


My note wil lie buried

Never to be read nor seen

Of no value

Or purpose

Just a note of affection

That the intended will never receive


My little note

Will someday be destroyed

When my papers are discarded

And turned to ashes

Having never been read by you my beloved