Poetess Sola Monova: "There are people who are created to save others"

On October 3, Moscow will host a poetry evening #It's Time to Live, where the popular poetess Sola Monova will perform. This poetic story is about easy charity. About the fact that you can help easily and with pleasure. HELLO.RU learned from the poetess how to become popular, get rid of obsessive online fans and why it is important to help adults.

Julia (the real name of the poetess is Yulia Solomonova. - ed.), at what age did you start writing poetry? Who was your first audience?

I started writing poetry at the age of six, my dad taught me. He showed that there is a rhythm, but there is a rhyme, and you can put words into mischievous quatrains on various topics. We had so much fun. First they wrote about felt-tip pens, then about a little boy, and then I read these poems at a family feast and got a standing ovation. Since then I have been writing almost every day.

At school, she reworked the academic program using bad words, and at breaks she amused her classmates, in the theater she wrote for skits, in the most difficult periods of her life she wrote to relieve stress, on a table or on the net.

At what point and why did you decide to make poetry your main profession? As far as we know, you have several higher educations: management, two directing - one of which is VGIK. You even managed to study at the Hollywood film school! Why poetry and where did the love of directing go?

It happened. I have always written poetry and never attached much importance to it. True, I had a period when I wrote congratulations to order, but this was also not serious. The customers said: "Julia, you have such a sense of humor!" I once wrote graduation songs about all the teachers in one night. For a hundred dollars. The teachers wept.

But I have always been passionate about directing. I studied a lot, for a long time, for more than seven years I worked on television, as a director and chief director, staged performances, mass spectacles, I dreamed of a big movie. But there was never any ease, it was work, self-sacrifice, anything, but not pampering.

When I gave birth to my first child, I went on maternity leave for several years and began to post my poems on social networks: “I am a poet, my name is Tsvetik, I write poetry on social networks.” One day my husband found out that I had 200,000 VKontakte subscribers, was surprised and said that it was cool and that a book should be published.I published two: LEFT and RIGHT, published a link to the online store on my blog, and in the first days of sales, all pickup points were inundated with my books.

When I came out of the second decree, I put on a small performance based on my poems, published an announcement, and the audience came to me. They were real living spectators, the most wonderful ones, which I dreamed about at the theater and at VGIK, and they came to listen to my poems. Therefore, I am Yulia the director, now I work for Sola the poet.

I can't help but ask a question that occupies many aspiring authors: how to become popular on the Internet? How did you achieve such success?

Now there are hundreds of trainings on how to become successful on the Internet, with this question - to their authors. I really do not know. It works for me - to be creative is not serious, not for eternity, but for yourself, without thinking about trends or hashtags. And spread everything! You never guess what will shoot.I have a poem that is very popular on the Internet, so I wrote it while jogging. In the same period, I created several good works that no one noticed.

On one of my poems they wrote a cheerful song for Alla Borisovna, and she gave the song to Shnurov. Should be out soon. I would never have thought that this text would go so far.

Does popularity bring you happiness? Or delivers, along with joy, unpleasant emotions? How do you deal with pushy or rude fans?

It's such a thrill when you wrote cool poems at night, and your hands are itching to put them on your millionth (!!!) blog! You wake up in the morning, open one eye, and fast. And what do you see? Thin likes are slowly growing, comments from mothers who earn 30,000 each with a baby in their arms. It didn't work. But I have learned to forget all the unpleasant. Therefore, I quickly forget the bad. There are no trolls on my social networks. But this is not accurate.

You are a public figure, a network poetess. How to balance private and public life?

About my life from the Internet you can find out only one thing - I write poetry. I think 50% of the public don't even know that I have children. And some even write that I am a transvestite. I don't argue with any of them. The Internet is a masquerade. All under masks. Like the Venice Carnival. Very comfortable.

Now the trend is to make family blogs, keep pregnancy in stories, show parents, husband. Husbands write comments to their wives "congratulations, darling, on our anniversary" and the wives respond publicly. It's modern, it increases reach. But in my family, only my son Vanya sometimes acts in stories, the rest are against it. The family is assembled - the phone is off. My husband doesn't even have Instagram.

You have two children. Has your work changed in any way under the influence of motherhood?

Oh sure. I have written a children's book that will be released soon. In this book, however, more about fatherhood than about motherhood. It's called "Unhappy Dad".

Lived at the address: Anapa,
Shevchenko street, house one, -
Constantly disgruntled dad -
Disgruntled Pope Konstantin.

Was not sick, not fired,
And fed with fish and meat,
But at the same time very dissatisfied
Everyone who lives with him.

For the second year in a row, you support the Leukemia Foundation. . Last year you took part in the campaign #redcap against leukemia, this year you became one of the heroines charity poetry evening . Do you have any personal history related to this disease? What motivates you to follow the path of charity?

No. Thank God no. There are people who are created to save others. They give themselves entirely to noble ideas. I don't know how to save, but I can perform at a charity concert, make a publication, write poetry.I do my best. I don't feel a sense of grace. Once I realized that most of the compassionate pictures on the net and the tears of gratitude of online donation collectors are fake.

Real kindness doesn't have to wait for gratitude. If you can help, just help. Kindness is when your elderly neighbor is sick and does not look at all touching, but terribly, unpleasantly, and behaves like many sick people, capriciously, ungratefully, disgustingly, and you still help her. That's what real kindness is.

Text: Elena Radchenko.

Solo Monova is a popular Russian writer. She was born on May 29 (twins according to the horoscope) 1979 in Vladivostok (Russia). Real name - Yulia Solomonova.

Julia was born and raised in a fairly ordinary family. From early childhood she was fond of creativity. As Julia herself says, the person who instilled in her this passion for art was her father. Together with him, they often sat up for drawing, singing, but most of all Yulia liked to compose poetry. She began writing her first works at the age of 6. True, all the poems carried a certain black humor, which is very unusual for a small, growing girl. It was during this period that one could note the fact that Yulia is growing up as a very unusual child, that in the future she will still be able to show everyone who she is and what she is capable of.

In 1996, young Julia graduated from an English school in her hometown and entered the Academy of Arts with a degree in theater director, which she eventually graduated in 2003. This is followed by another step on the path to education, in 2004 she receives a second diploma in production management.

The beginning of the creative path

As is known, according to some sources, the poetess Solo Monova published her poems and did not stop writing them. Until the age of 27, she hosted one TV show, talking about such a piece of life, Yulia smiles, saying that then she was dressed in expensive things and she could manage the whole process on the set, people recognized her on the street and for the first time she felt a real surge of energy and the first rays of her glory. But then all this was abandoned by Julia, who decided that she wanted something new. Thus, she moves to Moscow and enters VGIK, where she becomes a student at the acting department.

In those student years, Yulia lived in a hostel, like any other student, and that's when her roommate decides to open a web page for Yulia. Since then, the poetess decides to post all her works there. As soon as there were about 200 subscribers, her husband suggests that she release her own book, to which Yulia does not react very seriously. In 2011, she graduated from VGIK, and after some time she received a diploma from the Hollywood film school and even starred in the film "911".

Further successes

Today, Solo Monova is a very significant figure in modern Russian literature. Basically, the writer writes about love, but in her early work there was more lyricism, and then real sarcasm began to appear. As the poetess herself says, writing poetry is a kind of revelation, only at these moments she can completely disconnect from the outside world and pour out her soul, take flight and find herself in her own world.

The technique of a talented writer is simply excellent, she can easily rhyme anything, but, according to Sola herself, the most important thing is to be able to pour out her soul and give sincerity to poetry, giving a part of herself.

Relations

With her future husband Nikolai, Julia first met at a poetry competition, but they really managed to establish some kind of relationship a few years later, when they were again able to meet a mutual friend at the celebration. So, they began to meet, and after they signed at the registry office, he had previously been a deputy, but now he is engaged in business. The couple has two beautiful children: daughter Nina and son Ivan.

As Solo Monova says, her husband is not against the work of the poetess, but he categorically forbids writing obscene poems to her, which she still releases.

• vk.com/public.sola
• instagram.com/sola_monova

Sole Monova is 40 years old. Being a film director, theater director, actress, she, judging by the rating, is the most popular poetess on the pages of the Internet space. The woman writes bright memorable poems and supports young talents.

early years

The birthplace of Yulia Solomonova (she is published under the pseudonym of Sola Monova) is Primorsky Krai, the city of Vladivostok. She was born on May 29, 1979. Literary creativity began in early childhood, which was facilitated by the passion for poetic works of the whole family.

After graduating from an English special school, the girl studies at the Far Eastern Academy of Arts, where she receives the specialty of a theater director. Studies continue at the Far Eastern Technical University. Yulia has several higher educations in the specialties of a manager, director, actress.

Popularity

Popularity came to Solomonova in the Far East - she worked as a host of television programs, so she was recognized everywhere. But she wanted more. As a result, he entered VGIK, studied in a workshop headed by Sergei Solovyov and Valery Rubinchik. This was followed by directing Russian television author's programs, and Yulia also acted as a host. In 2012, Solomonova flies to Los Angeles, where she continues her studies at the Hollywood film school of the University of Southern California. She also shoots the film "911" there. After returning to Moscow, he works as the chief director on the First Game Channel. In the same year, Solomonova took part in the International Festival of Short Films StudCINEMAFest, where she became a laureate, and in the Golden Knight International Forum, where she was awarded a prize in the Bronze Knight nomination.

All this time Yulia Solomonova writes poetry. Opuses of the poetess, despite criticism, delight the millionth audience of the Internet network. Glamorous and sarcastic works of Monova cannot leave listeners indifferent. Thanks to wit, a sense of rhythm, a selection of bright, unexpected rhymes, Yulia Solomonova becomes widely known: the poetic blog has more than half a million subscribers. Videos with recordings of readers voicing her poems are popular and in demand. Sola Monova's video poetry is being developed, a blog of poetic works has been created and maintained on Instagram pages. On the site "Poetry.ru" in the nomination "People's Poet" she is in the leading line.

The poetess has many awards and diplomas, confirming the recognition of her talent, during the competition "Evening Poems" by the newspaper "Evening Moscow" was recognized as the winner. Sola Monova pays much attention to organizing tours in Russia and visits cities where she meets with admirers of her work.

Creation

The performance of the poetess in 2018 was organized at the main venue of the capital. Poetry readings are held in the form of solo performances, where she performs, changing chic outfits - a grateful audience is in a hurry to get autographs. Sola Monova published five books in the form of collections of poetry and prose.

Personal life

According to Sola, her future husband (formerly a politician, now a businessman)

she met when receiving a diploma at a literary competition, in which she became the winner. The couple's relationship developed rapidly: the marriage was registered on the second day after they met. The couple are now raising two children. Sola Monova notes that the family and children brought a lyrical note to her poetic works.

Sola Monova is the most popular poetess in the Russian segment of the Internet. The author of vivid memorable poems “sells manuscripts”, monetizes talents and raises children.

Yulia Solomonova (Sola Monova is a pseudonym) was born in the capital of Primorsky Krai in 1979. She began writing poetry before she went to school. The girl was prompted to literary creativity by the enthusiasm for the poetry of her parents. The poetess is grateful for the support of her father Valera, who managed to see a gift in her daughter's first opuses, distinguished by black humor.

Judging by the number of diplomas of higher education, the favorite pastime of a native of Vladivostok is studying: Yulia is a certified manager, director, actress.

In the early 2000s, Solomonova hosted popular programs on Primorsky Television, and grateful viewers recognized her on the streets. However, the Far Eastern expanses became cramped for a versatile girl, and she rushed to Moscow, entered the VGIK in the workshop.

Poetry

Although behind Monova's shoulders is the film "911", staged in the United States, the only occupation that allows her to communicate with the Almighty is poetry. The most famous poems of Sola are “I feel that there are women nearby” and “Frost”. In general, all the works of the lady writer are addressed to the fair sex, they can be entitled "Poems about men."

Sola Monova reciting the poem "Are you married, my dear?"

Critics scold Sola's poems for the fact that after getting to know them, readers do not experience catharsis, but only rejoice in recognizing previously experienced emotions. There are grammatical errors in the lively verses. However, the millionth audience of subscribers of the poetess in social networks is delighted with the opuses of their favorite author.

Sola is witty, feels the rhythm, picks up bright, unexpected rhymes. Monova's poetry is stylistically similar to the work of Igor Irtenev, but is not dedicated to politics, but to gender relations. Readers will recognize elements of their biographies in the lines of the poetess.

Personal life

In an interview, Sola Monova says that she met her future husband - then a politician, and now a businessman - thanks to poetry: Nikolai Morozov presented the poetess with a diploma for winning a literary competition. Then fate brought the young people together again at Sola's friend's bachelorette party. One day passed from the marriage proposal to the wedding: the connections allowed the groom to quickly organize registration in the city of Vladimir, where the lovers went to admire the ancient architecture.

Monova flirtatiously comments on her personal life, claiming that Kolya fell in love with her because she knows how to do what he likes - poetry. The only thing objected to by the life partner in Sola's work is profanity.

The husband is 5 years older than the poetess, he is the author of more than fifty scientific books, he managed to work both as an assistant and vice-rector of the main Far Eastern university. Photos of Nikolai on the Internet testify to the taste of the poetess: the man has a pleasant appearance, a harmonious physique and thick hair. The couple have two children. The birth of Vanya and Nina made Monova's poetry more lyrical.

Sola Monova now

In May 2018, the poetess performed on the main square of Russia. On December 29 and 30, 2018, the creative lady gave concerts in the Moscow Capercaillie Nest, tickets for which cost from 2 to 3 thousand rubles.

Sola Monova in 2018

Each performance of Sola is a one-man show, in which she appears in spectacular (usually black) outfits. The grateful audience weeps, and after the performance brings books to the idol to decorate them with autographs.

The poetess pleased the fans: posted in "Instagram" a new poem dedicated to 2019 - the year of the Pig.

Books

• 2014 - Dandelion has white blood
• 2014 - "Left Book"
• 2014 – “Right book. Network poetry»
• 2016 - "Poems about men"
• 2018 - "Poems for a handbag"
• 2018 - "Poems"
• "Complaint book"
• "Pink Book"

© Monova S.

© AST Publishing House LLC

* * *

#1997

#Here_and_calm

That's peace, that's gone,
Someone else to look for.
On a sleeve trimmed with fur,
Black snake - a strand.
The leaves are spinning, spinning together,
They cannot be caught on the fly.
And why? Because you don't need
Soon they will be swept away in heaps.
The flame will clog, the flame will cool,
The first snow will fall.
[Maybe white, maybe blue,
Maybe something else...]
It will become transparent, it will become sparkling,
It will be the end of November
And on the paths untouched-clean
I will be with me only.

I am without desires, I am without requests,
I am without forgotten verses.
No matter how hard you try, summer is not autumn,
The desire to have is not love.
Whatever you do, dead leaves
All will reach the ground.
Don't come back: I sleep sweetly,
If you are somewhere far away.

#All_my_fun

All my fun is just a mask
All my fun is fake makeup.
You kiss on the lips - a March fairy tale,
But kissing on the lips won't do anything.

And my eyelashes are like spider legs
(How many webs do they need to weave?)
In a small hallway I put on a hat:
You're afraid of me, it's better for me to leave.

You are afraid of me, as children are afraid
Bite an unknown fruit with your teeth.
And I look calmly, thinking about the summer:
How it starts, how it goes.

On your steps, worn and slippery,
I don't like going down a couple of floors.
I put on shoes, got taller,
I want to stay, but I can't.

I am silent and hesitate, the blood froze in a vein ...
After a little silence, it's better to disperse -
All the mute charm of this stupid scene
In the way you squeeze the brush goodbye!

#I_think_that_I'm_going_crazy

I feel like I'm going crazy:
I sleep during the day, I don’t see him in my sleep,
I'm going where I shouldn't go
Just to be a little closer.

And on the steps, among different faces,
Kiss him with a sad look
And hide behind curtains of eyelashes
Salty water light coolness.

Snowdrops that bloomed in the park
I would ruthlessly rip it off for him,
And the cloud that basks in the distance,
They made him a blanket instead.

And the very first emerald hop
From small roadside blades of grass
How black coffee would bring to bed:
I'm crazy, which means I can do anything.

#Fly

False sedation -
Tobacco smoke.
For me one moment
It became a pack.
And fog, no one understands,
Started to cry:
In a useless half-winter city
Rain and slush.
Two moons - two delusions
Two sorrows.
I pray that their eclipses
Didn't match.
I pray for something true
Something third
And I squeeze WINSTON in my fingers
Cigarette.
But she's already decayed
The smoke does not melt.
Of course, I'm more sinful
Than a saint.
I'm holding on but I can't take it
The walls are crushing!
I'll tell myself everything today -
Open my veins!!!
I'll call myself by my first name!
Hearing pain?
I'm the same as all of them -
Just... a fly
Flew in ... a late guest.
And it looms.

He will die, because here instead of air -
Tobacco smoke!!!

#You is not the one

You're not the one I need right now
You is not the one.

My city is once again cold,
All will pass.

They say it's raining all week
Will pour.

You can part the clouds with your hands.
Whether it is necessary?

I will bring incense from the bright church
To a dark house.

At first, everything is easy and complicated.
And then?

Someone has to be stronger and taller.
It's me.

And they drop gold on the roofs
poplars.

About you the last of the lines,
Like a dagger.

I only loved the shell.
It's a pity!

#I_bought_chrysanthemums

I bought chrysanthemums
Modestly, for myself.
Didn't search for common topics
The one who took me home.

Clouds quarreled in the distance,
blackening sky,
Two snowflakes fell
And hit the glass.

I tried to guess
What is happening on earth:
Whether the city sobbed
Is the city sick...

And I thought: "You're waiting,
Watching the shooter run
And in me the last rain
Passes into the first snow.

#I him

I love him.
Autumn again.
I love him.
Red snow.
I love him.
Someone will ask.
"I love him", -
The whole answer.

I'm looking for him.
The evening is getting cold.
I'm looking for him.
The stairs are dark.
I'm looking for him.
The breath will flow.
I'm looking for him.
I'm alone.

I want it.
Soft velvet.
I want it.
Light sleep.
I want it.
All cards lie.
I want it.
Well, what about him?

I love him.
Too late.
I love him.
Black fur.
I love him.
The stars are fading.
I love him…
To hell with everyone!!!

#1999

#Girls_with whom_you_sleep

The girls you sleep with
Forget the rings under the bed.
Then you pull them in your hands,
Remembering tender hugs.

Stones enclosed in metals -
Only the creations of clever jewelers.
The girls you slept with
How much did they give you?

Thousands of second pleasures
And dozens of easy awakenings?
It's good when it's easy and slippery,
And ecstasy depends on the movements

Well when not too long
And wine in a nearby shop
Expensive, but not exactly as much
To not be left on the rubber.

Of course, you will say: “Cynical!”
Twist your mouth into a wicked grin.
Okay let it be romantic
Here, for example: there were stars in the sky ...

The stars were like big asters
In autumn yellowed flower beds.
Her eye is unmixed colors,
The pupils have silver moons.

How the dress slipped under the arms,
How easily the shoulders touched,
Darkness hid, but under the bed
In the morning you found her ring.

Are you satisfied now? But hardly.
Well then, please forgive me.
You removed my portraits from the walls -
Now I don't care who you sleep with!

#Dog_elegy

We walk very well with the dog:
He writes and I write.
He is on poles and under fences,
And I'm talking about a fallen soul.

And I have a suspicion
That my dog ​​writes poetry
Because spiritualization
Close to his character.

He is tense and focused.
In moments of lifting paws,
And pours on the whitewashed curb
Lyrical dog speck.

How does he take care of
To my works:
A little weariness in the yard
And again add a line to them.

And this, apparently, historically,
That our connections are so easy:
My dog ​​shits poetically
I write bad poetry!

#2004

#How_chocolate_sticks_to_thigh_

How chocolate sticks to your thighs
Well, just at least completely forget about sweets!
Chocolate invisible to the eye
More noticeable on the body a hundred times!

I'm twenty-five, I started to squat
In aerobic workouts,
And, like a giant rabbit, I drink carrots,
If only to drive away these charms.

Belly and butt lost the fight -
Lose weight under stress
But the hips are fatal deposits
Unshakable, like a monument.

Oh, fashion, how difficult it is with you!
After all, it’s like I’m not a donut from birth:
Crying over "Bird's Milk"
I envy the Renaissance.

My friend came up with a move:
Having pampered the body with gluttony,
She goes and just pukes
And then eats not a drop at least.

In the program of the interesting "BBC"
They called it "bulimia"!
From this, O Lord, save
Dying in Europe. Mamma Mia!

The method doesn't work for me. What nonsense -
Giving delicacies to the toilet.
There is a benefit in the hips: on the edge of ecstasy
Hold onto them gently - or not?

#2005

#Blossoming

I need a lover with blue eyes
No biography and no extra questions.
We will bite into each other, nose to nose,
And not to classify sins before images.

I need a lover who explodes at once
Without a universal reason and plans for the evening,
We'll rip out the buttons, we'll enter the endless
Corridor - from touching fingers to orgasm ...

I need a lover who will say through his teeth
Final spells and stain the sheets with protein.
In the afternoon I will write his sweet-salty name
Mentally on the foreheads of interlocutors and become wet.

I need a lover that I will lose without sadness
No pain, no laughter, no discussions with mom.
Oh gods, why curse me! Why do I need cold marble!
At the age of the most blossoming!

Do you speak Russian?

#Sad

You know, I was sad today

They say artificial art
I don't know... you hear the wind blowing.

He plucks a leaf from the sad maples...
At night, so that no one sees the theft.
They say there are no lovers
They say - and kisses ... even ...

Here comes the winter, so that the birds freeze -
I will sprinkle crumbs on the balcony.
It is impossible, they say, to fall in love -
To fall in love… all the more impossible.

So everything is pointless and boring ...
They say… didn’t know… young…
I'll put my hands in my mittens
And spoil the fragile ice with traces ...

And in the spring the river will change its course,
Children will launch boats in it ...
You know, today I ... became sad
Because there is no love in the world ...

#Long away

He's probably somewhere
Far away, where there is no me,
Stroking the fur of a red dog
By the fading fire.

It's dark in his rooms
Look sad portraits in the hall,
He has an unhappy marriage
And sparkling eyes.

And outside the windows the same century
Same month, same God.
A person I don't know
With a red dog at warm feet

Drinking hot milk
Resting from the bile of the day.
Too bad he's far away
Far away, where I am not.

#Remember_me_for a long time

Remember me for a long time
Like the best of the set
Like the best of brunettes
As the best of the unnecessary...
Remember me and only.
I'll put the appliances together
I'll put a napkin on my lips
And this dinner is over.

Remember me by the moans
By razor-cut nerves,
By strange dreams of a cage,
By the pure color of karma.
Of a thousand false stories
Print mine first
Read it very rarely.
And cry outside the cameras.

Remember me wild
Remember me yours
(I'll stay in something of yours.)
Read my correspondence...
Remember me with a gift
Someone's birthday...
I feel like I'm lost
And I won't do it again
Close…

#Star fever

I loved him:
He was young, healthy and neat,
Woke up with the dawn
I ran to the horizontal bar even in the cold.
I loved him:
He did not put stains on the tablecloth,
Admired Copernicus -
Ancient advanced husband.
I loved him:
He was an excellent athlete since childhood,
Gathered dust on the chest of drawers
Dozens of plastic cups.
I loved him:
I came to replace the previous one
And slept on my shoulder
Pretending to be good and fragile.
I loved him:
He was a true inhabitant of the World.
In his bedroom Gagarin
Staring at the poster of Venus.
I loved him:
I learned about black holes
About some supernovas and dwarfs of mega sizes.
I loved him:
I loved his overload
Weightlessness, articles about comets, plots from orbit.
I loved him:
He addressed me in Russian,
And to colleagues, as if in a Hebrew dialect.
I loved him:
I dreamed of rafting with fires,
I found decent rafts on the cheap for the summer.
I loved him:
He thought love was strange.
I loved him…

He trained himself to be an astronaut!

Honey, you are something like a hawk:
Somewhere over the meadow, but where is unknown.
There are too many unknowns between people -
Everyone wants to take their place.

There in the clouds you need to argue with the flows.
Green-green is the bottom of your heights,
The river is visible with filament sources.
Big plans don't fit in.

People are constantly waiting for the beautiful,
Waiting too long is, of course, difficult.
Honey, you are something like a hawk,
I am on a rabbit in emerald grass.

#On distance

maybe I'll love you from a distance...
shot!
Are you public property?
pure!
I will burn with love, like a girl to a boy ...
At a distance, everything, oddly enough, is more tempting!

maybe I'll wish you from a distance ...
image!
like a stranger with a mysterious charm?
vote
it is better not to hear, so that the feelings remain innocent!
we will do the same with the surname, patronymic, first name ...

#Not_of_plastic

And you can, I'll be good and gentle:
Without rough movements, without sharp batmans,
Laugh at the eternal less and less,
Don't think about swing and marijuana...

Watching children in strange overalls
With a cart to wander in the supermarket for a long time,
Loving evenly four seasons,
To spread the bed is not on the principle of duty.

Or maybe I'll clean out the memory like a bag,
Where there is a lot of garbage there, behind the lining,
And past comics - someone's drawings -
I will ruthlessly tear out of the common notebook.

And you can, I again, as if for the first time,
I'll be wrong a hundred times, I promise. I often
So I want to believe that people are alive,
Not plastic, not plastic.

#One day

One day we'll meet somewhere at a party
And I will be thirty, and you - count for yourself.
You will be with a young and very thin blonde,
And I - with a gray-haired man with a trimmed mustache.

You kiss my hand - so it is necessary according to etiquette,
And I will tell you about the children left with the nanny at home ...
And I'll be wearing a black-black dress
[His favorite] You will say - I'm incomparable ...

Then I will congratulate you on something terribly important,
Successful, good, useful and very necessary ...
And you will stretch out a paper rectangle to me,
Which, of course, will go into her husband's wallet ...

And the meeting will last for minutes, well, at the most ... eight ...
And everyone will be called to the tables, rhinestones will flash in the lamps ...
We won't ask each other anymore
Like millions of lovers who didn't pick up the puzzle...

#Jealousy

When I walk down the street
and beautiful women fly past me,
with golden skin
and hair of soft honey or completely
black color,
talking on mobile phones
and smiling into the tubes,
seeing nothing but that distant interlocutor,
I'm sure they rush to You,
and your voice rushes in invisible waves
from one electronic device to another...

I am sure that these beautiful decorations
on their thin necks - Your gifts,
and You gently lifted their hair,
when he tried to snap the little clasps,
and said something very tender and sincere,
something you would never say to me...

That all these text messages are on your phone,
even signed by male names, -
secret messages,
coded messages,
so that only two can understand their special meaning,
and sparks sparkle in your heart
at every signal
breaking the night...

When I sleep alone
and tipsy company under the windows
trying to imitate modern performers,
and you rest in your bedroom without me
or from me
I'm sure you're not alone
that someone is pressing their back against your hot belly
and asks to pull the blanket higher,
so that not a single kilojoule
Your warmth has not been lost...

And in the morning you smile
and in imperceptible wrinkles around the eyes
flashing sequins erased lipstick -
kiss marks:
evening,
night,
morning,
I'm sure you'll remember them in the day...

It seems to me,
that this jealousy
like a cancer
tearing me apart from the inside
she, like a snake, penetrated my liver,
washed with wine and poisoned blood,
and it grows, grows, grows
They say there is no cure for cancer...
And the pain
this constant unbearable pain
and the crackle of torn tissue.
You said I got so heavy
and I don't eat much...

I'm sure this jealousy will kill me
Sooner or later…
late…

#Whom is she with?

Who is she with? She is free.
Only very strong black.
It's fashionable, it's not fashionable.
Fashion even for girls.

We are all trophies in some way,
Who - pride, who - vice.
If you live in coffee shops
So it's just lonely.

Everything must be very fashionable:
From cell phones to death...
Who is she with? She is free.
If in doubt - check.c

#Gray_day

Gray day. Wet gray asphalt in a gray city,
People drive in gray cars to their gray offices,
They hide gray thoughts in beards gray from time ...
Gray rain according to forecasts of severe weather forecasters will be.

Photoshop. new. Grayscale... contrast adjustment.
Where are the RGB colors? Where are the shades for the web?
Gray day. Not enough to colic passion.
This terrible dullness descends from the very sky.

Gray day. The traffic light (three times gray) blinks to drivers.
The kiss is too gray to recolor the day instantly.
This gray suit suits you - it's almost amazing,
But beneath it, pale gray blood to match the matched veins.

#Do not be afraid

Don't be afraid, I'll leave inaudibly -
You won't get tired of me.
Taking a mobile phone with shoes under his arm,
I will leave the entrance and melt.

People exist side by side
People don't need crossovers
Don't be afraid, I'll leave instantly.
Twice I will not enter your current.

I will not wander through the bodies
From the roll of the final cue.
Don't be afraid, I'm not fifteen -
I'm leaving professionally!!!

#I love you

I love you. Didn't you want this?
What else can I do? Tell…
In a little, little heart of a poet
There must be at least one celestial...

To fill the space with icons,
Protecting yourself from the fatal world.
I love the white rosehip song
I love you…
only you...

ideal.

#I_love_him_so

I love him like wolves love their cubs,
Kissing their muzzles with their tongues in a burrow.
I love him like the timid inhabitants of Chad -
Run with a thin spear for the Red Book animals.

I love him like a seasoned fisherman loves his net,
Fixing it every evening, turning cheekbones.
I love him like the condemned - death
In your soft bed, not in the electric chair.

I love him like a blind rastaman loves
Approaching Jah, turning insights into melodies.
I love him like a melancholic fog -
A native Englishman who has not been to his homeland for five years.

I love it the way tourists love the hot East,
Eating worms in a five-star hotel at dinner.
I love him like I love my first flower
A belated virgin dreaming of a husband.

I love him like the sparkle of a crown is a tyrant,
Like princesses - themselves, like flying money - beggars.
I love him like a gray-haired Muslim - the Koran,
As an artist - canvases, as hungry - a plate of food.

I love him like a free bird - a wing,
Like the depths - a mollusk, and how much - its narrow crack.
I love him the way homeless children love warmth.
I love him like a simple earthly woman.

#2006

#25_centimeters_of_love

If he did back and forth -
"You are very welcome" sign.
You can pull, but not always.
(Every stranger is not necessary!)

It can be very bent,
And different colors.
Maybe - straight, and Prutkov Kozma
Wrote something about it!

It also happens to be shaggy, ribbed,
Circumcised at a young age.
After washing, it is usually clean,
Upturned and a little pompous.

At "mine" he is upright, funny!
About a quarter of a meter...
Loves! Wags! Arto, follow me!
Lady with a dog!
Retro!

#Adamu

And we will walk through the foliage in November,
Leaving businesses and cars.
I love all this rib bullshit
Man created by God.

And I will close my hands under your coat,
Seems to be in the right place.
Bandaged under the scar
A God-made bride.

#Aloe

He came out of the blue of simple electronic signs,
But he was real and carnal, like bread and honey.
And his eyelids smelled of the dream of the scarlet poppies,
And something like a Sunday-prayer stomach smelled.

He went out and stood somewhere: far away, but nearby,
And I kept his mobile number in my chest.
But apparently I wore the wrong clothes
I didn’t know what to do in the midst of, inside, among ...

He came out of the blue, but the portico did not moor in mine,
He came out of the blue and went into the same blue.
And the cabin boy was throwing his sailor's bent dagger
In high masts that held red silk.

#Run

Wherever you run
Gravity, time, rumor.
If you ask for something to drink, they will take three prices for a rope at the well.
Wherever you run
Languages ​​bear fruit.
People want to eat, people want to fight with someone!

Wherever you run
This is society - you are doomed
In the rough world of elbows, learn the art of pushing.
Wherever you run
Relying on someone's shoulder
You can fall painfully and break on sharp stones.

Wherever you run
Too busy, too big
Demand for quick money and easy happiness as an inheritance.
Wherever you run
Has anyone found this box?
A moment before you - get used to the difficult neighborhood.

Wherever you run
The world is filled and holds in the teeth
A blue dream like a cutout of a lion in a zoo.
Wherever you run
From diaper to plush in coffins
You can make a princess with the hands of a burnt cook.

Wherever you run
You can't run away from yourself anyway.
Chips are built in, conscience will find an excuse for instinct.
Wherever you run
Feeling the thrill of sharing
They can take away a finger for a ring with a fake sequin.

But wherever you run
Be kinder and say goodbye more often
Unloved women and unmedaled warriors.
And wherever you run
Even if you run on an empty stomach,
Do not rush to food, albeit with a slight, but a sign ... stink!

#Be_reverent_to_the_World

Be tremulous to the World -
He is just as touchy and small,
And love him not in the spring, but in the vile slush.
Imagine, the world happens to want to cry:
Be tremulous to the World -
It also has an ending.

Be tremulous to the World -
He's so amazingly fresh
And so his soil awaits the spring seed.
Be tremulous more often: in all areas and with everyone.
Be tremulous to the World -
We are children, and He is our playpen.

Be in awe of the world
And He is embodied in the little things:
In innocence of insults and in memory of memorable nicknames.
Be tremulous to the World - he also suffered from master keys.
Be in awe of the world

Hidden in someone's eyes.

#You know_2

You know, the months will go by
You will call ... but much less often ... and ...
People live according to the laws of the area:
Continental and coastal.

Everything is fine. And, of course, it will turn out
Everything. Good. The belts are tight.
I am a hostage of time zones
I sit down to have lunch when you have dinner.

Autumn is wonderful continental.
Autumn is wonderfully one-time.
There are belts, but the waist is not visible -
Forever my planet is pregnant.

Leaves spread along the coast
The leaves are carved ... with your profile ...
To be at least a little adjacent to me -
Though the secretary with black coffee.

Or you ... but where are we ... Various
Spectators, scenes, spotlights, replicas.
The leaves are so red in autumn.
And coincidences are so ... rare ...

Can be synchronized with your arrows
Run around like a black horse.
He who is obsessed does not tolerate petty things.
And the possessed are the doomed.

#Men_who_are_suitable_for_us_fathers

Thin innocence: delight from puddles,
Mystery in disrepair.
Who do I need? Lover? Husband?
For admiration? Pity?

Youth is magical - any garcon
He looks like a fairytale prince.
What do I need? Inside? Style?
The agency is working in the sky.

Maturity is gratifying - puts its highlight
A small month for the city.
Who do I need? Youngster? Old man?
To fill a bedroom.

Algorithm programmed -
BASIC - classical language:
If not, then go to… line limit
Thirty is the critical limit.

I want to drink water from my face
In the thicket, listen to the oriole.
Girls are looking for their father in everything!
Maybe expand the sample?