Kudos to the Miami cops

Beyond the blue-eyed seas,
behind the stormy oceans,
where Miami cops keep the city on the keys,
photos from Ukrainian towns brought them emotions.

The Buchanskyi policeman held the girl in his arms,
a nearby wall collapsed,
deep gullies, destruction of buildings and farms.

Worn black uniform, number plate covered in blood,
head cut by shrapnel, but he goes, performs
the debt to the community, the duty is national.

Colleagues handed over weapons from Miami,
that Ukrainians protect their cities,
repulsed the Russian whammy,
Miami cops You are so pretties.

Oleniv Martyrs

Clothes smelling of metallurgical soot,
a torn strap curls on the shoulder,
a machine gun near my chest,

I see the enemy’s foot.
The soldier heard the command of the headquarters,
laid down his arms and surrendered
scornfully, glancing at the Russian, beastly murders.

The patriots came out of the siege,
they thought about the exchange
but in captivity they are cattle,
UN? Red Cross? Hey, where are You, Mr., Ms, Liege?

Cut, chopped, tattered soldiers,
enemies keep You hungry and cold,
torture chamber in the steppe,
the Armed Forces are getting closer,
I am almost 32 years old.

When do You hear Burevy?

Oh, the tire is trampling the track,
she is surrounded by greenery,
large barrel, anti-aircraft gun (flak)
the falsity has disappeared,
as well as the scenery.

Slowly raises the back
sleeping handsome
yellow eyes blink,
a green camouflage on the color black.

Start one, start two, fire,
the captain of the car will shout,
the first volley, the rocket went ahead
to polish skills, they acquire.

In the memory of Vitaly Skakun,

I honor this warrior-hero,
he gave the enemies a little time, 
honestly, zero.

Holy Mother of God,
what in heaven, please,
save the warrior’s soul
sing songs, ballads,
as he stopped the enemy soldiers, alone, not seven.

Sailor of the sea forces,
he is an engineer by profession,
changer, master in the field,
without fashionable courses.

He blew himself up with the bridge
stopping the invaders’ columns,
bodies that are now in the fridge.

Glorious Son of Ukraine, dear,
You gave your life for my freedom
for the right to live, eat and drink even a mug of beer.

Vyacheslav Konoval is a Ukrainian poet whose work is devoted to the most pressing social problems of our time, such as poverty, ecology, relations between the people and the government, and war. His poems have appeared in many magazines, including Anarchy Anthology Archive, International Poetry Anthology, Literary Waves Publishing, Sparks of Kaliopa, Reach of the Song 2022, Diogenes for Culture Journal, «Scars of my heart from the war», «Poetry for Ukraine», «Rhyming», «La page Blanche», Norwich University research center, «Impakter», «Military Review»,  «The Lit», «Allegro», «Innisfree poetry journal», «Atunes Galaxy Poetry», «Ekscentrika», «Mere Inkling», «EgoPhobia», «Fulcrum», Omnibus». Vyacheslav’s poems were translated into French, Scottish, and Polish languages. His poems also have been read at meetings of various poetry groups, including Newman Poetry Group, Never Talk Innocence, Voicing Art Poetry Reading for Ukraine, Worcester County Poetry, Brussels Writer’s Circle, and Poets Anonymous May Middle-Met, Brett Show by Andrea, and the Manx Bard group.He is a member of the Geer Poetry Group (Wales) and a member of the Federation of Scottish Writers.

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