Green Hills Literary Lantern






This gray morning is like the unwashed feet of a dancer,

and between the trees,

like between the toes, there’s dirt

of the night feasts: empty bottles,

packs of nuts and chips,

cigarette butts.


Garbage trucks dump waste containers in themselves,

as if a caring nurse empties bedpans

from under a palsied millionaire’s rear end,

who watches cartoons and soap operas all day long,

drooling on his neck

and on his gold chain.


The weather is disgusting like a cat squished by a truck.

And the wail of police sirens

is heard in the distance

as if a purple rogue elephant

races through the stone jungles.



(translated by Sergey Gerasimov from Russian)


Dmitry Blizniuk is an author from Kharkov, Ukraine. His most recent poems have appeared in The Pinch Journal, River Poets , Dream Catcher, Magma, Press53, Sheila Na Gig, Palm Beach Poetry Festival and many others. A Pushcart Prize nominee, he is also the author of The Red Fоrest (Fowlpox Press, Canada 2018).