The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov


NEW! See Pavel's photos at Pavel's Camera. Check out the hawk on Domestic and Wild.

Pavel's latest collection of poems, So Tell Us, Christ, is now available from Amazon in both paperback and Kindle formats. The cover art is "El Salvador"  by El Greco, from the Museo del Greco in Toledo.

Ave Maria University's Special Collections include printed, digital, and recorded materials by Pavel Chichikov. The university is currently developing a new Website.

Pavel's A House Rejoicing is available at, in print and on Kindle, and at Barnes & Noble. The cover art is "The Little Festive House," by Lisa Lorenz. From Here to Babylon is also available in print and on Kindle.

 Lion Sun: Poems by Pavel Chichikov, published by Grey Owl Press, is available at Amazon. Also by Pavel are Mysteries and Stations in the Manner of Ignatius  and Animal Kingdom, from Kaufmann Publishing.

Pavel's poems inspired by Goya's etchings are at

Sylvia Dorham's moving The Book of Names is available at See Pavel's review on the book page!

Poet Charles Van Gorkom's blog may be found here.

All poems on this page are by Pavel Chichikov. They may be freely distributed, if not for profit, upon the permission of Pavel Chichikov ( and must be credited to Pavel Chichikov. No alterations in the text may be made. All copyright restrictions apply.

Please note: Pavel has no connection with CivFanatics and never has had.



Breaking Through

Courtesy Beauty Observed





They pushed their heads above the ground

Those sleeping bulbs, those daffodils,

Tulips also sleeping sound

Quickened from their winter chills


An inch or so, their emerald

Heads leaned out, a southward pose

Scenting what the south wind held

Of maple bud and April rose


Then a dusting of the white

Sending sleep to what was shown,

But having waited through the night

Wakened, burgeoned, having grown


Snow will melt so all may know

Death’s a dusting of the snow





A gyroscope abides in you

Spins and spins without an end,

It is the Spirit old and new

Immortal and a mercy-send


The Spirit spins not slow or fast

But at the rate the Spirit meant,

Guides the soul to where at last

It was by grace and mercy sent


For if the soul should lean some way

Or lead another far from straight,

The Spirit rights a soul astray

That it be not too soon or late


But if the soul should slant in mind

Or veer upon another street,

The Spirit spins till it can find

The road where soul and Spirit meet






Aftermath of Gas Explosion

Courtesy Mirror





When I was nine or ten

Walking home I saw

Fragments in the sky

Streamers colored black


A rubble heap, a mound,

A hill of brick and dust

On top of which there lay

A white metallic door


Alongside was a house

The wall was ripped away

Showing rooms inside

Furniture and stairs


The rags that fluttered by,

The building’s insulation,

The rubble was the brick

The gas explosion shattered


This is what we are

At death, the smashing of us,

A ruin is the house

Walls are ripped away


God will clear the rubble

When all is blown apart

And build another house

In which the soul can stay





Horace Vernet (1789–1863), “Jeremiah on the Ruins of Jerusalem”

Amsterdam Museum

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons





The image of the Queen of Heaven

Baked in Zedekiah’s’s oven,

Not the Mother of the Christ

The pagan goddess Ashtarot


Jeremiah, furious

Warned that they would die of this;

They turned their faces up and swore

They would not hear him any more


Bellies swollen, drinkers filled

With all the wine that they had swilled

Bragged of offerings they’d spilled

The sacrificial bulls they killed


Could there be the smallest hurt

Or harm that they must need avert?

But flour trampled in the dirt

The blood from their own veins would spurt


They a proper sacrifice

Who sold themselves for such a price

Made the forfeit and the victim

Pagans of Jerusalem




When language is decaying notice this:

Optometrist confused with optimist

A pessimist becomes a pacifist


Let communication be decayed

By every misinterpretation made

Isolation makes the heart afraid


Conformity becomes a kind of theft

Commotion is the form of silence left

Dialogue the magic of the deft


Bellowing a parody of speech

A roar, a caterwauling and a screech

Breath is blown but which of us can teach?


Vertical replaces horizontal

Control becomes the duty of the central

The open soul becomes the instrumental






Courtesy Pinterest





She sank in the deep of the pool

Have I told you this before?

She was a girl in Iceland

Years ago in Mosfells


She sank and couldn’t rise

Soon she felt content

Content, a sense of peace

Great peace and even pleasure


But when they brought her up

She did not feel relieved

Displeasured when retrieved

She wanted to go on



She said it was so great

A feeling of such peace

That rescue angered her


The woman had been saved

From what they thought was drowning

Drowning is our lot

Until we truly breathe


The weight that weighs us down

Of this cadaver world

Will be taken off

And we shall rise again


Forty years ago

She may be dead by now

Found what she had felt

Svanhuldur was her name







Snowflakes Falling

Courtesy Conscious Companion





Little white bees in a flurry of snow

Dance in an overcast twilit glow

Hatched from within a mineral lattice,

Molecular hive, a snow bee palace


There in a dullish slate of shade

Eggs of a mineral queen are laid

In cells of the larvae matrices

To mold the raindrops as they freeze


To gather honey from the frost

And by the wind be lightly tossed,

To look ahead to the life to be

The meadow green, the honey bee




The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov / Last modified February 19, 2017/
Poems copyright 1994-2017, Pavel Chichikov/  
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