The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov


NEW! See Pavel's photos at Pavel's Camera. Recently added: Flag Day 2017, showing the retirement of the old colors.

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.





Domenichino (Domenico Zampieri) (1581–1641), “Landscape with Moses and the Burning Bush”

Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City

Courtesy Mosaic



EXODUS 3: 1–17


When desert plants catch fire

The fibers burst and snap

Uncanny crystal silence

A bush that seemed to burn


The outerness of night

The blackness of a tent

Except there was a voice

A shifting of the flame


The words articulate

The sounds of human speech

Without a tongue and lips

The utterance of stars


The fibers did not burn

The voice itself was light

That heaven modulates

By sending it through shadows






Spring Cottontail

Photo by Pavel Chichikov





Rabbit came to visit once and go

How elegant the roman nose

The stand-up ears with pink sun in them


Nibbled down a clover flower

A white small puff within the green

Long lavishness of grass and humble forbs


What sweetness now to see you browse

If only for a blink of time

Before you hear it beckoning and speed away


There are many misanthropes

And justly so

But all would be enchanted by this timely grace






Edvard Munch (1863–1944), “Weeping Nude”

Munch Museum, Oslo

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons





When she saw the mutilation done

The ravages that maybe saved her life

She wept—what for, for everyone?


Cut by cut they severed to the heart

The cancer cut away but to appall

A demonstration of the surgeon’s art


What becomes of me? the victim said

Gazing at the damage to her flesh

I am not alive but not yet dead


Who will be herself undyingly?

But that which was herself is cut away

Where on Earth or heaven can she be?


Look and you will find but never there

It is another place that was reserved

Beyond this new unbearable despair






Robert Henri (1865–1919), “Summer Storm”

Courtesy The Athenaeum





Have you not seen, have you not heard

How trees announce a summer storm?

Silent, low the beast and bird

But trees swing out in green alarm


Crashing sistrum, spitting leaf

Bowing dance and spinning bough,

Here comes thunder and the thief

Of all of us, the wind that blows


So the frenzy of the fear

Of men and women when forgotten

Furies of our sins draw near

And tear the roots out of the rotten







You think there is no Devil? then

See the face of one possessed,

A fire raging in the skin

Unsanctified, insane, unblessed


The addict has no face but this

A scar from neck to nose to crown,

Unhealed, inflamed, a wrath of pus

A fury and a running wound


A conquered soul that swallows all

The bitter herbs of its demise

That even fiends in Hell appall

An inward ruin of the eyes


And this I saw the other day

A transformation of its prey







Smartphone; photo by  LM Otero/AP

Courtesy The Guardian





This afternoon a woman sitting at the wheel

The phone was in her hands, she wasn’t steering

Driving as if danger isn’t real


Wake up, sleepy head, the precipice is near

Death has come to interrupt your dream

Take the steering wheel in hand and steer


She chattered to a friend, never looking up

The death of her was cradled in her palms

The hands around the little screen were cupped






Mikhail Vasilyevich Nesterov (1862–1942), “On the Mountains”

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons





I saw a fox clamp down and bite

A rabbit screaming in its fright

But neither one was good or evil

Angered God or blamed the devil


But those who gather at the Cross

Of every human mourn their loss

Different from the dying hare

That perishes without despair


I saw red flowers placed at graves

As if by love the dead were saved

Indeed they will by love be kept

Their graves adorned and yearly swept



The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov / Last modified July 23, 2017/
Poems copyright 1994-2017, Pavel Chichikov/  
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