The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov

Pavel's new collection of poems, A House Rejoicing, is now available at, in print and on Kindle, and at Barnes & Noble. The cover art is "The Little Festive House," by Lisa Lorenz. Hear what Pavel says about the book.

Pavel's book From Here to Babylon is available in print and on Kindle.

Lion Sun: Poems by Pavel Chichikov, published by Grey Owl Press, is available at Amazon, or write to Read the review of Lion Sun on Scribble on the Net, an electronic journal of New Zealand and international poetry.  

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 And a selection of his photos can be seen at Catholic Images by Pavel Chichikov.

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

Enjoy artist Timothy Jones's blog page, which features his painting "Fallen Oak."  

Guest 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.




Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus); photo © Doug Wechsler/VIREO

Courtesy Audubon Guides




A peregrine close overhead

No migrant but a transient

On it sped


In a moment passed

In this mild January

Warmer than the last


Where will the falcon go?

If it sees a cottontail

Contrasted on the snow


Will it stop and stun?

Can the target sense it

Feint and jump and run?


Indifferent to me it flew

On an errand soundlessly

Something urgent drew


The falcon to the west

Perhaps a summons

Seeing to its nest


These birds of prey may know

Even in a distant place

Above the melting snow


That something is awry

And hasten there

And so have I




Filint, steel, tinder


Courtesy Instructables





There is a flame that burns at night

Flint and steel against the tinder,

There is a fire of the day

Cities burning into cinder


There is a fire on the altar,

Priests of pagans giving omens,

There is the fire of Isaiah

Hill to hill a flaming summons


In the temple of the soul

There is a flame not great, not least

And there a sacrifice is made

By Jesus Christ who is our Priest


There is a fire of His grace

Which in the soul of us consumes

The inner sanctum of that place,

Sin and death and world and tomb





Rabbit tracks in snow

Courtesy Pixgood




The tracks of rabbits in the snow

That cut across, diagonals,

Seldom do we see them though


Cottontails avoid our sight

There before and afterward

Though it be day, though it be night


They say the weak outlast the strong

But meanwhile long of life are those

Who hold the power—Lord how long?


But this is how, the weak evade

The potency that must erode,

Their might, their strength is overplayed


That leads the great to self-defeat

Exhaustion, even boredom wins,

Their triumph never made complete


But like the rabbits, so the meek

Who live unnoticed as does Christ,

The innocent whom Herod seeks


That being so, the strong proclaim:

We will domesticate the weak

And make them tame


Cottontail in snow





Vasily Vasilyevich Vereshchagin (1842–1904), “The Road of the War Prisoners”

Courtesy Brooklyn Museum





The snow said print your footsteps here

Then came the quail, the fox, the deer


With hoof and pad and toe and claw

That all was published by the law


Afterward a war to write

With shell, grenade and laser sight


Rocket salvos tracked their feet

On fields that once had grown gold wheat


I saw those letters black as soot

Where guns had stamped a burning foot


But then survivors, scavengers

Would scatter these until they blurred


Peruse in haste this blotted text

Before the spring and what comes next





Hear Pavel read  "At Morning Mass."




At morning Mass were just a few

But for a moment many more

Were sitting there behind my pew


At ease and watching with content

The Eucharistic sacrament

The transformation imminent


Behind me for I sat ahead

The vanished ones for whom I prayed

The confident immortal dead


Yes we are the ones who died

Waiting for the golden One

We would by this be satisfied


They were there, I could not see

Their faces for I did not turn

But they had come to sit with me


But in a moment they were gone

And I began to beat my breast

To finish our eleison





Mass of St. Gregory;  early 16th century Book of Hours

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons





Behold the Elevation of the Host

A prologue and a little preparation

To bring the festal dinner of the blessed


Lovers at the banquet who will feast

Upon the open glory of the mighty One

A celebration that will never cease


But one who sat at table rose and said

What about the little ones on Earth

Abused and broken, love-starved and so seldom fed


The voice was not a low and cringing treble

But rose above the singing of the psalms

Nor was the questioner a probing devil


And then for many moments there was kept

Great silence as the Glory showed His face

That was the battered Crucified, He wept


And then the vision faded and I thought

My Christ I cannot bear it yet You did

Such agony of pity that You sought







If the sun

Won’t burn forever

Stars themselves

Are suns together


Watch the sparrow

Build a nest

As all the trees

In sparrows dressed


Dance for summers

Then lie down

That all their winds

May be unwound


Listen quickly

Listen well

So you may all

The blessed tell


How there was Earth

And summer sky

But let forever

Tell them why


The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov / Last modified January 25, 2015/
Poems copyright 1994-2015 Pavel Chichikov/  

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