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.



Juvenile Red-Tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis)

Courtesy Heather Alford Power and Pinterest





A young hawk lighting on our fence

An eye that with a golden cast

Through the morning thrusts a glance


Noble shoulders, tapered wings

Tail a perfect slender rod

Favored beauty, child of God


Never stirring but to turn

The rounded turret of its head

Perhaps already hawk full fed


Does not deign to move until

Some spirit moves it to depart

Creature of a faultless art


Do not say such beings are

The product of a random throw

For we who love them see and know


The patterns of the forge and fire

That from creation’s moment cast

A mold that perishing will last


So that the herald will recall

This calm patrician winged guest

When summoning to meet the blessed







So foul a sky clears not without a storm.

      Shakespeare, King John, Act 4, Scene 2


Flurries, a frost as if of senescence

West, white blizzards lean and bend

The hills are screened with deceitful veils

Now the beginning not the end


A storm, they say, of triple winter

Not one summer in between

Who will be left when the storm is over?

What sun shines behind that screen?


Hear the windows shake their frames

The gale, perhaps a sonic shock

Of missiles flying overhead,

The doors of Janus are unlocked


Afterward what peace remains?

A thaw and crocus in the fields

That once were cities of the plain

What harvest can a blizzard yield?


Another world, another life

And all for nothing seemed the war,

But in the soul and in the mind

An evil frozen to the core






From the Wopsononock Overlook

Courtesy Bonnie at Soapsmith





Hills who glory in duration

Say where you have been,

Under sea, above the clouds

White faces to the wind


Some who live the briefest lives

Scrabble slopes and ranges,

Comprehend our shape through time

And how it always changes


But we are also juveniles

Beneath the hills of time

That rise and fall and rise again

With which we hills align


They in turn are foothills

Beneath a splendid throne

From which the Lord of all of us

Rules timelessness alone


Each hill enfolds another

In endless resonance,

But none beneath the sight of Him

Arises out of chance


For though he rules eternity

And writes it in a scroll,

He touches every little stone

Lifts up, and lets it roll






Justus van Gent (c. 1430–c.1480), “The Institution of the Eucharist”

Galleria nazionale delle Marche, Urbino

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons





Centurion, an order came,

Take a detail, get it done,

The crucifixion of two thieves

And Jesus Christ who is God’s Son


As in such a cruelty

Base confusion and disorder,

Distraction and banality

The sourness of sweat and horror


I sat before the tabernacle

Where in stillness Jesus stayed,

Man and God eternal watched

As Judas came to kneel and pray


I saw Judas on his knees

Ask forgiveness, need it most,

Why should he not take Communion,

Gratefully receive the Host?


We the parsimonious

Scandalized depart but He

Impassively observes us both

And who can say which one is me?







All will be forgotten, every one

Or nothing is forgotten, ever done,

This is the only question worth dispute

But each one can the other one refute


So let us put the question to one side

Along with vain obscurity and pride,

Attend to one another in our need

As we were fed so shall another feed


And if with flesh and blood we have been fed

Of Christ, we who are counted with the dead,

Then if these are a freely given gift

Then why should we be culpable of thrift?


Either love is futile and must die

And so the world’s forgetfulness imply,

Or love is greater than forgetfulness

And all the powers of the world are less


Even death itself is not as strong

Even time’s duration not as long,

And yet it is not possible to show

The lineaments of love, and yet we know






 Crucifix from St. Augustine Cathedral, Tucson; probably from Pamplona, 15th century

The feet of Jesus have been worn smooth by the devout touching them

Courtesy Wikipedia





Above Cullera on the coast

A stronghold of the Muslims rose

Along the angles of a hill


Now the walls alone remain

While slightly higher on the slope

There is a small beloved church


There I sat and watched the Lord

As people came and touched His feet

The One suspended from the Cross


So gently touched in ruefulness

And pity for another’s wounds

In pure compassion for the Christ


As He like any sufferer

Twisted there in agony

As would another human soul


Pity for the world’s Creator

Made the people touch His feet

To close the circuit of the world


And so each morning, every night

I lightly touch the Savior’s feet

As He does our offended souls


And He would heal them as He could

By simple touching if we let

God hold them longer for a while





( November 23 is the Feast of Christ the King.)    



  Annibale Carracci (1560–1609), “Christ Wearing the Crown of Thorns, Supported by Angels”

  Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, Dresden

  Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Hear Pavel read  "As Near as Footseps."




Where is the Holy Kingdom

The land of light and gold?

A city stands before you

For which a life was sold


It is beyond all vision

With which an eye can see,

For those who wake from dreaming

It is no mystery


How can a spirit waken

From spells it cannot break?

Who can find the Kingdom

If no one can awake?


The Kingdom is beside you

Closer than your breath,

Some will find it sooner

And some will pass through death


Here is a Person near you

Who goes before and waits,

He is as near as footsteps

And opens up the gates





The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov / Last modified November 23, 2014/
Poems copyright 1994-2014 Pavel Chichikov/  

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