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.


(December 25 is Christmas Day.)




  Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (1617–82), “Adoration of the Shepherds”

  Museo del Prado Madrid

  Courtesy Wikimedia Commons


Hear Pavel read  "Such Light."




The little place where Christ was born,

Oil, the lamps, the lighted wicks,

Shadows dancing multiform,

Flames against the shadows lick


Beasts that shed their body heat

To warm the child who lies asleep,

The gleaming star and shepherds meet,

The smell of damp and wool-grown sheep


How plain the house, the little place,

There is no mystery to see

For us, complacent weary race

Who are not wakeful, joyful, free


But only look, miraculous the ordinary living fact

That One was born who is of us

And of the world, the flesh, the act

Of coming up from senseless dust


How can it be that dust can breathe

And think and love and trust and give?

Not even on a Christmas Eve

Could one expect such Light to live






Red-Shouldered Hawk landing

Courtesy Pinterest




As if now summoned she alights again

Broad of shoulder, tapering of wing

And how should we who see her know her name?


The creatures on the ground are not afraid

One small beast approaches her and sniffs

Stretches out as if it had been tamed


I see her on the fence from where I sit

A soul of wing and steel from those deep draughts

That flow in icy currents on her breast


As I have summoned one who seemed like her

In mental picturing, this day she comes

As powerful as then in fledging dress


But when full-fledged what messenger is she

And on what day will she alight, arrive?

That time will be which none of us can guess








Marooned in the present, Robinson Crusoe

Hearing late the dying echo

Waiting for the rain that happened

Seeing ships that no one summoned


Finite is as finite does

For him the shore is mountainous

But all the same the sea is vast

The present small and does not last


Somehow there across the sea

And into visibility

A cloud that takes familiar form

A thunder cloud, a rainless storm


Climb up Moses to the peak

The view from there not for the weak

Suddenly the sea goes dry

As when the fierce Egyptians died


Then the waves roll back at last

The future claps against the past

Who escapes and shall not drown

Are those who can recall that sound








Lions running;  photo © Colin Bogle

Courtesy photographer and Becuo





I saw the lions mass and run

Across an unknown plain, their flanks

Were pressed against each other and

They moved as one in rows and ranks


What lions are these, sir, I said

And when can I stand farther back

To see the rising of the dead,

The glory which the world has lacked?


On no, he said, this is no end

But first there must be massacre

When no one can the wealth defend

Within the whitewashed sepulcher


Their capital was bones and skin

Prosperity putrescent meat,

The whelps of Judah have grown thin

And now they starve and wish to eat







The Devil’s a gunman who stands in a doorway

Waiting to prey on the passers-by,

The soul is a hostage standing beside him

And who will release the soul but I?


The gun is a rusty, unhandy weapon

And yet it intimidates those who are scared,

The demon assumes a covered position

Walls on three sides but exposed to the air


Soul of my soul, up to the doorway

He is more cowardly than you might guess,

Thrust him aside and rescue the prisoner

Take up your courage my soul and confess








There used to be a saying

A Chinese apothegm,

A monkey in the road

Can stop ten thousand men


See the column halted

The army is spellbound,

Such a clever monkey

We put our weapons down


We have seen the monkey

Who stops an army dead,

Here we will be halted

In regiments of lead


The Devil is the monkey

Who capers in disguise,

Such a clever monkey

To keep us paralyzed





Blue Knob, Bedford County; photo by Joe Calzarette

Courtesy photographer and Wikimedia Commons




As the dew falls lightly

The Spirit of God on the hills

The sweet valleys


So on my soul

Fertile or sterile, never at peace

Except in your presence


So in that place

The Lord’s appearance

Grace upon grace


What will there be

When the dew has fallen

Above and below?


In the valleys peace

The grain of God

On the mountains, snow





The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov / Last modified December 21,  2014/
Poems copyright 1994-2014 Pavel Chichikov/  

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