The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov


NEW! Check out Pavel's new photos at Pavel's Camera. We update the page almost every day. Just added: photos from our town's Winterfest Parade.

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. Hear what Pavel says about the book. 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, 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

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.




Fra Angelico (1395–1455), “Christ Glorified in the Court of Heaven” (probable attribution)

From altarpiece for the Friary of San Dominico, Fiesole

Courtesy National Gallery, London




When I am near drowned in apprehension

I do not have sufficient faith, my God

That is my confession, hear me, listen


How many fearful times I have forgotten

When to my help You gathered all your angels

Who praise you thrice around Your throne in heaven


Holy, holy, holy, angels summon

Trisagion in Greek the triple praises

Most glorious their angel adoration


What must I do to think of Your compassion?

Remember then the service of the altar

The marvelous and humble Elevation


The flesh and blood displayed of My donation

Behind which is the wonder and refulgence

Of light forever lasting, My dominion


If you can recall this consolation

In spirit kneel, adore as you have done

My Heart is yours, unending revelation





Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (1606–69), “Belshazzar’s Feast”

National Gallery, London

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons





Spirits look down on a bleak dark world

A gloom of greed, ambition, murder

Oppression, brutal satisfaction


They see the great town Babylon

Walls and prisons, lavish spoils

The feasting of the King of Kings


Slay my captives, shouts Belshazzar,

Red wine runs from his foaming lips

As if his prisoners’ streaming blood


The wine he drinks is the blood of slaves

The blood of soldiers killed in battle

The blood of children slain in vengeance


The trophy cup from which he drinks

Was taken from Jerusalem

The furnishing of God’s refulgence


The cup of holy offering

With sacred wine that Jesus made

In the water vessels filled at Cana


Belshazzar drinks from the gleaming service

The cup of triumph over God

Intoxicating wine of grief


Now the spirit hand descends

From the court of saints that serve the Light

Inscribes a verdict on the wall


These are the words that will be said

By the martyrs of the Holy Spirit

When they stand before condemning kings:


Pretender to the sacred Throne:

Though a king of grief with blood anointed

Your realm is given to another


King to be thrown against the ground

By the enemies you could not see

Your brittle strength is potter’s rubble


The wine you drink is martyrs’ blood

The blood of God, and the blood of slaves

Drunk to your curse and condemnation






Hawk above Hill

Photo by Pavel Chichikov





He gave me a gift

A hawk on the hill,

For a moment the heart

Of the daylight was still


From the edge of the forest

She launched from the crest,

The heart of the hawk

Bore down in her breast


A spark of the sunlight

Burned in her eye,

She soared to the south

As the wind came by


Who could have supposed

So handsome a gift,

A hawk from above

And a wind for her lift?






Perhaps a few thousands, not many more

Will stem our defeat in the cosmic war

When evil hangs over the world like a breaker

Of stone in the sky, the race’s death-maker


Who may they be? Their faces and names

Are hidden behind the impassible flames

Of fire surrounding the future’s outcome,

The brightness is blinding excepting for some


They are the patient, the silent steadfast

Who watch for the future and sentry the past,

No one will find them except for the few

Who have passed through the flames to be tempered clear through


They know one another if sometimes they meet

But may not give signs for they must be discreet,

The enemy looms over victim and friend

And the triumph must wait till the end of the end






No one knows how it begins—

The Lord has told us, like a thief

He will return in dead of night

Though none confess to that belief


The dead midnight of all our souls

In which the sighted too are blind,

The fire banked above the coals

Through which the serpent fires wind


Then at once the flames burst out

The deepest night transformed to day,

The hills above the valleys shout:

The Risen Lord has come, make way!


Light from light, a flash of fire,

Oceans seething with their heat,

Though all the fiends of Hell conspire

Every love with Love will meet





Ellen, “Mandelbulb 3D Parameters: Clockwork”

Courtesy The Design Space





Imagine our great gyroscope of sins

Impelled by wickedness the whirl begins,

The armature is law, we are within


The rotor, stressed and massive, starts to shake

Oscillations cause the law to break

Miscalculations amplify mistakes


The wobble of the gyroscope increases

The outer rigor of the law decreases

The rubbing of the gimbals never ceases


Wickedness has made the wheel rotate

But now we near the last chaotic state

War and desolation is our fate


Who can steer momentum at this level?

The details of the crisis are the Devil,

Inside the great machine we are in peril


Impart another spin and we inside

May whirl away to space, nowhere to hide

Caught between the law and suicide



(November 29 is the First Sunday in Advent.)



Late November

Photo by Pavel Chichikov





Now that every growing leaf has fallen

Outlooks open up that were not plain

So will be the rising slopes of heaven


First an autumn must arrive, then winter,

Death-like be the groves that once were Eden

Desolation, emptiness forever


But we will see beyond what we have seen

Leaves of innocence though not a trick,

The hills were always there, I had forgotten


The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov / Last modified November 29, 2015/
Poems copyright 1994-2015 Pavel Chichikov/  

Proudly hosted by 

Opinions expressed here are solely those of the author.