The Year of the Snake: Poem
The Year of the Snake
Characterized as alert
To wake up to.
Calm, smart, and loved to
As nobody likes a snake,
How they make
Everything fake.
Also, in Chinese years,
There are different ears
Of wisdom and cares.
They have exaggerated physical features
And mischievous expressions.
Snakes smirk and roll theirs
Building eyes as raises
As their heads above their coiled bodies.
In general, they are calm,
Alert and smart.
Tomshinsky@2025
A Coffee Talk: Story by Ida Tomshinsky
Review: What a heartfelt story! Your reflections on coffee as a morning ritual and a source of warmth and connection are truly touching. The way you weave in personal memories, like your husband preparing your favorite cup, adds such a lovely depth to your narrative. It's wonderful how coffee can evoke feelings of love and nostalgia while also being a part of various cultural traditions. Keep sharing your beautiful stories; they resonate with so many!
A note from the author:
This a new book. Published on January 22, 2025.
It is my first attempt in to tell short stories,
some are rhyming.
I was inspired by the great Arthur Miller.
Got courage to create. Why 'homemade' in the title?
Homemade means happiness.
I tried my best.
I Cannot Take It Anymore: Poem
Life, please take me to the time
When my dreams were bigger
Then my fears,
Right in my ears.
Grace is the face that heart wears
When life meets the big scares.
Do you hear -
What I said matter!
I said it loud and clear.
Please take me to the time
To the life without any fear.
Please take me to the place of care,
Without any tear.
I cannot take it anymore.
Tomshinsky@2025
“Life doesn't always get better.
How Was My Night: Poem
The universe took care.
After dark night
The day was in my ear.
The sound of morning light
Brought by the sleep of fight.
When your life is off track,
The universe continues moving ahead
And do not look back.
Sunrise and sunset.
The old leave will die
To be replaced with new leaves to grow.
This is nature's law.
This is the way life goes.
You go along and flow.
Tomshinsky@2025
Not to Be Petty: Poem
I am not interested
In fighting, hating, blaming,
And being petty in the time listed
I want to live and breathe
To feel the fresh breeze.
I want to be happy,
Not to be petty, not to be petty.
I want to live life.
I do not know how.
My road always was rough
And must stay tough.
Tomshinsky@2025
Deep in Heart: Lyrics to a lonely song
More apples than dough! Super creamy apple pie! Cake in minutes!
Beyond the Wall: A Story by Ida Tomshinsky
At first it was a grasshopper or a cricket. I am not completely sued. He just took a fancy to being a cricket. He lived in the back yard by the wall of the house. This house had doors and windows, as the houses usually do. Therefore, you could enter and leave the house by its door. Some of the windows faced south into the garden, while others faced north. But the cricket did not care about it. He thought that there was an enormous wall separating him from another world altogether, and that there was only one window in this wall. On this side of the wall, where sun warmed the cricket in the mornings, there were also ants, lizards, butterflies, bees, birds, and flowers, grass, plants, and trees.
Beyond the wall lived only one person - an older woman that did not know that she is old. She was thinking that she is the same little girl, as many years ago with big green eyes and glasses, glistering back of a ladybug. But the cricket did not care. "If only I had eyes like that!" - the cricket often signed. He often thought of other things, too. He wondered why the woman stopped coming down into the warm, fragrant, buzzing and singing garden where he lived. After all, it was probably very dull beyond the wall. Why? The old woman's eyes were sad, like two big green sugar plums covered with silvery pollen, when she opened the window and looked outside. Plums like this fall to the ground from the branch and burst. It is a very, very sad sight.
Then one day the cricket decided to build a bridge for the woman from the ground to the window-ledge. Of course, it was a long way up to the window-ledge and it would be hard to build such a bridge. The cricket realized that at once. He would have to chirp for a long time, from evening till dawn. But at dawn, when the dew would fall and it would become cool, all his chirps would freeze and form a resonant bridge from the window-ledge down to the ground. Or a staircase. O, yes, a staircase, because his song - tr-r-r, tr-r-r! - was more like a staircase from the door. Because when it was ready, the little old woman could descent it into the backyard.
And that is what he did. He kept up his trilling from dusk till dawn. His staircase came out very well - glistering, transparent, and light greenish. But the little old woman did not come into the backyard. At daytime, the sun was very hot, and the staircase evaporated. At night, the cricket again stayed awake as he placed countless little crystal drops of sound one on top of the other. But the woman still did not come down into the backyard. One day - what a great morning it was! - he saw her. The woman was walking among the plants and flowers and smiling. The cricket spun around, hopped, and chirped, for he was very happy, indeed. So, he wanted to be happy every morning, and he continued to build the stairway every night. And his work was not in vain.
Then the nights became cold and long. One night the cricket fall slipped, fell asleep, and did not wake up, for that morning the sun forgot to rise - winter had come. Days followed by nights; time could not be stopped. He was very kind and sweet, and hardworking. He imagined that the little old woman would walk out of the house through the door and use the staircase into the backyard. There was nothing else he could do for her apart from building a staircase for her. But she did not know that the cricket was building her a transparent staircase with his trills, and her eyes were sometimes like a maybug's shiny and sometimes like big green honey plums dusted with silvery pollen.
Of course he could have told her about this, for he was in fact a plot of her imagination, not a cricket, but a deceased man who found a way to come back as a cricket to take care of his best friend. "But if she knew," - he thought, "I could never be a cricket again. Or I might remain one forever." Why he thought this, only he knew.
When the little old woman was young, her beloved father went away, he turned into a sparrow. Sascha became an angel and turned into a sparrow, an ordinary grey sparrow. In the mornings he would fly high up into the sky, flip and spin, chase the other sparrows and sparrows, peck the soft, sweet seeds from plants and flowers, bathe himself in the warm sand, and fly over to sing the morning chirping songs. But these were only minor things. The most important thing was that Sascha the sparrow would fly up to the window behind which the old woman lived and tap the glass with his beak. When the little old lady heard the tapping and saw the sparrow she would clap her hands, laugh and say: "There will be news from my loved one, a call, or an email..." This was an omen to her.
Sascha was her angel protector. He loved her girl unconditionally, and she felt it and loved him back, spiritually of course. When you love somebody in real life, you can become anything they want to be like a cricket or sparrow. Loving people made themself vanish and come back to look up for the one they love. This is a secret, and we all know that a secret can only be revealed to a friend. It turned out, the cricket had built the crystal imaginary staircase, and the sparrow Sascha tapped at her window to tell the little old lady that even when it is very difficult to grieve and to lose the loved ones, there is a magical secret from the grave places that are connected to the universe and say, "Please live, be strong. Only strong can survive."
Too Soon: Poem
What happened to me?
Dear God, why me?
Believe, disbelieve -
No more me and you.
I cannot believe in it
But this is true.
Tomorrow is not promised to anyone.
You gone, you gone
Too soon,
One afternoon.
It happened like you said
As you wanted to go first.
I am mad,
I am sad -
It happened like you said.
Dear God, thank you for the wonderful gift,
The beautiful gift of life.
I understand, there are seek, weak, and tired
To live and struggle,
But then there are
Days and nights, and bright fire
Of the candle's light.
It highlights yesterday's past,
The present must,
And the future's trust
That you promised to come along me.
The fact is that you always will be
Beside me.
Too soon
One afternoon
You gone,
You are gone.
I am mad,
I am sad -
It happened like you said.
Tomshinsky@2025
Yor are part of my experience,
part of myself.
You have been in every line I have ever read.
You have been in every prospect
I have ever seen since -
on the river,
on the sails of the ships,
on the marshes,
in the clouds,
in the light,
in the darkness,
in the wind,
in the woods,
in the sea,
in the streets.
You have been the embodiment
of every graceful fancy
that my mind has ever become acquainted with.
(Charles Dickens, "Great Expectations,"
pub. December, 1860)
Pronounced: Poem
Brain damage pronounced -
Body and mind,
No movement, no bound.
The body is warm
And the meds make kidney to pee.
I am here sitting in freeze.
Also, there are tubes,
But no moves.
Monday still alive.
Tuesday on the death bed.
One day sad and mad,
Next day a fighter.
OMG, please listen, he is a survivor.
One star in the universe
Shines brighter,
Other is tired and went to sleep.
Good night, sleep tight.
Night, night, sweet dreams.
Love and kisses
Both are endless.
The future life should be bigger than fears,
I should not be scared.
"It hurts, a lot, and always be
Adapt and take it," -
Said my inner me.
Tomshinsky@2025
