Read the book: «Around A Word»
© Rick K. Reut, 2025
ISBN 978-5-0067-8281-5
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
A
R
A W O R D
U
N
D
AROUND
A
WORD
A COLLECTION
OF CYCLIC
VERSE
ABRIDGED VERSION
A
R
A W O R D
U
N
D
(TIME)
…as time flies fast – unless GOD cuts its wings.
But then time seems to simply start to run
out of space. Time sometimes only brings
slow-motion sighing from the setting sun.
Yes, time can heal; but time can also kill
like a wind blowing out candles. When a rain-
storm starts, you feel all you can feel until
you come to find out if it is in vain…
…as time flies fast – unless GOD cuts its wings. But then time seems to simply start to run out of space. Time sometimes only brings slow-motion sighing from the setting sun. Yes, time can heal; but time can also kill like a wind blowing out candles. When a rainstorm starts, you feel all you can feel until you come to find out if it is in vain…
January 2004
(THAT TIME)
…sharing the same emotion.
Almost each memory
of that time is a motion
picture of you and me…
…sharing the same emotion. Almost each memory of that time is a motion picture of you and me…
October 2004
(THIS PLACE)
…since your very birth.
You’ve tried to tell
if this place is hell
or heaven on earth…
…since your very birth. You’ve tried to tell if this place is hell or heaven on earth…
November 2004
(RAILROAD TRACK)
…moving from point A
to point B and back
to point A. You stay
on the railroad track,…
…moving from point A to point B and back to point A. You stay on the railroad track,…
April 2005
(AROUND THIS PLACE)
…of it. The sky
is wearing a dress
of darkness by
a house of glass,
stone and steel
somewhere around
this place you feel
in the background
silence that’s there
when no one’s aware…
…of it. The sky is wearing a dress of darkness by a house of glass, stone and steel somewhere around this place you feel in the background silence that’s there when no one’s aware…
June 2005
(WAY BACK)
…after the sunset came,
the sky turned red; then black.
Nothing appeared the same,
going all the way back
to when that summer began
to end. Once again,…
…after the sunset came, the sky turned red; then black. Nothing appeared the same, going all the way back to when that summer began to end. Once again,…
August 2005
(ONLY ONE)
…sure that GOD is
THE ONLY ONE
WHO can know this.
If time can run
out, can there be
an End of Time?
Or is Time free
of ending? I’m…
…sure that GOD is THE ONLY ONE WHO can know this. If time can run out, can there be an End of Time? Or is Time free of ending? I’m…
September 2005
(SPACE OF TIME)
…deep in the past.
It seems less tense
now. Few things last
when there’s no sense
in it. A lot
of words in a space
of time are lost
upon the face
of the earth. There
is almost no one
who’s left to stare
at a setting sun…
…deep in the past. It seems less tense now. Few things last when there’s no sense in it. A lot of words in a space of time are lost upon the face of the earth. There is almost no one who’s left to stare at a setting sun…
December 2005
(STILL SNOWING)
…into this time and place.
The snow isn’t addressed
to anyone except the past,
which leaves a ghostly trace
at present. Across the night,
a sign says “closed for repair”.
You wonder if they have a spare
life stashed out of sight.
White waves in the window sea
weave a world-wide web
of words you sometimes see
in their flow and ebb
when it snows. It is still
snowing, and, while it is,
the picture on the window sill
makes the whole world freeze…
…into this time and place. The snow isn’t addressed to anyone except the past, which leaves a ghostly trace at present. Across the night, a sign says “closed for repair”. You wonder if they have a spare life stashed out of sight. White waves in the window sea weave a world-wide web of words you sometimes see in their flow and ebb when it snows. It is still snowing, and, while it is, the picture on the window sill makes the whole world freeze…
February 2006
(BOTH WAYS)
…which sounds and smells like looks
can be deceptive to taste.
They differ in different books.
Many words go to waste.
The present becomes the past
whereas the future is clear
only to GOD. Your last
chance to defeat your fear
may be right now. Or may-
be some other time. Regret
is of the past. One day
you may get what they get.
Pain and pleasure, of course,
are of the present, like joy.
Sorrow tries to destroy
everything that is, was
and will be. A night sky
speaks to an empty street.
Say hallo, then goodbye,
hoping that you will meet
again after another night.
You are getting ahead
of yourself. Out of sight,
you live in your own head
as if it was a room
or an entire block
of flats. Haunted by gloom,
you dwell on top of a clock
tower of ivory or
whatever you think it is
you can see in the freeze
frame of your mind. A door-
way leads both ways: outside
and inside. There’s another
doorway where you can hide,
getting farther and farther
away. Under the bruised
sky in the afterglow,
a multitude of unused
rain clouds crawl in slow
motion to turn on the black
coffee machine of the night
and then maybe come back
in coffee-black or milk-white,…
…which sounds and smells like looks can be deceptive to taste. They differ in different books. Many words go to waste. The present becomes the past whereas the future is clear only to GOD. Your last chance to defeat your fear may be right now. Or maybe some other time. Regret is of the past. One day you may get what they get. Pain and pleasure, of course, are of the present, like joy. Sorrow tries to destroy everything that is, was and will be. A night sky speaks to an empty street. Say hallo, then goodbye, hoping that you will meet again after another night. You are getting ahead of yourself. Out of sight, you live in your own head as if it was a room or an entire block of flats. Haunted by gloom, you dwell on top of a clock tower of ivory or whatever you think it is you can see in the freeze frame of your mind. A doorway leads both ways: outside and inside. There’s another doorway where you can hide, getting farther and farther away. Under the bruised sky in the afterglow, a multitude of unused rain clouds crawl in slow motion to turn on the black coffee machine of the night and then maybe come back in coffee-black or milk-white,…
June 2006
(THROUGH YOUR HEAD)
…as the night starts to fall
like a cup full of cold
coffee or a lost soul
somebody has been told
about again. The street
circulates neon blood
from a place where you meet
yourself fighting a flood
of emotions. The thoughts
traveling through your head
look for new parking lots
of words that sound mad
even to you. Before
you can finally dare
go outside, the door
becomes an electric chair
of anticipation of
someone turning it on
and then turning it off.
Another day is gone…
…as the night starts to fall like a cup full of cold coffee or a lost soul somebody has been told about again. The street circulates neon blood from a place where you meet yourself fighting a flood of emotions. The thoughts traveling through your head look for new parking lots of words that sound mad even to you. Before you can finally dare go outside, the door becomes an electric chair of anticipation of someone turning it on and then turning it off. Another day is gone…
September 2006
(SEA OF SNOW)
…seeing a sea of snow.
It looks like a prophesy
of some kind. You slow
down your eyes to see
it become as clear as
a sea that’s totally calm.
It can be in a glass
of ice freezing the palm
of your hand on a beach
that looks like a backyard.
It seems out of reach,
but it’s still not that hard
to touch the face of the earth
hidden behind a mask
of snow. It’s giving birth
to what you fear to ask
about. What does it mean
to fear hearing a voice
that can never be seen?
It leaves you little choice
but to cross the skyline
that separates the past
from the future – a sign
of a present you’ve passed.
Hear the sound of a fright
train of thoughts in your head
crossing your line of sight.
As this train goes mad,
it gets loaded with fear,
and that fear overwhelms
you. It is getting near
all the possible realms
you don’t want to go to,
trying to tell which one
is which out of too
many. In the long run,
they encompass the same
end of an empty street
that has a scary name.
It’s too hard to repeat
it, watching another night
freeze in the window frame.
You can hear that fright
train type your first name
on the railroad track,
making it easy to spell
it out all the way back
to the first farewell.
GOD is certainly GOOD
and undeniably GREAT,
but somehow you still brood
over your own fate,…
…seeing a sea of snow. It looks like a prophesy of some kind. You slow down your eyes to see it become as clear as a sea that’s totally calm. It can be in a glass of ice freezing the palm of your hand on a beach that looks like a backyard. It seems out of reach, but it’s still not that hard to touch the face of the earth hidden behind a mask of snow. It’s giving birth to what you fear to ask about. What does it mean to fear hearing a voice that can never be seen? It leaves you little choice but to cross the skyline that separates the past from the future – a sign of a present you’ve passed. Hear the sound of a fright train of thoughts in your head crossing your line of sight. As this train goes mad, it gets loaded with fear, and that fear overwhelms you. It is getting near all the possible realms you don’t want to go to, trying to tell which one is which out of too many. In the long run, they encompass the same end of an empty street that has a scary name. It’s too hard to repeat it, watching another night freeze in the window frame. You can hear that fright train type your first name on the railroad track, making it easy to spell it out all the way back to the first farewell. GOD is certainly GOOD and undeniably GREAT, but somehow you still brood over your own fate,…
February 2007
(WITH TOO MANY MEMORIES)
…about. As long as there is
at least one letter or sound,
the World keeps turning around
but sometimes seems to freeze.
Thus It follows the Will
of GOD no one can defy
even under a still,
let alone changing sky.
In the silence of the setting sun
and the sound of the rising wind,
it looks like the day has begun
to end and the night to win
its time in the window frame.
Your mind seems to be set
to take part in a game
of window chess on a flat
screen. Mirrored by every pane,
trail the railroad track
to the memory lane
that’s bound to take you back.
The moon is full like a glass
of milk, or empty like
any lonely man’s life
that is starting to pass.
There seems to be no
one here or out there,
standing in the falling snow
that keeps dyeing the air
white. Fading into empty space,
the river is covered with mist.
It erases the face
of somebody you missed
by a minute when you
were crossing that avenue
in the middle of Minsk.
Your heart keeps breaking like
the dawn of the day before
you met someone whose life
meant to you even more
than your own, let alone
all the places and times
you have seen on your phone,
taking pictures of crimes
and crime scenes full of nights
killing days and then days
killing nights with the lights
of too many replays.
Some then turn into dust
drawings on melted sand
for one more present passed
to the past by the hand
of the clock that can’t tell
the time from its own face,
or from a farewell
when the time floods this place
like a few years ago.
You barely recall when it
happened but think you’d know
if you returned to that street
and rented a room for two
nights and another day
to stay together with too
many memories. Stay
as long as at least one word
at the crossroads of night
and day seems to be heard
and said to be right to write…
…about. As long as there is at least one letter or sound, the World keeps turning around but sometimes seems to freeze. Thus It follows the Will of GOD no one can defy even under a still, let alone changing sky. In the silence of the setting sun and the sound of the rising wind, it looks like the day has begun to end and the night to win its time in the window frame. Your mind seems to be set to take part in a game of window chess on a flat screen. Mirrored by every pane, trail the railroad track to the memory lane that’s bound to take you back. The moon is full like a glass of milk, or empty like any lonely man’s life that is starting to pass. There seems to be no one here or out there, standing in the falling snow that keeps dyeing the air white. Fading into empty space, the river is covered with mist. It erases the face of somebody you missed by a minute when you were crossing that avenue in the middle of Minsk. Your heart keeps breaking like the dawn of the day before you met someone whose life meant to you even more than your own, let alone all the places and times you have seen on your phone, taking pictures of crimes and crime scenes full of nights killing days and then days killing nights with the lights of too many replays. Some then turn into dust drawings on melted sand for one more present passed to the past by the hand of the clock that can’t tell the time from its own face, or from a farewell when the time floods this place like a few years ago. You barely recall when it happened but think you’d know if you returned to that street and rented a room for two nights and another day to stay together with too many memories. Stay as long as at least one word at the crossroads of night and day seems to be heard and said to be right to write…
March 2007
(BEHIND THE BLINDS)
…behind a parking lot
of words meaning new things.
There is a shadow thought
starting to spread its wings
in your head. It reminds
you of a memory
you once thought you were free
from, hiding behind the blinds
that separate your past
from your present. The room
is being filled with gloom
you are trying your best
to find a way out of.
But only GOD can help
you get out of the hell
in your head – with Hope, Love,
and Faith. You walk up to
the window and watch the night
swallow the street that’s too
long not to slip out of sight…
…behind a parking lot of words meaning new things. There is a shadow thought starting to spread its wings in your head. It reminds you of a memory you once thought you were free from, hiding behind the blinds that separate your past from your present. The room is being filled with gloom you are trying your best to find a way out of. But only GOD can help you get out of the hell in your head – with Hope, Love, and Faith. You walk up to the window and watch the night swallow the street that’s too long not to slip out of sight…
May 2007
(NUMBER OF WORDS)
…obeying the Will of GOD.
GOD is THE ONE WHO made
the World before the Flood,
and HE can make It fade.
Since time out of mind,
minds have run out of time.
You see a road unwind
like a line to a rhyme
with a number of words
you’ve been trying to get
out of your head. It works
just like an old TV set
showing a sparkly neck-
lace of a city night:
everything is ink-black
or writing-paper-white.
The World began with One
Word, and It likely will
end with One when the Sun
is switched off and goes still,…
…obeying the Will of GOD. GOD is THE ONE WHO made the World before the Flood, and HE can make It fade. Since time out of mind, minds have run out of time. You see a road unwind like a line to a rhyme with a number of words you’ve been trying to get out of your head. It works just like an old TV set showing a sparkly necklace of a city night: everything is ink-black or writing-paper-white. The World began with One Word, and It likely will end with One when the Sun is switched off and goes still,…
June 2007
(SOMEWHERE OUT OF SIGHT)
…to try to start anew
and maybe make some sense
out of what you knew
when you had your first chance
to see the shooting scars
on the face of the night
sky. You stare at the stars
somewhere out of sight.
The TV set of your mind
is heard inside your head,
making you push the rewind
button on the half-mad
recorder of your memory.
You try to put it on pause
where you once were me,
though I’m not sure I was
there at all. Just play
it back for me one more
time. Begin with the day
before the night before
there was nothing on
your mind except that fear
swallowing you at dawn.
Somewhere around here,
pictures on window panes
are painted with rainy days’
watercolors. It rains
in the vanishing rays
of the sun. One more night
changes the window view,
wiping it out of sight.
I’m not sure I’m you
anymore. Heavy rain
seems lighter than heavy wind.
You look at the window pane,
wondering who will win
the fight between night and day
if you can find a way…
…to try to start anew and maybe make some sense out of what you knew when you had your first chance to see the shooting scars on the face of the night sky. You stare at the stars somewhere out of sight. The TV set of your mind is heard inside your head, making you push the rewind button on the half-mad recorder of your memory. You try to put it on pause where you once were me, though I’m not sure I was there at all. Just play it back for me one more time. Begin with the day before the night before there was nothing on your mind except that fear swallowing you at dawn. Somewhere around here, pictures on window panes are painted with rainy days’ watercolors. It rains in the vanishing rays of the sun. One more night changes the window view, wiping it out of sight. I’m not sure I’m you anymore. Heavy rain seems lighter than heavy wind. You look at the window pane, wondering who will win the fight between night and day if you can find a way…
July 2007
(ALMOST THE SAME)
…Home to GOD. As the dust
settles, some tear gas
gets in your eyes. The past
is in a looking glass
of water squeezed from a rain-
coat on a washing line.
The sky seems to remain
almost the same, looking like
an upside-down sea
or an enormous wall
on which you often see
the sun set. Shadows fall,
followed by one more night
wearing mourning-black
until the morning light.
Everything must come back…
…Home to GOD. As the dust settles, some tear gas gets in your eyes. The past is in a looking glass of water squeezed from a raincoat on a washing line. The sky seems to remain almost the same, looking like an upside-down sea or an enormous wall on which you often see the sun set. Shadows fall, followed by one more night wearing mourning-black until the morning light. Everything must come back…
August 2007
(WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY)
…to any looking glass
with a couple of eyes
scanning a tear gas
chamber. There someone cries
about a place in time
only GOD can return
one to in their prime
if they can truly earn
it. You hide in a rain-
coat on a cold, black night,
catching another train
of thoughts you want to write
down on a paper sheet.
It can feel like a leaf
from a tree on a street
you can barely leave
by just walking away
from what you want to say…
…to any looking glass with a couple of eyes scanning a tear gas chamber. There someone cries about a place in time only GOD can return one to in their prime if they can truly earn it. You hide in a raincoat on a cold, black night, catching another train of thoughts you want to write down on a paper sheet. It can feel like a leaf from a tree on a street you can barely leave by just walking away from what you want to say…
September 2007
(THROUGH THE MORNING MIST)
…what looks like another lot
of waves licking the coast-
line when a weird thought
goes through your mind like a ghost
ship through the morning mist.
Sailing across the grey
emptiness from the east
before the break of day,
there is something you’ve got
in you that makes you cry.
Seeking the Face of GOD,
you look up at the sky
while a shower of leaves
mixes with a cold rain
sweeping the street. It leaves
tracks on the window pane.
Many leaves look like books’
pages without a word
turned by the wind. It looks
like there is a whole world
wedged in the window frame
of your mystified mind.
You seem to be in the same
state you so often find
and lose yourself in. Today,
you’re being lost and found
again. Time runs away,
and it’s hard to turn it around…
…what looks like another lot of waves licking the coastline when a weird thought goes through your mind like a ghost ship through the morning mist. Sailing across the grey emptiness from the east before the break of day, there is something you’ve got in you that makes you cry. Seeking the Face of GOD, you look up at the sky while a shower of leaves mixes with a cold rain sweeping the street. It leaves tracks on the window pane. Many leaves look like books’ pages without a word turned by the wind. It looks like there is a whole world wedged in the window frame of your mystified mind. You seem to be in the same state you so often find and lose yourself in. Today, you’re being lost and found again. Time runs away, and it’s hard to turn it around…
October 2007
