Glukhov Alexey Gavrilovich Biography

Talgat got up and wandered through the forest. Everything down, everything down reached the hollow. Low -growing birch. Under it is a small hole. A tiny fontanel breathes in it. Dark and, you see, cold.

Talgat fell to him and drank, drank, drank. He got up, looked at the fontanel: small, tiny, and in it the sky was reflected, and pine trees, and birch, and his, talgat, smiling his face. Awakening, and other soldiers remembered the water. They didn’t really believe it, but two went with the flasks. Found, they themselves got drunk and the flasks filled with cold, key, living water. By evening, the pit went deeper, expanded.

Already a pot of water can be drawn. And the key hits himself without a break. There was enough water for everyone. And already a small thread- a stream breaks through .. And in the morning the soldiers left. All to one. The pediment was very close. And the fontanel remained. He is already murmuring now. Andrei Kozlov, was born and lives in Moscow. He graduated from the Moscow Energy Institute.

Poetry is interested in school times. Member of the poetic studio "Our New Studio". It was printed in collective collections and almanacs "Golden Stanfa". The links behind each of us people of ancient tribes seem to look from past times: a distant descendant is a living link in a chain of generations that have long gone. Mascul, we feel an ancient connection, weaving from birth into the great ligature of people - generations, and we are destined with the departed and the current one at the same time.

The end of this eternal chain is not visible. Lord, help us, save, strengthen! Let the children pick up the spiritual thread, - remembering us, remembering the ancestors, to live more reliable. Tatyana Lepilina, born in the Far East. She spent childhood and youth in Ukraine. In Moscow - from a year. Higher education, architect. Member of the International Art Fund of Graphics, Watercolor.

Cooperation in the magazines "Miracles and Adventures", "Kukumber". Member of the Union of Writers of Russia Poetry. In flight I dissolve, weightless. No matter where - on the street, at home. I fly - and I almost cry with happiness! I pay for bread in a tent, hide the delivery of a winged jacket with a hood in my pocket, all in the same lawsuit, I forget the loaf on the counter, fly, inhale the aroma of green grass.

I fly - welcoming, rainbow, without weight! I fly - I am flying from evil and stress. I am twisted once, another and third. Well, what do you need you, dull, answer? I go down and pity you, I regret it. I plant a grinder on my neck. Sit down, both sick and crooked, until there is a place on a thin one! I do not admit about my summer to them: - Sit down, brothers, we will fly together! Roman Orlov graduated from the Moscow Economy Institute.

He served in the Northern Fleet. He worked as an engineer, economist, journalist, librarian. He wrote poetry at school. In them - his whole life. He passed away on December 13th.