Larysa Loves Panas Forever in Ukraine

When a Song Explodes
    [I haven’t chosen a final title]

Some in the bomb shelter say
Larysa is delusional because
she says her baby Lyudmyla
wants to hear her father
sing her to sleep
one last time, and
play his cello for her
because she will be a musician
and in happy times in the womb
heard a mellow cello of love

We are all warriors she says
and Panas needs me
to love his every song, to feel
my hands on his heart strings
to pluck his every note until
we sing a melody of peace

Some in the bomb shelter say
Larysa is delusional, and
she should stay to protect her baby.

When a cello plays itself,
it is the music of agony.

The street musician Panas
stood on a corner
holding a gun

A tank came within inches of his face.
A driver opened the hatch but
didn’t see him.

A rocket hit the corner, but
Panas propped up his cello
and it played “My Love Is Near.”

Larysa, his wife, and
Lyudmyla, his child,
ran out from
the bomb shelter
to hear.

Pavel, a Russian saboteur
saw the two, aimed
and shot them dead.

When Panas touched the bow
all the strings flew off and wrapped
around Pavel’s neck

Even today,
the cello still plays itself
in the middle of a fountain of tears
and a headless body wanders aimlessly
for the amusement of the mourners.

But Lyudmyla
still cries like a
baby ghost of war
who wants to hear
her father’s cello.

Чи пожере московський монстр Україну?

Начинка вареника

Ніхто б цього не сказав
Путник Влад Сталінович
є так само низько, як Влад Цепеш
бо у пан Путник B. C. має високі танки,
ракети та отрута

У такі часи тиранів і смерті
краще не знати матері
бо її діти будуть кричати, і
ти будеш ахати, задихатися і плакати.

Богдана померла тому що
вона розкачала трохи тіста,
вареники для а
марш свободи, так що
вона могла захистити
діти України

Але мудрий мандрівний пан Путник B. C. знав це
кожен кріпак у своєму царстві повинен мати
маріонетковий уряд

Зоряна і Богдана мертві, бо…
на знак протесту вони запустили деякі
вареники з вишневим бренді; з молитвою

вони їх так запустили
вони прилетять до пекарень маленьких зелених чоловічків,
посадили там, де були сталінські зловмисники
заплатили за перебування

а банда Путника помстилася
проти протесту вареників
з артилерійськими снарядами

Олена, Зоряна, Настя і
Богдана померла в Україні.

Вони розкачали трохи тіста,
шкаралупа вареника
що наповнений кров’ю, тому що
вони прагнули свободи

а Влад обожнює своє
Свята Мати Русь.

Vlad Putnik [2/23] (Draft 0)

To Fill a Dumpling

No one would say that
Vlad Stalinovich Putnik
is as low as Vlad the Impaler
because Putnik has high tanks,
missiles and poison

In such times of tyrants and death
it’s best not to know a Mother
because her children will scream, and
you will gasp and choke and cry.

Bohdana is dead because
she rolled out a flour shell
for the freedom march, defending
Ukraine for her children

But the wise wandering Putnik knew
every serf in the his Empire should have
a marionet-kovyy ruler, his marionetochnoye

Zoryana and Bohdana are dead because
in protest they launched boiled
cherry-brandy dumplings; with a prayer

they launched them into a
holy gangster’s bakery afoot
where the Stalinesque squatters
were paid to stay put

and the Putnik gang avenged
the dumpling protest
with artillery shells

Olena, Zoryana, Nastya, and Bohdana
are dead in Ukraine

They rolled out a flour shell
that filled with blood, because
they were hungry for freedom

and Vlad worships his
saintly Mother Russia.

Justin-horn and Un-Trudeau (Draft 1) Trucker Convoy, Canada

Hero Truckers in Solidarity (Draft 1)

Oh Canada, where’s a true doe?
we imitate a moose standing
in the headlights of truth
oh and Justin see the light

Like Lech Wałęsa in Poland who
conked out Soviets, so too see
honking truckin’ protest the untrue

Oh Untrue Deau doe
why’d you call us names…

we were truckin’ in the rain
and truckin’ in the plague

Basta! Enough!
Nous avons notre voyage.

An old man who honked his horn
was knocked down par les flics.
Le poulet thought ’twas
un phoque mignons

Sometimes in weary days
there’s just a tinhorn in our way
but we keep on truckin’ steely-eyed
and we don’t put up with just tin

Oh Untrue Deau doe
why’d you call us names…

we were truckin’ in the rain
and truckin’ in the plague