Vladimir’s New Book (Draft 2) Rivals Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War”

[From copies of drafts smuggled out in vodka bottles thrown into the Black Sea and picked up by Turkish ships, here is a new draft excerpt from Vlad’s new book to be published after his hoped for final Ukraine annihilation. This new scrap was forensically restored showing several changes from the first draft.]

    Vlad Solntzevich Putnik’s Art of War (Draft 2)
     Chapter 76: The Siege

If a warrior’s leaders can well tolerate the
indignant kerfuffles of useful diplomats, then
a supersonic missile is mightier than a missive
and in the leisurely pace of a useful psychopath,
a siege can be won by targeting children, note

eighteen months old is a good age
for tiny orators to learn to pronounce “bomb,”
and for a pogrom program, to say
“Mommy is dead.”

The slaughter of toddlers is easy:
it only requires strategic distance
and a rebranding of key concepts
to be read as “collateral damage.”

Bombing both schools
and Maternity Hospitals
is a classic maneuver
in this genre, but

remember that propaganda
is mightier than a kernel of truth,
and artillery shelling uncouth
is more effective than shelling
those western peas in a pod

remember propaganda feuds
should be flexible and include
ridicule from false histories, while
projecting blame on the enemy
for a first strike provocation

Always pretend to negotiate
until all buildings are destroyed.

As Tzusvet Luny said,
if there is resistance,
siege from a distance.

If it takes time,
be patient knowing that
nuclear and chemical weapons
are options on the table of crime

Imperial crime is grand.

The journey of a thousand missiles
begins with the first Ukrainian stepy
and in the Black Sea, a long walk
off a short pier should be avoided
until the Emperor’s fleet arrives

Centaur in Mosow With Missile

DisCERNment (Draft A)

In science there can be elegance in
theory before application.

Come ye all to praise Science,
to embrace the vacuum bomb, and
the hyper-sonic missile of Putnik

Beauty is in the eye of the lover
delusion is in the ear of the hater.

See then of spectacles and of specks:

a gang leader perceives disrespect
like a small particle of pathology;
an autocrat perceives an insult
like a threat to empire.

It is dire to
dis’ a tyrant in a country without brioche
as megalomania is bred a first disease
before bread and butter toast uttermost,
before honey, udder milk, and cheese, because
before truth there is propaganda
(let them eat blue cheese)

Yet ask,
is there a prayer for political science…

Pray tell:
of those bellicose leaders
the porcine ones would
commandeer science for minions
to see and conquer prey
like wolves on deer

In science there can be elegance in
theory before application, like
the je ne sais quoi particle that the
“Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Nucléaire”
(CERN) produced for scientists, even Russians —

i.e. n.b. (nota bene) disCERN:
poor Dmitri of Mosow University
discoverer of the Piggs Boson,
trying to milk the subject of particles,
was expelled from CERN when
the Higgs Boson instead was declared
less bellicose in a toast to peace

Come ye all to
praise the art of war

Screams, squeals, and barks
are heard in Mosow, and
the son of a sow will soon
be bacon unless he magically
gains horse sense with
a radioactive Centaur elixir
to transform him, and he

unlike Catherine the Great
is successful in
the battle to safely
have sex with a horse.

#WordPrompt March

A Bridge (2)

Where can I go if
you can never know me
from a note alone
composed in the rain

I knew you once,

But you are in the suburbs
and I am in the city

I know I said,
it wouldn’t be fair to tell you secrets,
to then let you drown in tears
though I know you love the rain

There was a bridge I used to run under
when thunderstorms reigned, but still
I’ve always wondered
if I can go anywhere without you

There’s an empty meadow
where I go to scream, but
I wouldn’t mind if you overheard me

And I might dry your wet face
and ask you how you are

There was a bridge in the rain
we could’ve run under, and
might have cried gently together

and I think we
could have walked
to laughter after

I should have told you everything
when laughter was common like sunshine

But the bridge has been blown up
and a note is not enough.

A short blurb

Starting a Narrative(?) Poem??
    by Danylko Maksymenko

An artillery shell slammed
into the damned apartment.

A little boy ran into his father’s room
“Mommy is dead.”
His doomed father lifeless
didn’t answer,
a gun at his side

The boy picked up the gun
that was taller than himself, and running
down the stairs to the street
held his lifeless teddy bear

When he heard
someone speaking Russian,
his gun went off, and
blood sprayed from
the speaker’s body.

A soldier ran to the scene
and said, “malen’kiy mal’chik”?

When the soldier knelt down
the little boy stared and stuffed
the head of his teddy bear
into the soldier’s mouth
until he choked to death.

Another Russian soldier
talking on a phone with his mother
found himself shooting the boy dead
while he shouted into the phone
“Mommy, I am dead.”

Pregnant Silence

[Draft 5]
Pregnant Silence
    by “Inna”
    (Douglas Gilbert)

Grygoriy and I are not deranged
permanent members of humanity
because names can be changed.

But I name my tears compassion,
yes, my soul streaming out like a jet
and I am a splash and a giggle smile

Seems like a dream, but
I believe, I met Grygoriy
a lifeguard in my stream
in magnificent Kyiv
when I eyed him on
Khreshchatyk boulevard, he
standing beneath the empty marble plinth
more virtuous than any Lenin,
his proud handsome self smiling at me
that glorious day when the Maidan revolution
was still full of excitement, of fun
of blue and yellow-golden flowers on sale,
and I said coyly into the air: hey I am Inna.

Yes, of this you know, every revolution requires
a dream and a kiss of consummation

But still, romance takes time
and names change beyond the Summer,
but he had bought me a blue and yellow scarf
as buskers sang to my heart with glee and glory
and Grygoriy was so cute

But all of us in our glories of blue and yellow
have come to know that we
are not permanent members of humanity

We are not permanent members
of the UN security council

Grygoriy is so cute, but he,
is not a permanent member
of any council
and I am pregnant

Like editors of a love doctrine,
Grygoriy and I have been
thinking of names with furor
and we’re not so young anymore.

Yet, finding my splash and panache
in blues with yellow flower tickle belly,
my soul is streaming out like an inner jet


the Russians have
made name changes:
The Maternity Hospital
is now “The Nazi Military Center.”
Food and water are
“enemy Nazi supplies.”

And it’s been a long time since the Summer when
Grygoriy and I were served sweet green tea, and
a simple slice of rye bread with pork lard

But there are pigs who serve on the security council
and the swine have proclaimed that Ukraine doesn’t exist.

We are not permanent members of humanity
because the svyni have nuclear weapons and
the West is afraid to call out names in sanity

I am a fast flowing stream of tears.

The svyni have told the Russian people that
there are locusts in the province of Ukraine
and it threatens Russian wheat gains, so
for the safety of the crops stolen, these
insane name regimens mean
chemical weapons will reign, ’cause
there is no dratted locust that
is a member of humanity.

I, Inna, am not a member
of the security council or NATO
and I have no water in the basement
of the renamed Maternity Hospital.

I have not chosen a name,
and Grygoriy misses my kiss.

Public Executions & A Firing Squad for Children

The Firing Squad

Beware Ukraine kin
freedom is in jeopardy

Shine light on the seeds of truth
and let freedom grow to glory.

Beware the Machiavellian chutzpah:
Russians have claimed that
Ukrainians are giving rifles to
2-year-old children.

With all ernestness
Moscow says they
have videos showing
children running in the streets
shouting “Dah, dah, ma-ma,” and
shooting innocent Russian peacekeepers.

Speaking of the Devil:
Vladimir Stalinovich Putnik
is not a mere charming rogue,
star of a propaganda movie who
gets an inglorious Oscar
and a Nobel Prize in
the Physics of war

No, he has plans, and
has already completed Part 1.

Part 2 rumored.
For sure, war crimes, but
it’s too late to
stop diplomats
from normalizing evil.

Talk, talk, talk.

Meanwhile a plan made
for Public Executions,
after shelling, of course.

Public executions?
Communication intercepts of a General
seemed to indicate odd events:

“I have my orders, and
now you have yours.

“Assemble the firing squad
in the central square.

“No, don’t worry about America.
They are very busy closing oil wells,
trying to design windmill cars, and dreaming
about super efficient solar-powered jet planes.

“Yes, do it. We don’t dream. We kill.
It’s your job to
assemble the firing squad.

“Soldier, be brave!
We have president Putnik the magnificent,
they have Don Quixote and friends.”


The firing squad was assembled.
The condemned were put in their play pens.

They were asked if they had any last words,
or had any last requests. The babies did:

“I want my Mommy.”

“Read me a story.”

“I am two. Sing Happy Birthday.”
Anichka replied with a mispronounced
‘Birthday’ in a song:
“Happy Birffy to you…”

Borysko with crayons:
“Make me a circle”

So the soldiers assembled in a circle
and fired on each other.

Dew in the sunshine
like tears of luck.

But let not myths
become real.
who knows
what might happen
in the dark.