Centaur in Moscow with Missile (Draft 2)

Sometimes diabolical
desperation breeds a need for
science beyond curiosity, a
stunning terror for a leader to grasp
who sees winning as fiendish beauty

In science there can be elegance in
theory before application.

Behold the beauty and he says,
Come ye all to praise Science,
to embrace the vacuum bomb, and
the hypersonic 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.

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

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

Kicking.

Outside,
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.”

Reports:

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:

Antin:
“I want my Mommy.”

Galyna:
“Read me a story.”

Boryslav:
“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.
Nowadays
who knows
what might happen
in the dark.

Vlad Putnik the Great (Draft 1)

Vlad Putnik Rides Again

Besides riding bare-chested on horseback
Vlad Putnik is a champion Shot Putter

The wayfaring Russkiy is Supernik, able to
shot put a cannon ball 22.84 meters like
a super Stalin stallion wandering into Belarus
ready to give the wayfarer’s signal, and

the milquetoasts are behind the eightball as
Putnik plays the US pool game
to shot put a billiard ball around the world

For Russia always
glory and gory, and
no one remembers anything
about the Ukrainian famine

1932
a boy saw
in Stavyshche
bodies swollen, and
endured the stench of
wayfarers digging
into barren gardens
for food

The Holodomor
for the glory of Russia
starved a modest 3.9 million
for the collective, but Putnik

only wants to shot put a cannon ball
in Belarus as an exercise, only wants to
re-educate Ukrainian intellectuals about
Russkiy Star Trek cyber weapons, and
govorya cyber Borg saying
“resistance is futile”

No Good Wǎngqiú Goes Unpunished

Peng Shuai Takes the Ball In Her Court (Draft 1)

Is it not the nature of animal vice
that the premier Lion party predator
will chase the antelope in shorts?

In the melon of the times
there are melon balls
and tennis balls, but

Ladies of tennis
must not feed
antelope cantaloupe
because

Deputy underling Mu Nu says
tennis does not exist anymore.

The Vice Premier says “Tenez!”
— take, receive, dear girl, yes
dress gracefully for the Vice
and lift your slip with song, oh

Lambda, mu, nu, do advance
the melancholy letter of the Law
and let slip away the melon collie dogs
who defeat the melancholy of the word

Lambda, Mu, Nu, Xi
she’s played

In war, havoc! The spoils, and
the word tennis is disappeared.

Yes, He and every Vice Premier
know the spirit of Tenez!
where the balls are in your
courtrooms and
words are leashed.