Category: poetry

The Mariupol Replica Amusement Park Near Azovstal ( poetry )

The Mariupol Replica Amusement Park Near Azovstal ( poetry )

The Mariupol Amusement Park
    by Douglas Gilbert
[The Haunted House Tour (draft 2)]

Certain Russian Oligarchs love
dangerous amusement parks.

The chief always says
if one guest dies accidentally
you attain three with largesse.

The building that I guard and show
is part of a haunted house tour —
scares for a known fee — to
include a haunted mill in lore
at no abhorrent extra cost

I’m a night watchman here
with a healing sore throat, but
it’s my job at my steel works

I work the graveyard shift
that begins at midnight and
people incognito who buy tickets
find scary regrets and woes
for entertainment, lo

although my building is just a
derelict steel plant dump
I still scream for believers
when the ghosts show up
though not everyone sees them.

We sell more tickets when I cry.
It doesn’t actually take a lot of acting skill
because the children often say, oh
they want to see the sun, and
my wife, her Mother, and our precious Mikhaila
spoke about sunshine on a video
in a bunker, a while ago.

Sometimes I recite a psalm
to keep the customers calm,
and away from a mockery
I cajole them into not breaking
the apparition rules:

Never tell them it’s “The Light,”
and not the sun they should seek

Besides seeking the sun,
some children ask
where Mommy is.

It can be a problem when
a Mom comes for her child
and they disappear. Then
there can be a shortage of ghosts.

Sad, but in this exhibit
we must consult
“Putnik’s Manual for
The Promulgation of Accidents in War”

The chief always says
if one customer blows away,
you gain back three.
So an accident happens.
Cruise missiles apparently
can malfunction,
or there’s a strategic cave-in,
it is said.

Since we don’t make steel anymore
all of this is necessary, and
we need a land bridge to
the Devil’s headquarters.

Your Mother Is Not So Typical (Draft 0)

Your Mother Is Not So Typical (Draft 0)

Mother-in-War (Draft 0)

A rocket wounded you.

In tragedy this is a fat year.
The war has bloated our sorrow,
and your Mother is so gorgeous
in her smile for you I can see
and I agree that we love you.

She had held you inside her,
praying you into life
screaming for you
like a cheerleader
and you are
of cheer always
and we love you.

She has conspiratorially
told me how mischievous
you were, and I can only say
you must have been so cute
and I tell her that
if I were you I’d forgive her
for every exuberance, because
there is a divine dance to love
that plays many games in jest
until we find a solemn hug
and I would ask you to live
even if the war is not over, and
as we listen for your heartbeat again
scream loud for us,
be born because
your Mother says so
and beyond what they say
is the typical
I love you both so much

The last battle is soon
and I must go my loves, so
come let us scream for glory together
and when I return, we will
buy you the toy you never had
so all of us can play like children
with a laugh
with a mischievous love
in peace.

Vladimir’s “Art of War” [Revisions] (Draft 2)

Vladimir’s “Art of War” [Revisions] (Draft 2)

[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)
     [satire by Douglas Gilbert]
     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

Vladimir’s New Book Rivals Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War”

Vladimir’s New Book 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 are pre-publishing excerpts from Vlad’s new book to be published after the final Ukraine annihilation. Note these are early water logged drafts that had to be dried out and preserved under glass. There may be later “improved” versions.]

    Vlad Solntzevich Putnik’s Art of War
     Chapter 76: The Siege

If a warrior’s leaders can tolerate
indignant kerfuffles
among puny diplomats,
then a siege can be won
by targeting children

Eighteen months is a good age
for learning to say the word “bomb.”
and a few will say, “Mommy is dead.”

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

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

remember that propaganda
should be flexible and include
excuses from false history, while
attributing attacks to the enemy

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

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

Naming Propaganda for Ukraine and the Devil

Naming Propaganda for Ukraine and the Devil

[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.

“Pregnant Silence,” a poem, has been started in draft outline form

“Pregnant Silence,” a poem, has been started in draft outline form

Pregnant Silence [Draft 0]

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

I met Grygoriy in Kyiv on Khreshchatyk boulevard
when I spotted him
standing beneath the empty marble plinth
and he was more virtuous than any Lenin,
his proud handsome self smiling at me
that glorious day when the Maidan revolution
was still fresh with excitement,
blue and yellow-golden flowers on sale,
and I said coyly hey I am Inna.
Yes 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

Grygoriy and I have been
thinking of names
and we’re not so young anymore.

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 said 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.

I am a fast flowing stream of tears.

The svyni have told the Russian people that
there are locusts in a former province of Ukraine
and it threatens Russian wheat. The name changes mean
that for the safety of the crops
chemical weapons must be used, because
there is no 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 Maternity Hospital.

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

A Toast To Silence

A Toast To Silence

It Is Good To Be Buried

A day of reprieve from the battle
because I have the bottle I saved for celebration
but though it’s very expensive, I drink to be high
and I imagine that my wife and child are not dead.

There is a window of opportunity to form a plan
before I fall asleep in my bloody clothes, and
try to remember where I am and why I am alone.

Under the rumble it is quiet
and I don’t think more will happen soon
so I hope no one will rescue me, and
I can remain underground alone with my sorrow

Can I die now
and remember my dear love and child
who in my dream are not dead.

I think it is a good thing
if I bleed to death, because
I don’t want to wake up

Vlad Putnik [2/23] (Draft 0)

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.

Oh Canada, Keep on Truckin’ (Draft 1)

Oh Canada, Keep on Truckin’ (Draft 1)

Hero Truckers in Solidarity

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

Wuhan Plague for the Dark Age (Draft 3)

Wuhan Plague for the Dark Age (Draft 3)

Litchi Regime (Draft 3)

Oh citizen,
display your social demerits:

for the freeze police you’re a twisted Atheist
for your forgiveness you’re a Christian
and to learn and return you’re a Buddhist,
but just endure for now like a stoic soldier

Xiuying my love, listen —
It’s a secret but I heard
the children wail like adults,
saw a new born in the gutter

tighten your belt I’ve heard, and
the road to paradise extrudes cement

I know disasters open and close up, but
they’ve cemented Xiong’an’s door shut.

Olympics!
Hooray comrades!

I’ve seen the children sob though
a drunken teacher cries to them
that dynasties rise and fall, and

I’ve seen the Wuhan plague
and I’ve seen a Litchi reign. If
I could bolt with you on horseback
like in a Western
we’d ride at sunset.

I’ve seen the children sob, but
I cry to them like a drunken teacher:
play children, play for today’s laugh

alas, the nuts and bolts of empire
require tyrants to remain.

Behold their great gifts:
their Big Brother infrastructure,
their Marxist bridge to Armageddon

I’ve heard the word:
no one can leave his castle, nor
can she leave her palace
and children play with their
toy soldiers and dolls
with little food left at the door

Xiuying my love, if I were a drunken teacher
I’d tell you about this in a whisper that the
lock-down is courtesy of the Wuhan Lab
the pride of the nation, super science
for the belt and road to the foolish world
and see if you were to look —
see as the Romans and the Mongols did:
They came, they saw, they conquered, they
seized their rightful hegemony

Xiuying, you know
for the Olympics
our doors were sealed.

Many Millions were dead.
Of course —
That’s how it’s done

I’ve seen the Wuhan plague
and I’ve seen a Litchi reign

Nuts to all, and
Xiuying let us perish like
terra cotta warriors unearthed
and glad to see the sunset