prigozhin epic

Prigozhin's stable-boy pulled off the swap/
bronze axle-pin replaced with one of wax/
Life's tenuous for Russians near the top;/
they pull no pensions once they've got the ax.//
From thirty thousand feet, this took a bit/
'though decompression might have knocked them out./
If they were conscious by the time they hit/
who'd punched their final ticket's not in doubt./
"Appeal to Heaven"'s still Locke's last resort;
vonStauffenberg's revered for having tried.
Once Putin neutered both the Press, and Court,
fond dreams of perestroika wholly died.
One wing blew off, the other did its job
jet-powered maple seed's a frantic thing.
Without due vengeance, there could be no mob;
you get no second shot to kill a king.
Myrtilus never got to claim his prize;
Tantalides dispatched him off a cliff.
No court backs traitor's claim to what he buys,
when Pelops says he thought it's just a gift.
Myrtilus never got to claim his prize;
Tantalides dispatched him off a cliff.
No court backs traitor's claim to what he buys,
when Pelops says he thought it's just a gift.

Sweet Daphne fled to London for his life
rebuffing Putin's larcenous advance.
Ten years in prison, sundered from his wife

no rules the swankest dojo West of France.

The part of Icarus is hard to cast
so many took to wing, but splatted hard.
This open-window policy can't last;

surviving oligarchs are on their guard.

no honor among thieves

Prigozhin's stable-boy pulled off the swap,
bronze axle-pin replaced with one of wax.
Life's tenuous for Russians near the top;
they pull no pensions once they've got the ax.
From thirty thousand feet, this took a bit
'though decompression might have knocked them out.
If they were conscious by the time they hit,
who'd punched their final ticket's not in doubt.
"Appeal to Heaven"'s still Locke's last resort;
vonStauffenberg's revered for having tried.
Once Putin neutered both the Press, and Court,
fond dreams of perestroika wholly died.
Another rival sent to Davy Jones
the Kremlin wrote the rules for Game of Thrones.

Fire season

Dim, bleary orange smudge, not even round
just hints the sun's position in the sky.
In parody of snow; hot ash drifts down;
from day to day, we live by AQI.
No glint of older starlight's getting through;
this pressure cooker's lid's been torqued down tight.
The mind denies that skies had once been blue,
when all the palette's sepia, and white.
The atmosphere of Mordor sears and chokes,
as if Orodruin were belching forth
particulates and noxious plumes of smoke,
this time not from the East, but from the North.
Four seasons filled the sum of my desire;
this fifth's a crock of ashes, smoke, and fire.

rosh chodesh

the Eastern hills cough up the moon's last rind
and soon enough, the rising sun eats that.
The new day's threshold, where bare toes may find
an offal offering from someone's cat.
Two orbits, damned near in the common plane
collision courses for celestial ships.
Each keeping doggedly to its own lane,
inevitably slated to eclipse.
Celestial clockwork, tabulating days,
and festivals for Jews who scan the sky.
Or Muslims, 'though their count is out of phase;
such calendars are Hell to justify.
Tomorrow, she'll sink West, behind the sun;
each crossing marks another month that's done.


All reactions:2Judith Gottlieb and P Faith Hayflich

oermatched

His vambrace showed the faintest smudge of breath,
and Imrahil felt hope leap in his breast.
The maid who'd seemed so parlous fair in death,
now waxed heroic in her martial quest.
The terror that has served the Morgul Lord
as shield and armor in a changing world,
availed him nought when facing Dernhelm's sword;
he'd never faced the equal of this girl.
Despairing of the only man she craved,
she'd sought at least an honorable end.
Where only menfolk could be seen as 'brave'
a fiery soul horselords can't apprehend.
The worthy death fair Eowyn desired
deferred when Faramir was spared the fire.