crunch time

The Czarist empire Gorbachev renounced
still beckons Putin when he dreams at night.
Ukrainians see plainly they'd be trounced
if they can't count on NATO in the fight.
The"European Project" that's quashed war
three generations (leaving Balkans out)
can't go on doing what it's done before
should old allegiances forswear their clout.
But solidarity against the Bear
who'd eat the smaller neighbors, one by one,
is growing firm as if out of thin air
to lend Ukrainians resolve, and guns.
If Biden'd just concede that Putin lies,
he might do something more than compromise.

Czarist dreams

Joe Stalin deemed the Finns must quickly fold;
he'd move the border, then get home for tea.
Unburied legions died there in the cold
Finn snipers picked them off from every tree.
Three generations later, it's Ukraine
where Putin's staked his honor on a win.
No medals for the nameless who'll be slain;
no officer to call the next of kin.
Like Uber, he prefers to contract out
and leave no fingerprints if they should die.
He'll celebrate a win, deny a rout;
there's always someone else's son to buy.
Ukrainians don't mind goliath's big;
they're fighting for their country, not a gig.

always tip the bard

The Spartan cuckold's never lived it down;
new generations snicker at his name.
Fair Helen's dowry brought a bonus crown,
and an eternity of tainted fame.
The epic's hero'd never sought her hand
when all of Greece contested such a prize.
He knows that war's the measure of a man
and glory won there neither fades, nor dies.
Loud Menelaus lived his fill of life
while great Achilles never can grow old.
The one's remembered for his errant wife;
The other lives as long as tales are told.
Great bards demolish jerks with just their breath,
unstoppable by force of arms, or death.