Poems
20. The First War Crime Four Days In
Unequally shared are the fortunes
And misfortunes of war.
Think of a boy commanding
A tank crew of four
At age twenty-one,
Vadim Shishimarin,
A proud son of Russia.
Four days into the war.
How lucky am I, was all he imagined.
But untrained, inexperienced,
Unlucky in battle, and well overcome,
The crew abandoned
Their tank before it exploded.
Lucky again, they lived to fight on.
Then stole a private car,
These four comrades-in-arms,
Lucky once more,
Seeking their way back toward Russian lines,
But meeting en route
In Chupak Village, east of Kyiv,
A Ukrainian man, aged sixty-two,
Unarmed on a bike using his phone.
Unlucky for him, unlucky for all!
You have to kill him,
Said one of the crew,
Or he’ll report where we are
And our war will be over.
Vadim,
It’s all up to you.
Shoot him and with luck
Our war will continue.
The unlucky, unlikely commander
Obeyed his crew member
And aiming his rifle
At the Ukrainian’s head
Shot him dead on the spot.
This was a war crime,
Just four days into the war,
The first of thousands.
How Vadim was captured
Has not been explained.
He appeared in court in Ukraine,
With head shaven,
Dressed in a blue and grey hoodie
Looking confused, unlucky, scared and alone,
A tragic victim of Putin’s war,
An untrained, inexperienced tank commander,
Little more than a boy,
Charged with violating
The laws and norms of war.
Unequally shared are the fortunes
And misfortunes of war.
Think of a boy commanding
A tank crew of four
At age twenty-one,
Vadim Shishimarin,
A proud son of Russia.
Four days into the war.
How lucky am I, was all he imagined.
But untrained, inexperienced,
Unlucky in battle, and well overcome,
The crew abandoned
Their tank before it exploded.
Lucky again, they lived to fight on.
Then stole a private car,
These four comrades-in-arms,
Lucky once more,
Seeking their way back toward Russian lines,
But meeting en route
In Chupak Village, east of Kyiv,
A Ukrainian man, aged sixty-two,
Unarmed on a bike using his phone.
Unlucky for him, unlucky for all!
You have to kill him,
Said one of the crew,
Or he’ll report where we are
And our war will be over.
Vadim,
It’s all up to you.
Shoot him and with luck
Our war will continue.
The unlucky, unlikely commander
Obeyed his crew member
And aiming his rifle
At the Ukrainian’s head
Shot him dead on the spot.
This was a war crime,
Just four days into the war,
The first of thousands.
How Vadim was captured
Has not been explained.
He appeared in court in Ukraine,
With head shaven,
Dressed in a blue and grey hoodie
Looking confused, unlucky, scared and alone,
A tragic victim of Putin’s war,
An untrained, inexperienced tank commander,
Little more than a boy,
Charged with violating
The laws and norms of war.
19. Vladimir’s Blanket
It was a thick green blanket, a warm and wooly coverlet,
That the President of Russia held upon his knees,
As his nation celebrated old victories
In Eastern Europe and over Germany,
And more recent ones in Syria and in Chechnya.
It was as warm and wooly as the baby blanket
Vlad’s mother wrapped around his tiny body
On winter nights in Leningrad when the windows leaked
Around the edges, and the panes grew frost in layers.
He had not asked for the blanket on this spring day
Marking Russia’s victory in World War Two,
But his minders in the Kremlin knew
What the generals didn’t know or feared to say,
That Vladimir had grown prematurely pale and old,
And had become a phantom of his former self, cold
In body, cold in mind, cold in feelings, cold in tactics.
His face, composed by artful surgeons, cosmetic,
Placid, pudgy, wrinkleless, expressionless, serene,
His head hunched down into his shoulders,
Like a sparrow’s in winter, no neck to be seen.
Here was a parade of thousands – soldiers, sailors,
Veterans of war, and tanks trucks and missiles -
While hundreds of spectators,
Warmed by the sun, sat in VIP seats,
And hundreds of thousands lined Moscow’s streets.
But Vladimir, hunkered down on the dais,
Surrounded by military and political cronies,
Shivered and shook slightly with every spring breeze
That gently wafted in from the steppe, river, or seas:
At age sixty-nine, an old man, cold and alone,
Clutching a green wooly blanket over his knees.
When Putin stood to speak to those at Red Square,
He fumbled with his blanket, not sure what he should do,
Take it to the podium or leave it on his chair,
An awkwardness that raised eyebrows on the dais
And a fearful moment for those who were amused.
(Let no one smile or smirk when the tyrant is confused!)
His speech was the briefest by a tyrant anywhere,
Just eleven minutes. He named Ukrainians barbaric neo-Nazis,
That Russia’s heroic forces would vanquish once again,
Drawing on lessons learned and arcane memories
Of World War Two. There’s no room in the world for Nazis,
And no room for barbarians in Russia, my comrades, he said,
So no room anywhere for Ukrainians who’ve turned to the West,
As we bow our heads once again and lay old comrades to rest.
After his speech Putin returned to his seat
And folded the green wooly comforter over his lap,
Looking forward with pleasure to his afternoon nap.
Meanwhile, the war, the war, the real war,
Putin’s war in Ukraine rages on,
Ruining cities, destroying bridges and railroads
And burning down homes, forcing families
To seek basements and holes in the ground
For refuge from callow young soldiers
Debasing their own lives and values
By licensed debauchery, raping, plundering
And murdering Ukrainians, who look like no other
Than Russian mothers and fathers,
sisters and brothers, wives and lovers.
When all is done
Ukraine’s cities, bridges and railroads
Will be rebuilt, repaired and restored
But these young Russian men, pawns in the war,
Will never recover, are damaged forever,
Can never become the men they ought to be.
But Putin himself, the Perpetrator,
Who’s never been to war,
Sits at home safely in Moscow,
Cold, old and alone,
With a green woolen blanket over his knees.
Will someone rid us of this tyrant, please?
18. Vladimir Putin Confesses His Sins: A One-Scene Play
Vladimir Putin visits Russian Archbishop Kirill, his father-confessor over many years since his conversion
from atheism to the Russian Orthodox faith. He admits many sins, but he’s neither humble nor sorry.
Putin: Father, old Father, hear me and bless,
I’m here to confess.
Priest: My son,
I can give penance, if you lay out your sins
And truly repent. But only God can forgive.
Putin: Father,
I don’t intend to repent in so many words.
I’ve done what I’ve done and don’t need forgiveness.
I’ll lay out my sins, for you to examine.
But I’m a little conflicted
About what’s just a crime among men
And what is a sin against God.
Perhaps you can advise.
I have made a short list.
Priest: Vlad, you put me through hell.
Why do you need me to explore
Your sins against God,
Your crimes among men,
Your whimsy, your war,
The bombings, the deaths, the pain
You’ve imposed on the state of Ukraine?
I don’t want your list. I well
Ought to give you a ticket to hell.
Putin: My father, my priest, my confessor in youth,
I neither seek heaven nor do I fear hell.
I’m alone in the world with only my truth.
I can’t talk to generals, won’t talk to staff,
Can’t look in the mirror and speak to myself.
I am sorry for nothing, that is a fact,
I’ll continue the war and won’t roll it back . . .
I just want to talk. I need you to know me.
Priest: Vlad, I already know you,
Have known you forever.
The war could be over, a treaty agreed.
But what you want from me is not clear.
Putin: I want you to know I am a great sinner:
I’m Hitler, I’m Stalin, I’m Grigor Rasputin,
And surely more evil than all put together,
But that, blessed father, is my historical mission.
It’s part of my calling as an un-Orthodox Christian,
Of which I am proud, but then pride is a sin,
The greatest of all. So you see my confusion.
Priest: Do you believe for a moment
God needs you still in the Kremlin?
You seem to believe you’re an agent of God.
Putin: Not an agent of God, I’m an angel of death,
Like a demon from hell, but hell doesn’t exist,
Neither does heaven, and God himself is a myth.
I’m a historical weapon to forge a new empire,
Mother Russia’s my mother,
And the steppes are my father.
When I win the war, I’ll be the war’s author,
And here’s what I will write . . . .
I fought evil with evil, hate with hate,
Sickness with death, and fire with fire.
I'm a historical force with a mystical fate.
Priest: My son, you talk like a madman,
A person demented, a veritable demon.
But, Vlad, I came for your sins,
So just tell me of those.
I‘ll stand here beside you, wherever this goes.
Putin: Father, my father,
My sins are legion, but I’ve made a short list:
You know they are deadly, the deadliest seven.
But perhaps I’ll name five, five of the seven!
Five is not bad. I’ve had a long life.
Pride, as in pride of self and of country,
Greed, anger, envy and lust. As for the rest –
Gluttony and laziness – they don’t really apply.
I am KGB trained and forged in the Kremlin.
I am as cold as steel, and crueler than Stalin.
If the anti-Christ were real, not just a myth,
That would be me, the Sword of the Apocalypse.
17. From Carthage to Kyiv: A History of War
Russia’s invasion of independent Ukraine
Has historical precedents. Let me explain:
Vladimir Putin’s irascible ego
May remind us of pompous Senator Cato,
Whose madness led Rome to totally erase
Carthage, North Africa’s great city-state.
Nearly two and one-half thousand years ago
Rome was the wealthiest, most powerful city
In the world (as Rome knew it).
From Rome’s perspective
No other world mattered, or even existed.
On the Africa side of the Mediterranean Sea,
Stood Carthage, Rome’s trading partner and rival,
Defeated by Rome in the first two Punic Wars.
From Rome’s point of view these land and sea battles
Were World War One and World War Two.
And afterwards Carthage was a rival no more.
In Rome’s proud perspective its own empire was all.
But everything changed when Cato the Elder,
Proud Roman senator and famous debater,
Visited Carthage on a diplomat’s mission.
He was amazed, overwhelmed, deeply impressed
To witness the wealth, beauty and splendor
Of this African city of a half million residents,
Which he jealously feared might soon out-rival Rome.
Carthage had forty-foot walls, towers and battlements,
Broad avenues, a huge public square, two large ports,
Gleaming temples, public baths and modern law courts . . .
All of which made old Cato mad and malevolent.
When Cato went home and spoke to Rome’s senate
His first speech was filled with malice and hate,
And urged the destruction of the Carthaginian state.
Speaking in Latin he said these cruel words,
“Carthago delenda est!” (Carthage must be destroyed!)
And used wicked language like that
At the close of every Senate debate.
What’s also amazing is this: both Rome and Carthage
Followed strict rules of law in all civic matters,
Their citizens were cultured and knew their own rights.
But in matters of war, they were totally savage.
They would torture or kill men, women and children
Without any qualms, raping, enslaving any they captured.
Ethnic cleansing was just one tool in the tool-kit,
Massacres were part of the victory party.
Destroying whole towns, erasing a nation,
These weren’t crimes then, they were methods of war.
War had no protocols. War was outside the law.
When Rome went to war against its old rival again
It was with the intent of total destruction.
Rome sent hundreds of ships, thousands of men,
Surrounded and strangled the whole city of Carthage,
Breached the walls and burnt down the city,
Slaughtering almost all in a scene of great carnage.
The few who survived were sold into slavery.
End of the story, old Carthage was history.
More than two thousand years later,
After the egregious crimes and the holocaust
Of World War Two, international governments
Approved a set of laws and protocols governing war,
Known as the Geneva Conventions . . . .
Rules that forbade “international aggression”,
The enslavement or torture of prisoners of war,
The targeted killing of peaceful civilians,
And the conscription of children, as well as rules
Against the bombing of homes, hospitals and schools
And the use of starvation as a weapon of war.
These and other conventions broadly defined
The unspeakable crime of genocide
And set up the International Criminal Court.
Thus tribunals were founded to deal with offenders.
Charges were laid and cases were tried:
Yet strangely and sadly and tragically madly
Vladimir Putin has ignored all these protocols.
He has waged war in Ukraine, and, before that, in Syria,
Breaking the values that keep us from savagery,
As he lays waste to every place that he conquers,
From the village of Bucha to the town of Odesa
And from Kyiv to Karkyiv to beautiful Mariupol.
His morals derive not from the Geneva Conventions,
But from Ivan the Terrible and Attila the Hun,
As well as from Hitler, Goebbels and Stalin
And notorious thugs, like Scarface Capone.
Russia’s invasion of independent Ukraine
Has historical precedents. Let me explain:
Vladimir Putin’s irascible ego
May remind us of pompous Senator Cato,
Whose madness led Rome to totally erase
Carthage, North Africa’s great city-state.
Nearly two and one-half thousand years ago
Rome was the wealthiest, most powerful city
In the world (as Rome knew it).
From Rome’s perspective
No other world mattered, or even existed.
On the Africa side of the Mediterranean Sea,
Stood Carthage, Rome’s trading partner and rival,
Defeated by Rome in the first two Punic Wars.
From Rome’s point of view these land and sea battles
Were World War One and World War Two.
And afterwards Carthage was a rival no more.
In Rome’s proud perspective its own empire was all.
But everything changed when Cato the Elder,
Proud Roman senator and famous debater,
Visited Carthage on a diplomat’s mission.
He was amazed, overwhelmed, deeply impressed
To witness the wealth, beauty and splendor
Of this African city of a half million residents,
Which he jealously feared might soon out-rival Rome.
Carthage had forty-foot walls, towers and battlements,
Broad avenues, a huge public square, two large ports,
Gleaming temples, public baths and modern law courts . . .
All of which made old Cato mad and malevolent.
When Cato went home and spoke to Rome’s senate
His first speech was filled with malice and hate,
And urged the destruction of the Carthaginian state.
Speaking in Latin he said these cruel words,
“Carthago delenda est!” (Carthage must be destroyed!)
And used wicked language like that
At the close of every Senate debate.
What’s also amazing is this: both Rome and Carthage
Followed strict rules of law in all civic matters,
Their citizens were cultured and knew their own rights.
But in matters of war, they were totally savage.
They would torture or kill men, women and children
Without any qualms, raping, enslaving any they captured.
Ethnic cleansing was just one tool in the tool-kit,
Massacres were part of the victory party.
Destroying whole towns, erasing a nation,
These weren’t crimes then, they were methods of war.
War had no protocols. War was outside the law.
When Rome went to war against its old rival again
It was with the intent of total destruction.
Rome sent hundreds of ships, thousands of men,
Surrounded and strangled the whole city of Carthage,
Breached the walls and burnt down the city,
Slaughtering almost all in a scene of great carnage.
The few who survived were sold into slavery.
End of the story, old Carthage was history.
More than two thousand years later,
After the egregious crimes and the holocaust
Of World War Two, international governments
Approved a set of laws and protocols governing war,
Known as the Geneva Conventions . . . .
Rules that forbade “international aggression”,
The enslavement or torture of prisoners of war,
The targeted killing of peaceful civilians,
And the conscription of children, as well as rules
Against the bombing of homes, hospitals and schools
And the use of starvation as a weapon of war.
These and other conventions broadly defined
The unspeakable crime of genocide
And set up the International Criminal Court.
Thus tribunals were founded to deal with offenders.
Charges were laid and cases were tried:
Yet strangely and sadly and tragically madly
Vladimir Putin has ignored all these protocols.
He has waged war in Ukraine, and, before that, in Syria,
Breaking the values that keep us from savagery,
As he lays waste to every place that he conquers,
From the village of Bucha to the town of Odesa
And from Kyiv to Karkyiv to beautiful Mariupol.
His morals derive not from the Geneva Conventions,
But from Ivan the Terrible and Attila the Hun,
As well as from Hitler, Goebbels and Stalin
And notorious thugs, like Scarface Capone.
16. Easter Sunday in Eastern Europe
Easter Sunday in Eastern Europe
And Russian President Vladimir Putin,
An adult convert to the Eastern Orthodox faith,
Has made his confession and taken communion,
While the troops he commands
Continue their mission
For the utter destruction
Of Ukrainian cities and the Ukrainian nation.
Oh what did you say, Vladimir Putin,
What did you say when you listed your sins?
Do you believe that crimes against humans
Are not sins against God, so not worth confessing?
Or do you believe that God gives you license
For what’s done in a war?
And what did your priest say, Vladimir Putin,
Your father confessor?
Did he assign you some penance,
Perhaps ten Hail Mary’s and a slap on the wrist?
Or did he say what you wanted to hear,
That you’re a good boy, Vladimir,
And a great Russian hero, if not a saint?
You’re not going to hell but straight up to heaven,
Vladimir Satan!
Easter Sunday in Eastern Europe
And Russian President Vladimir Putin,
An adult convert to the Eastern Orthodox faith,
Has made his confession and taken communion,
While the troops he commands
Continue their mission
For the utter destruction
Of Ukrainian cities and the Ukrainian nation.
Oh what did you say, Vladimir Putin,
What did you say when you listed your sins?
Do you believe that crimes against humans
Are not sins against God, so not worth confessing?
Or do you believe that God gives you license
For what’s done in a war?
And what did your priest say, Vladimir Putin,
Your father confessor?
Did he assign you some penance,
Perhaps ten Hail Mary’s and a slap on the wrist?
Or did he say what you wanted to hear,
That you’re a good boy, Vladimir,
And a great Russian hero, if not a saint?
You’re not going to hell but straight up to heaven,
Vladimir Satan!
15. The Moskva
You were born in ‘eighty-two,
A steel-prowed warrior,
Armed and deadly,
The flag ship of your fleet,
Proudly knifing through
Narrow straits and outlets
To the open sea.
The Black Sea, the Azov and Baltic,
The Atlantic and Pacific
Were your play-grounds in youth,
Where you did no one harm,
And in turn you were
Never challenged, never bullied,
Never run aground.
But as you entered old age,
The Black Sea became
Your battle-ground,
A fatal slip!
Putin’s hubris
And Ukraine’s missiles
Have brought you,
And most of your crew,
Down with you.
Rust in peace
Old Russian ship!
You were born in ‘eighty-two,
A steel-prowed warrior,
Armed and deadly,
The flag ship of your fleet,
Proudly knifing through
Narrow straits and outlets
To the open sea.
The Black Sea, the Azov and Baltic,
The Atlantic and Pacific
Were your play-grounds in youth,
Where you did no one harm,
And in turn you were
Never challenged, never bullied,
Never run aground.
But as you entered old age,
The Black Sea became
Your battle-ground,
A fatal slip!
Putin’s hubris
And Ukraine’s missiles
Have brought you,
And most of your crew,
Down with you.
Rust in peace
Old Russian ship!
14. The Amazing Klitschkos
Who are the most famous brothers in history?
I might have said once it was the brothers
Abel and Cain, though it’s most likely
They never existed. Or rather
They were symbolical figures in a mythical tragedy,
A stark biblical warning against brotherly jealousy.
In the Bible as well are Moses and Aaron,
But one is a prophet chosen by God,
The other just a side-kick.
No equality there.
By contrast, the amazing Grimm brothers
Were soul-mates and partners
In all their endeavors.
The sweet, cruel folk tales they gathered,
Edited and published together
Bear witness to life-long adventures
Of joint search and discovery.
In the wild US west were brothers well known,
Jesse and Frank, ill-fortuned bank robbers,
But the younger one led, the older one followed.
Jesse was glamorous, his brother a side-kick.
Only Jesse amazed us – an outlaw and hero,
Shot in the back, while hanging a photo.
More recently still are the political Kennedys,
Admired, ill-fated, John, Robert and Teddy,
But each was unique and all died too soon.
Let’s now salute the most famous of brothers
Across the whole world, as respected as Moses,
As fierce as the Jameses, as grim as the Grimms
As revered as the Kennedys and cleaner by far:
The Amazing Klitschkos, equally stars,
Warriors of sport, idols of war,
Political icons and Ukrainian heroes,
World Champion boxers, Wlad and Vitali,
As equal in friendship as brothers can be,
Fought all contenders one after the other,
Went brother to brother only to spar,
Blood brothers in peace, blood brothers in war.
Vitali, the elder, is mayor of Kyiv, a sportsman
Turned soldier, his city’s defender,
He stands in his socks just six foot seven.
Wladimir, the younger, is his brother’s near twin,
One inch shorter, but equally smart, equally strong,
Equally capable of leading their people.
Together they form a front of resistance,
Using their fame and their physical presence,
Twin peaks of resilience in their nation’s defense.
Who are the most famous brothers in history?
I might have said once it was the brothers
Abel and Cain, though it’s most likely
They never existed. Or rather
They were symbolical figures in a mythical tragedy,
A stark biblical warning against brotherly jealousy.
In the Bible as well are Moses and Aaron,
But one is a prophet chosen by God,
The other just a side-kick.
No equality there.
By contrast, the amazing Grimm brothers
Were soul-mates and partners
In all their endeavors.
The sweet, cruel folk tales they gathered,
Edited and published together
Bear witness to life-long adventures
Of joint search and discovery.
In the wild US west were brothers well known,
Jesse and Frank, ill-fortuned bank robbers,
But the younger one led, the older one followed.
Jesse was glamorous, his brother a side-kick.
Only Jesse amazed us – an outlaw and hero,
Shot in the back, while hanging a photo.
More recently still are the political Kennedys,
Admired, ill-fated, John, Robert and Teddy,
But each was unique and all died too soon.
Let’s now salute the most famous of brothers
Across the whole world, as respected as Moses,
As fierce as the Jameses, as grim as the Grimms
As revered as the Kennedys and cleaner by far:
The Amazing Klitschkos, equally stars,
Warriors of sport, idols of war,
Political icons and Ukrainian heroes,
World Champion boxers, Wlad and Vitali,
As equal in friendship as brothers can be,
Fought all contenders one after the other,
Went brother to brother only to spar,
Blood brothers in peace, blood brothers in war.
Vitali, the elder, is mayor of Kyiv, a sportsman
Turned soldier, his city’s defender,
He stands in his socks just six foot seven.
Wladimir, the younger, is his brother’s near twin,
One inch shorter, but equally smart, equally strong,
Equally capable of leading their people.
Together they form a front of resistance,
Using their fame and their physical presence,
Twin peaks of resilience in their nation’s defense.
13. What We Know about Vladimir Putin
Age: Grown old without grace
Build: Like a middle-weight boxer, with short, stubby legs
Neck: Short and fat, like a stump
Head: The head sits glumly on the stump of a neck.
Face: Pale, hairless and wrinkled, like a very old baby
Eyes: Sky blue and cold
Ears: Flat to his head but listening always
Mouth: Thin lipped with a smile you don’t want to see
Arms: Short, with small hands and short grasping fingers
Reach: Exceeding his grasp
Brain: Like a rotting cork in a bad bottle of wine.
Don’t smell the cork. Don’t taste the wine.
12. General Dvornikov: Putin’s Man in Ukraine
Across the whole world are millions of butchers
Who take pride in their work,
Like all good tradesmen, artists, nurses or teachers.
Professionals in every sense of the word,
Meticulous, honest, decent and trained.
But General Dvornikov . . . recently named
Commander of Russian troops in Ukraine,
And famously known as “the Butcher of Syria” . . .
Is neither a butcher nor a soldier at all.
His calling is killing. He’s a killer that’s all.
1. See Darkness, Feel Love
See the darkness of war as it issues from Putin,
The coldness of conquest as it flows from his will,
The starkness of hate, the lack of what’s human,
The boldness to punish, demolish and kill.
See the madness of war as it issues from Putin.
Feel love rouse Russians to freedom at home,
See love raise the flag of Ukraine's independence,
Hear love stir the hearts of Slovaks and Poles,
Know love lift the minds of all Europeans.
Feel love rouse Russians to freedom at home.
See the darkness of war as it issues from Putin,
The coldness of conquest as it flows from his will,
The starkness of hate, the lack of what’s human,
The boldness to punish, demolish and kill.
See the madness of war as it issues from Putin.
Feel love rouse Russians to freedom at home,
See love raise the flag of Ukraine's independence,
Hear love stir the hearts of Slovaks and Poles,
Know love lift the minds of all Europeans.
Feel love rouse Russians to freedom at home.
