limericks

The Russians explained it so well,
How their bombs that hit Belgorod fell -
‘The abnormal descent
Of munitions unspent’ -
Has it happened in Moscow as well?

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A tiny, unprovenanced flare
Over Moscow; hysterics to spare.
But the odious gremlin
Was not in the Kremlin,
They say: he was hiding elsewhere.

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Ruscist Putin adores to deceive
Lowly Russians, who live by his leave:
Kyivan Rus’ - no discussian
Could label it Russian;
The truth’s in the name, and it’s Kyiv.

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A zindan’s a hole with a grate,
Where the Russians keep soldiers of late,
Their genius and flair
Changing fear and despair
To morale, but it doesn’t translate.

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Another young woman is dead.
Her three-year old daughter is dead.
They’re dead to delight
All the hatred and spite
In a sad little narcissist’s head.

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In Russia, a telephoned moan
To a friend is okay, when alone …
‘Got you! Caught in the act!
It’s a broadcast, in fact,
Cause the State listens in on your phone.’

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In the gulag he’s ruled by oppression,
Putin sinks into fear and depression,
Isolated, alone,
On his paranoid throne,
For his rivals are always in session.

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A correction, updating the score:
Six children were murdered, not four,
In Uman, as they slept;
Now the coward has crept
To his bed in the Kremlin once more.

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Someone take it away by the scruff,
Cause it thinks killing children is tough;
Oh, how many of those,
Until everyone knows
That enough is enough is enough?

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Putin’s prison, in spite of his orders,
Still struggles to widen its borders;
Since arming the gaoled
Appears to have failed,
Perhaps he’ll try drafting the warders.

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How bravely they froth and they foam,
The Russian elite, when they roam;
See news from the desk of
Young Nikolai Peskov,
Who served while he partied at home.

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Ukraine blah blah the West - let him bleat.
It’s the people he’ll never defeat;
They’ll adapt, they’ll invent,
Innovate and pre-empt,
Till the Russians go home in defeat.

🇺🇦 #Ukraine

The Russians’ attempts to be great
Find them paused in a troubling state;
No success in attack,
So their cleverer hack
Is to go dig a hole and just wait.

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Politicians grow weak with their heady
Illusions of peace, and unsteady;
Their glib panacea,
Give Russia Crimea …
Is Bucha forgotten already?

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To hell with the wavering cluster
Of leaders who quake at the bluster
Of one little scrote
Killing kids by remote,
Which is all the success he can muster.

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Four children in Uman are slaughtered.
Still counting. And Russia reported
A strike with precision.
I long for the vision
When Putin is hanged, drawn and quartered.

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It’s a cowardly kind of disease,
Letting tyrants behave as they please;
Escalation’s a fear
That we constantly hear,
But the word we observe is ‘appease’.

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In the gulag he’s ruled by oppression,
Putin sinks into fear and depression;
Isolated, alone,
On his paranoid throne,
With the courts of his rivals in session.

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In Russia you’re free to be free,
If you’re not against bending the knee,
Or denouncing a friend,
And you’re able to bend
Your reality, watching TV.

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Poor Putin - now don’t be a scorner -
He’s painted himself in a corner,
And the blood is still damp;
Sure, let’s give him a ramp …
To the fires of hell for a sauna.

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As a satellite falls from the sky,
So the sociopath from on high;
His contemptible flight
Is a flash in the night,
So to Vladimir Putin, goodbye.

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Oops! Another stray bomb on the ground
In Belgorod, lying around;
Unnoticed for hours,
In bed with the flowers
Like Russia, not making a sound.

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Russia’s army’s diminished again,
So it’s calling on men to be men,
Which in Russia means earning
Through torture and burning
And looting and dying. Amen.

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Puny Putin must always conflate
Catherine, Peter and Vova the Great;
So he follows his star
To a land bridge too far,
And another blown up in the strait.

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A plane has a bomb and it drops it,
In Belgorod! Nobody stops it!
A bombing campaign
Is okay in Ukraine,
But the shock when it’s Russia that cops it!

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