Somewhere or rather everywhere
     Out there in the cosmos,
The God of justice and harmony weeps
     for his fratricidal children
Playing another round of **** or be killed.

This time, delusional russian lunatics
    With mass homicide in their DNA
    Have decided to slaughter
Their brothers and sisters to the west.

People of russia, throw off theses assassins,
    Bring your soldiers home
    Along with their killing machines
And leave the Ukrainians alone.

sergei lavrov with face carved of limestone
knows no joy save in the mangled bodies of children
or a maternity hospital destroyed.

The russian ship of state has rammed its iceberg –
Known to the world as the Ukrainian heart.
lavrov can lie and lie and lie some more
telling the passengers it’s only a water feature
But like the Titanic, his ship is going down.

Don’t turn your back on a door, sergei,
They’re coming for you.
That limestone face of yours will erode
As cold rivers of truth
grind your lying stone into sand.

So minister lavrov, apostle of mass ******,
You are defendant No. 2 in the coming trial
The gavel will slam against the wood
And you will meet your justice.
Never turn your back on a door.

There was a knock on the door.
    A trio of uniformed men took off hats
And respectfully asked to come in.

The woman raised her hands to her face
    As her children appeared at her side.
Her tears knew exactly why they had come.

“It is our sad duty to report your husband
    Was killed by disobediant resisters
During our peace keeping efforts in Ukraine.

We can tell you that his service was not in vain.
     Before he died he was able to blow up
A maternity hospital and several trucks of
     Food and medical supplies
As well as dozens of other civilians.

We bring you this flag in his honor
     With apologies for the blood stains.
We can tell you for certain that none
     Of that blood belonged to your husband.”

The widow felt a tug at her skirt.
    “Mommy, where is daddy?”

The doors will fly open without warning.
     Strong arms will encircle the bald man
Whose stare is as cold as his heart.
     The chains that bind him
Will clang and echo across the world.

More sudden doors will bring arrests
     Of his minions in soul-less ******.
They will be pulled from their desks,
     Yanked out of their tanks and turrets
And led off to their cells in chains.

No soldier with blood-soaked hands
    Will escape the consequence of his evil.
Cells walls will be draped with the
    Images of human carnage and the
Sounds of their victims will scream in their ears.

Where will they find enough chains
     For putin, and all his gutless puppets?
The russian people will lend them theirs
     The press will surrender theirs
And turn on their cameras once more.

The criminals will walk to the stand -
     Silent and un-repentent in their chains.
All of russia will sit glued to their screens.
     As one by one the gavel falls on their shame.
And the judge intones the fates of justice.

Who will step forward to lower the curtain?
    Will generals wake up in the dead of night
With the wails of innocents in their ears?
     Will politicos vote in solemn silence
To rid their state of its festering cancer.

The just of the world don’t care how or who
     Just so long as it’s soon!
Show us, don’t tell, Just so long as it’s soon!

A russian soldier wrote his American friend
    "This is not as they told us:
trainees don’t shoot kids and mothers."

Days later the American learned of his death.
    He had died for nothing – absolutely nothing!
And was sent to **** for even less.

Mother russia needs a new face at its zenith
    The current one's soaked in his victims' blood.
russia, wash away the stains - they are yours!
     Wash away the stains. putin must go!

“Daddy, why do you have to go?”
    “Duty calls Olga, I must.”
“Don’t hurt any little children, Daddy”
     “I will only do my duty, little one.”

“Daddy, you’re pointing your gun at a little girl.
     She’s just like me; Daddy don’t shoot.”
“I must do my duty, my child.?

“She IS me, Daddy, you shot me.”
     “I’m bleeding Daddy, how could you do it?”
“I’m dying, Daddy, how…could … you...”?

It happened in a flash.
winding down a Rocky Mountain road,
a trio of travelers,
basking in snow-draped vistas
pulled off for a photo or two.

Their tires locked into a snow bank
and after a few futile wheel spins,
the undeniable truth sank in;
they were stuck!

In moments, the slamming of car doors
echoed across the valley,
an ad hoc community of a dozen Neighbors
formed, converged and began to dig.

After a half hour of elbow grease
amid vapor clouded exhalations
and cries of,
      “straighten the wheel,”
      “slow on the gas” and
      “let’s push together now”
the car eased onto the center of the road.

No one called "meeting adjourned"
but as quickly as it formed,
our ad hoc community
dissolved into the greater band
of good folks working together
for our mutual benefit.

E pluribus unum!