Putin poem

Putin you seem rattled, Putin you seem mad
Do you feel this gig has, on reflection, turned out bad?
Putin did you bite off, more than you could chew
When you thought “I want that country; think I’ll have it too”.

Had a big backyard already, should have made you proud
Spoke of it in glowing terms, in speeches long and loud
When you hatched your mayhem, with your cronies few
Did it cross your mind Ukraine might be a proud place too?

When you thought “not big enough, I need a bit more land”
Did you for a moment think, things might get out of hand?
When you sent your tanks to put a country on the wrack
Did you think, that country might just want its country back?

Mister Putin, though you huff and puff and stare and pout
Mister Putin I’m not sure you’ve got this thing worked out
But before you hit the buffers, and you lose the plot
Stop and think, “you know what, I’ve already got a lot.”

Come on Mister Putin, it’s time to cut your losses
Face it Mister Putin, you’ve not been the best of bosses
We’ll all feel much happier, if you stop seeing red
That would help us all sleep much more peaceful in our beds.

Image by Дмитрий Осипенко from Pixabay

Platinum Putin – a poem

I have some mad ideas, if this is one, then tell me, stop:
What if Mr Putin and Her Maj just did a swap?
The Kremlin could arrange for HM Queen some toast and tea
No better boost for Poot’s ego than Platinum Jubilee.

There’d be far less destruction, less waste and damage done
If Poots had been contented with a flypast (way more fun)
Surely brings more pleasure, less dismay than threat of nukes
To have a neat formation of some Spitfires and Chinooks.

Just think, the commentariat, instead of endless fawning
Would just be glad that they had lived to see another morning
No braying about duty, service, ‘ne’er puts wrong a foot’
Just celebrating that the world had not yet gone kaput.

Ukrainians would benefit, to have at Kremlin tiller
One who favours selfless service, over being a killer
Reckon they would celebrate and cheer and scream and clap
A Kremlin head who wasn’t out to wipe them from the map.

For the Russians, it would surely be a welcome break
From wondering, ’Is our leader mad?’ – to have some tea and cake
A chance perhaps to soften, the world’s collective frown
And take a cue from Lizzie, with her cheeky smile and crown.

Putin’s fluffy cat (a poem)

Whatever could have happened, to Putin’s fluffy cat?
You know the kind, that in a Bond film villain’s lap is sat
That’s white and slightly sinister, which you’d imagine that
If re-embodied human, would wear a posh cravat.

Did it find while lolling there, hand running through its fur
That with the plans of Vladimir, it could no way concur
Did it feel, on white cats everywhere they’d be a slur
Which could some consequences, far from cat-friendly, incur?

In its ice-cool moggy heart, and in its brain feline
Did it sense this Kremlin kid was badly out of line
For a nicer Bond-ish villain did our friend now pine
In point of fact, did Putin’s fluffy cat just flat resign?