Author: Leo Yankevich

136 words

Its weathercock covered with fresh snow,
the barn is dreamy on the hill.
Out of the woods, and lying low,
crawl green men, in . . . in for the kill.

(more…)

167 words

On 27 January 1945 the Red Army had just been defeated in an armor engagement with the 20th Panzer Division, which was retreating to escape encirclement, slightly south of Gleiwitz in Upper Silesia. Two villages were punished for the defeat: Preiswitz, populated by Poles, and neighboring Schönwald, populated by Germans. In total, 200 innocent civilians were murdered in cold blood.  (more…)

Peter Paul Rubens, Two Satyrs, 1618-1619

1,430 words

Joseph S. Salemi was born in New York City in 1948 and grew up in Woodside, Queens. His grandfather, Rosario Previti, was a renowned Sicilian journalist, poet, and translator who rendered Edward FitzGerald’s version of the Rubaiyat into Italian, and who served as the American correspondent for the newspaper Don Giovanni in Messina, for which he wrote a popular series of satiric columns on the lifestyles and habits of Americans.

(more…)

108 words

For fifteen days a caterpillar feeds
on sorrel, selfheal, ragwort, mint, or privet.
If a wasp mounts it and injects its larvae,
they’ll prosper on its blood, and then gnaw through

its epidermis, fragile in the weeds.
The woolly bear will suffer trauma, outlive it,
protect the wasp cocoons, and then starve three
weeks, though surrounded by lush leaves and dew.  (more…)

121 words

English original here

Ich blicke herab, sehe es gibt da eine neue Bank,
wo die Schultheiss Bierstube war,
in jenem Sommer 1934.
Es war ein Ort, wo Deutsche
ihr Märzen, Pilsener und Kölsch tranken. Das Sirren
von Sägen in ihren Ohren, den Blick
(more…)

123 words

German translation here

I look down, see there’s a new bank
where the Schultheiss Bierstube was
the summer of 1934.
It was a place where Germans drank
their märzen, pilsner, kölsch. The buzz
of saws in their ears, they would look
(more…)

52 words

We stand and watch, faith almost wavering,
hunger looking out of childish eyes,
daddy so tall, holding the frightened thing,
head on the block just as the hatchet flies,
falling . . . fallen by the empty pen,
taking the longest count, as red wings rise,
free at last, and we are saved again.

50 words

Smoke in the alley of her love,
rank smouldering rags inside a barrel,
as swarthy Syrians push and shove,
like Moors of old, determined, feral .

They’ll raise the crescent, kill the dove,
till “Allah Akbar” drowns our carol.
Our children will learn soon enough,
in Europe, foolish, vain and sterile.

October 18, 2015

136 words

When you kneel down to feed the poor
they’ve got to have your mother’s eyes,
your father’s chin. Spurn, curse the Moor.

Muhammad scornful to the core
dreams of a Euro Paradise
when you kneel down to feed the poor.

Stupidity is not a cure.
Look at the anger in their eyes,
hate in their mouths. Spurn, curse the Moor.  (more…)

55 words

Ten thousand cuckolds in Iceland
invite ISIS into their beds.
Merkel lifts her heavy hand,
lecturing on conscience, weds
it with betrayal, giving a shove
to Deutschland’s honest working poor,
demanding, in the name of love,
that Poland and Hungary take more.
(more…)

73 words

Do not shed tears for the drowned boys
like flotsam on the Turkish shores.
Free from their fathers’ stupidity,
their wings bear the Trojan horse
to the ruins of antiquity
and to the altruistic Norse.

Weep rather for the fair-haired boys
and for the blue and green-eyed girls,
(more…)

57 words

A cuckservative wooed the vote of Diego,
and married a dwarf from south of Laredo.
The Koch brothers offered him a lump,
and then along came Donald Trump
to put an end to Pinko correctness.
Careless with words? The effect was:
the return of our beloved free speech,
(more…)

76 words

Gay Pride is raised, and Dixie’s down.
The Kenyan king inside his House
has it lit to reflect his crown.
Ms. Jenner’s teats swell in her blouse.

(more…)