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Vladimir Tumanov Poem
To be truly and deeply Confucian,
we don’t need a refined constitution.
Just obey mom and dad.
Choose the good — not the bad.
Serve the Emperor, S/shun revolution.
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2019
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Vladimir Tumanov Poem
In Greece there once lived a great seer
named Tiresias. He had no peer
who could see quite as deep
while awake or a sleep.
So he purchased junk bonds every year.
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2019
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Vladimir Tumanov Poem
Is life meaningless or full of sense?
Can we tell? Or perhaps we're too dense.
But I'd rather not know.
It's a good status quo.
I prefer existential suspense.
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2020
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Vladimir Tumanov Poem
The loudest composer, ’tis clear,
was Beethoven - man of the year.
The Germans are proud
of music that’s loud
because Ludwig van couldn’t hear.
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2019
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Vladimir Tumanov Poem
Be we stupid or stunningly clever,
be we saintly or bad or whatever,
when admitting we’re wrong,
we will sing the same song.
Its refrain: “I was wrong, yes... however..."
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2020
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Vladimir Tumanov Poem
Cont'd from Minotaur: Part I
When Theseus arrived in Crete,
he met a lovely maid.
She knew what death awaited him
and hurried to his aid.
She slipped a spool of silky thread
into his hands and said:
"Use this to leave the maze, my friend."
And then the maiden fled.
When Theseus was in the maze,
he did not hesitate.
With every step he rolled his spool,
prepared to face his fate.
He knew this was the easy part:
the worst was yet to come.
And suddenly he heard a snort
which would have made you numb.
He hid behind a rock and saw
the Minotaur come near.
Then Theseus jumped on its back
forgetting all his fear.
He closed his eyes, while hanging on,
and let the monster dash
through every path until it fell
with an enormous crash.
The angry Minotaur got up
and rumbled on again,
but it could not shake Theseus:
it tried, but all in vain.
It stumbled and collapsed for good:
this had been quite a ride.
Exhausted by the grueling race,
the monster heaved and died.
Then Theseus got off its back:
he held the maiden's thread.
The spool was almost threadless now,
and so he marched ahead.
He rolled the thread back on the spool
and followed where it lay.
It was not long before he spied
the blinding light of day.
When Minos saw bold Theseus
emerge without a scratch,
he said: "In all the land of Greece,
I know, you have no match.
Because you've overcome the odds
and have preserved your life,
I want to give you, if you wish,
my daughter for a wife."
But Theseus replied: "Oh, king,
the only wife for me
can be the one who saved my life:
the maid who set me free."
King Minos answered: "You're in luck:
my daughter is that maid.
You've won her heart; please take her home,
and Athens' debt is paid.
And then the maid herself came out.
"We meet again," she said.
"I'm Ariadne, your new bride."
And so the two were wed.
The time has come to end the tale
of how a vengeful king
was overcome by love, a spool
and Ariadne's string.
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2019
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Vladimir Tumanov Poem
There was a king in ancient Greece,
and Minos was his name.
His kingdom was an island — Crete.
Enormous was his fame.
In Athens ruled another king
he too — a mighty one.
And once he was the gracious host
of Minos' only son.
The lad was sent by Athens' king
to hunt a boar so wild
that with its deadly tusks it gored
king Minos' hapless child.
For such mistreatment of a guest
and to avenge his son
King Minos' army went to war
which soon the Cretans won.
To punish Athens and its king
the angry Minos said
that Athens would not be destroyed
if it would pay instead.
The payment that he had in mind
would make your heart stand still.
He wanted neither jewels nor gold:
of that he'd had his fill.
He said that every single year
they'd have to send to Crete
a youth from Athens, like his son,
the Minotaur to meet.
Who was the Minotaur, you ask?
He was a monstrous beast —
half-bull half-man. On human flesh
the Minotaur would feast.
King Minos kept the Minotaur
in an enormous maze
with many paths and dank dead ends:
you'd wander there for days.
But no one ever found the way
out of this horrid place
because the Minotaur was bound
to meet you face-to-face.
The youth that Athens picked to die
was a courageous lad.
His name was Theseus the bold,
and all his friends were sad.
He said: "I'll go and face the beast:
who knows, I might survive.
I've got to use my wits, and then
I will come back alive."
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2019
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Vladimir Tumanov Poem
Did you know? Did you see? Did you hear?
Did you think? Did you hope? Did you sneer?
For today is the day
that Bluebeard goes away!
Bid adieu to his mountainous rear!
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2021
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Vladimir Tumanov Poem
Human beings are natural mystics.
And irrational characteristics
often lead us astray,
keeping logic at bay.
Satan tempts us with facts and statistics.
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2020
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Vladimir Tumanov Poem
Our stone-age brains are single-minded:
we seek to hurl our genes into the future.
Display your fitness, man, and ride the wave
of giddy, girly admiration!
The muscles, music, mines and millions — aimed to convince
and often to mislead.
The queen stays red and reads the manly strutting
between the lines — life’s race is to the death.
The Botox, high-heeled shoes, the lipstick — all are silly ruses
transparenter than glass or water's surface.
And yet we fall for every one and fly likes insects
towards a warmth that fries us to a crisp.
“But no!” we whine. “We hold our own and matter.
We are postmodern, Marxist and in charge.
We’re self-created, made of human language.
Are we a bunch of dogs or are we gods?
Shake off the chains of jealousy and anger!
Drink Maggie’s mead! Eat not of Darwin’s specious yeast.
Blank is the slate on which we brand our likeness.
We conquer Chaos; we are in Control.”
And yet… the lipstick, the mascara
cling to her face with insolence and glee.
And yet… he spins a peacock’s tale resplendent
which costs so much and only slows him down.
I know this all too well for freedom’s smugness.
My strings are yanked, my head is turned.
I’m kin-selected and expended.
I’m my own man? Hell no! I own me not.
But still, I need you, my beloved robot,
to join me on the searing savannah.
The task at hand is monumental —
to swallow truth without a hint of choking.
Love is not gone, it’s just a grunt within us.
It’s in the patient tools of stone and fire pits.
And if we stick together, if we huddle,
the horrors of the night will fade away.
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2019
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