Cossack Romanticism

Due to the ceaseless requests of my three fans to resume posting, and my procrastination in the face of graduate school applications, I now present a poem, which I composed in Sapphic meter. I had read nothing but novels about Cossacks and Cowboys in the months leading up to this, and they clearly tainted the color of my ink. Enjoy.

Grisha, brother, where is your horse? Upon warm-

Browed and snorting marvels you flashed like lightning.

Now, in place of steeds a machine with cold black

Oil in its steel veins.

Shod in rubber, clothed in exhaust, the sparks of

Life are just sparks. Clockwork alone feigns God’s great

Gift. My friend! Leave it by the wayside! Now, take

Back what has long passed!

Flesh and blood and glistening mane on four strong

Legs you drive. The damp earth is upturned by pared hooves.

Charging home, a whisper, a dream inscribes your

Soul with its birth-right.

Olympic "Sports"

I have long maintained that some sports just don't belong in the Olympics. Namely, any sport that requires a panel of judges that awards points based on style or artistry or anything else of that nature. I feel like it's a slippery slope. After all, almost any activity can be assessed by a panel of expert judges. Reality television has taught us nothing if not that. What's next? Ballroom dancing? Cake decorating? Hedge trimming?

I will be the first one to say that pretty much all of the sports currently in the Olympics, whose scoring is completely arbitrary, demand an incredible amount of skill and athleticism. But when it really comes down to it, there's no room for sequins in international athletic competition.