Author Archives: Tetiana Aleksina

no more may days

her eyes had become shallow
men were drowning in them before
now they merely slosh through
and don’t even take off their shoes

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2021

are you worse than everyone else?

metropolises are so fucking prepared
for loneliness
every park and every embankment
every wet bench up an empty avenue
these are for your disposal

you are worse than others if
they choose them rather than you but
what about if
they do choose loneliness rather than you?
are you worse than everyone else?

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2021

still

poetry is cold and empty like outer space
like voracious cronus who devours his own sons
no matter how many verses you’ve thrown to the gorge
it burps out, calling for more

poetry is cold and empty like outer space
there are always moons where no foot may tread
no matter how loud you’ve shouted to the craters
it echoes out, calling for more

poetry is cold and empty like outer space
stellar wind drives tumbleweeds through the milky way
no matter how far you’ve overstepped the bounds
it erases out, calling for more

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2021

cossack mamay st. (december 4)

fallen leaves covered in hoarfrost
a puddle wrinkles like a face about to burst into tears
a kfc cup getting cold in my chilly hands
i sigh… passing by a small locked down pub
they made the best latte in our neighbourhood

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2020

saoirse

at the beginning of time there was a girl
in a melamine bowl
she had no family, no friends
and was on the dole
she was sat there in a corn flake swirl
a milky, sugared doll
her belongings were mere odds and ends
oh, what a poor little soul!

her name was saoirse
though people hardly remembered
yearning between dearth and plenty
buried under stone in the garden of rasure

at noonday’s predoom was a woman cold
in a gumball machine
for the merriment of boozers
in a stinky shebeen
she would shiver nude and candy bold
a pert and tart cuisine
a laughing stock even for losers
oh, buy her a tall glass of poteen!

her name was saoirse
though people hardly remembered
yearning between dearth and plenty
buried under stone in the garden of rasure

at the end of all things there was a crone
in a bottle discarded
fighting her battles all over again
in weakness, unguarded
she inhaled a black wind through her bones
and all she’d once regarded
her last sigh was for the land of cockaigne
where life is ample tabled and lardered

her name was saoirse
though people hardly remembered
yearning between dearth and plenty
buried under stone in the garden of rasure

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020