Author Archives: Tetiana Aleksina

GUEST POST // Aponi (for Tetiana “Tati” Aleksina) by Gregory Waits, Jr.

It’s so immodest, isn’t it? Sorry, guys… I couldn’t help it.
It’s too beautiful to be hidden. Thank you, Greg… Ayor anosh’ni ❤
(Yes… Aponi… Now you know one of my nicknames.)

1.rainbow-butterfly-md

a thin branch full of leaves sanguine.
there’s a breeze. take flight
to do a fluttering
dance among the flowers
for the sun and random eyes.

2.

joy
is a hibernating bear
rising from dormancy
with a hungry smile
for a metamorphosis.

3.rainbow-butterfly-md1

imagination’s
a caterpillar
crawling
along borders,
across lakes, oceans
where we meet,
inspiring and merging
creative words,
sounds
and images.

4.rainbow-butterfly-md

have you been
to the parties
in Mexico, Zaire,
New Zealand
and Central Asia
to Native America
where the Hopi’s
and
Navajo’s
were dancing for you
as single girls
don
hairstyles
in your image
for suitors?

5.rainbow-butterfly-md1

nature
carved your wings of awe,
with your mind and heart
splashing them
with colors of delight:
lime and orange
with specks
of black and rouge,
an exquisite
sight to see.
small.
delicate.rainbow-butterfly-md
but a bit stronger
than first glances
assumed.

6.

so go on
fly on
let those wings
sing
a mid-summer song.

7.rainbow-butterfly-md1

go on fly on
i swear
there’s some drab places
in need
of your presence.

by GREGORY WAITS JR.
© All rights reserved 2015

Blame it on the Rainbow

You’re out for
a walk every day
buttoned from
throat to knees
the hood pulled over your head
Man-in-Heavy-Sheath

You’re untouched
by the Sun and rains
You’re sheltered
You’re secure
Nothing can hurt your soft pith
Man-in-Heavy-Sheath

But one day
one beautiful day
a strange rain
flecked your coat
You didn’t care, you were careless
Man-in-Heavy-Sheath

You got home
You hung your wet coat
on a hook
and you missed
shimmering rainbow spatters
on your heavy sheath

Next morning
you put on your coat
buttoned from
throat to knees
and went out into the street
Man-in-Heavy-Sheath

A few steps…
and… what the devil?
You felt how
the Sun heats
your back… Something strange happened
with your heavy sheath

You’re so scared
You run to your home
You should clean
You should wash
You can’t let the Sun disturb
your soft pith again

You can’t sleep
You have a nightmare
how you walk
stark naked
and the most horrible thing
that you feel happy

Next morning
you put on your coat
buttoned from
throat to knees
Oh, poor Man-in-Heavy-Sheath…
can’t you believe? Still?

Day-by-day
you pace the small room
Night-by-night
you don’t sleep
You must forget this feeling
You must recall it

You’re drained by
fright and exhaustion
You’re ready
to end this
You run through an open door
like a suicide

You come round
naked on the road
You feel how
the Sun strokes…
and the most horrible thing…
Hey! Say it out loud!

…I sit here
happy and guilty
Should I say
“I’m sorry”
for spattering you with love,
Man-lost-Heavy-Sheath?

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

Saudade ~ The one terminally ill collaboration

unbolt…
I dream of you and wake up with a jolt…
My body gleams over two hundred volts…
And though I pray each lonely night for not to soil it…
It means I’ve used my electric blanket as a toilet…

unbolt says:
Oh… a poor dirty blanket… Does it mean that I’m your worst nightmare?

raycabiro says:
Ohh, it’s just unfortunate that your name rhymes with volt so I had no choice but to make it about weeing on an electric blanket… Maybe next time I could think of something a bit more savoury, maybe about a colt that moults.

WOW! Such a lovely tribute for a girl… Weeing on an electric blanket and mangy colts. I can bet you’re full of envy now, aren’t you? Yes, guys, I had no choice. Our collaboration was inevitable – like an annual moult. Thank you, Ramon! I adore you… You’re completely awesome!

Oh… last but not least! My special thanks to ARTISH for giving me permission to use her drawings. Thank you very much, Tish!

She always sits alone at the corner table
And smokes cheap cigarettes with a yellow label
She clicks idly on an email attachment
That tells a short story of a sexual harassment
The stale smoke lingers with a sense of unease
The same sense she’s got of her venereal disease

She’s the last vestal of this perverted Parthenon
She scrolls her friend list… the damned deceitful pantheon
Each face hides a secret of a sordid infection
The virus that’s inside her is the germ of affection
The memories all linger but her future self fades
She never even loved him, now she’s probably got AIDS

She’s just a Petri dish with a collection of human filth
Her verminous spongy womb is like the land is in good tilth
She’s riddled with the maladies that murder and smother
Her only hope was that the viruses would kill one another
But the one thing they left out from her medical flow chart
Was the worst disease of all, how he was breaking her heart

A screensaver fades… a carefree laughing girl at a tender age…
She stubs out a cigarette and goes slowly to the tiny stage
Each face in the crowd tells a story of shame
Where once they burned her records now they’re singing her name
Her introduction music starts to vibrate the stylus
And with their love in her heart, she’ll beat this sex virus

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & RAYCABIRO
© All rights reserved 2015

GUEST POST // Lullaby by Gregory Waits, Jr.

jag_lullaby_med

“Lullaby” by Jaguarwoman

inside a maze
the insomniacs play
for just an hour more, no more
just an hour, no more.
stealing night gazes
peeling songs from leaves
for just an hour, no more
just an hour, no more.
a twinkling star of love,
kisses and hugs, “shoo-be-doo-be-love
za-zibby-dwiggy-ba-da-doo-be-alright
so they could feel the calm in the air of night
close your eyes, no need to fight, yes
embrace this cool nighty-night and
you can always call me
when you can’t sleep at night.”

by GREGORY WAITS JR.
© All rights reserved 2015

GUEST POST // Tessellate by Obsidian Visionary

Change your very being to blend in
Not be colorful while the rest have pale skin
Ignore the crow’s calling to sleep with doves
Maybe then you will find true love.

Love of being accepted into to the idea of Propriety,
Bearing the dark mark of a disheveled society
Vanish into the constant pattern of in-numerous nobody’s
Trapped in the array, mind fervently fuzzy.

Cut the sides, smooth the edges
To fit right in, resignation you must pledge.
The fear of being an outcast far too great
Sink into the mould as triangles tessellate.

Is this the wondrous utopia you had dreamt ?
An atrocious life where you are unnaturally bent.
Maybe you were never meant to fit the “mould”
But instead to be your true motley of silver and gold.

by OBSIDIAN VISIONARY
© All rights reserved 2015