Category Archives: COLLABORATIONS

Knight Errant ~ The one ‘Knight’s tour problem’ collaboration

I’m lucky. Really, guys, I’m lucky!

Can you boast of two collaborations with Tony Single without a break? I can! Collaborating with Tony is a great joy. An exceptional joy.

Because Tony is exceptional.  Artist. Wastrel. A quantum of potential. Aha!
A fucking ideal. I can’t even believe that he’s real! Hey, Tony! Are you real?

Thank you, Tony… and let us go to the next collaboration? Please, please!

crossed-swords_p

Lanterns shine too bright
and water drops too loud.
I’m a lonely knight
standing opposite the crowd.

Lances jut too pointy
at queens too busy quilting.
Quintains feel too jaunty
for serious windmill tilting.

The firmament gets bleak.
Clouds weave the decoy node.
Pinnacled rooks beak
apples on the patchwork road.

Full import and all portent,
or is this mere priestly babble?
Preaching safe from beside the war tent,
in unholy war they dabble.

A phthisical bishop spits blood
into cream roadside manure.
The left quintain falls with a thud
losing its air-headed allure.

The right quintain sprouts lambent wings
and a halo for a hero’s journey.
It can have my heart as I’ve no wish to depart,
to forswear my stratagems twisty turny.

But it’s zugzwang, and I’m too tired to prate.
God save my Queen! I U-turn at one fling,
and make public a smothered selfmate
for my despicable sterile King.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2015

Hocus-Pocus Lotus Locos 2: Petrarchan Sonnets PART 1 ~ The ‘Down The Rabbit Hole’ collaboration

< < < Back to seeds and roots

< < < Previous Scabrousness

Next Scabrousness > > >

Italian-adopted Princess of Florence,
Petra the Opera Prima Donna Slavic,
a feline-fearing alluring Ailurophobic
soon passed Cheshire’s abhorrence,
and with whims of a fetish sixth-sense
for hatted men, wished to fish and fix
the Tomcat from the well, blowing dick
of the puss in boots deep in sixpence.

When she tilted her face down the well at sunrise,
dawn’s disc lit her ash-blonde hair up, like a halo
and the feathered musketeer-hat man, surprised,
felt aggrandized by the Angel, whose cheeks glowed
at the fallen Seraph as well, who though circumcised,
obviously had personal demons he needed to let go.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & RY HAKARI
© All rights reserved 2015

Hocus-Pocus Lotus Locos ~ The one inappropriately funny collaboration

Next Scabrousness > > >

Within the English Province of Cheshire,
Sacred Lotus flourishes along the mire.
Beneath the Cattails, up Lotus’ holed lace
a little boy once tilted his curious face….

Sometimes the Sacred Loti makes scared boys
unable to count to ten, wind-blown, maladroit.

For Bastion though, close only counted in horseshoes
(and hand grenades, which made him afraid), whose
fear of holes and need for control, was never dulled
no matter how many blanks he filled… not until grown.

Sometimes Noblemen are bequeathed ignoble fortunes,
if the Bastard’s slung arrows of outrageous abhorrence…

Such was the illicit got lot, of the Noble Bastard Bastion of Cheshire
in scorning horned redhead Romani’s fiery desires, who after awhile
with amourette brunettes, dark-haired donnas who Amaretto-binged
(after they spilt their guts, just for him to jilt their milk when he split),
hell-raised a harem’s unquenchable revenge against him ’til the poor
Cheshire sour-puss’s head curiously dropped down dead… premature.

Pissed off bombshells led by a hush-hush Slavic blonde mistress
fueled by rage and Vodka to the cooch-tease with the coin fetish,
with a candlestick, snatched his Lota lamp bank; Rubbing limp dick
to the nymphets who wished to get laid, Bastion could only get lit
putting coins in puss-purses, infuriating the reverse gang-rapists
smashing the flaccid shell of the nervous turtle lacking firmness!

Left shortly with a healing chode, he slowly hit the road, not heeling
those daughters of Achilles, who couldn’t snatch the snapper weenie.
No longer playing pipe, Full Monty python no longer dancing pantless,
in quicksand sinking, bit the harem heels crushing his head, heedless.

Sometimes escaping out the frying pan, just means landing in fire.
Sprung free, he quickly jumped down a well he wished to fill higher!

Within and throughout the English Province of Cheshire,
Sacred Lotus flourishes along the mired, long admired
Sixpence desires, which more than once made a dent
with heads and tails in the Tomcat’s smile, at last rent.

Sometimes the wide abyss of heaven’s holey gate opens,
to rain misfortune thick upon Bastards with slot tokens!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & RY HAKARI
© All rights reserved 2015

On Noon No ~ The ‘Well… what does it all mean?’ collaboration

Dammit, I’m mad!

And there are really many reasons to be mad about Tony…

…the first one is Crumble Cult.
…the second one is ONCE MORE, WITH FOREBODING.

The third… The fourth… The hell with it! I don’t need so many! There is only a single reason for me… It’s Tony Single!

Thank you, Tony…

Вензель

Our end began with weaponised words,
bashing the chest like a thousand rolling-pins
on sourdough heart and bone.

Of course, you had a dim foreboding.
Crunch of parchment. Red saffron underfoot.
A marble chopping stone.

I plated myself up for disappointment.
A corrugated brow. Cold hearth and home.
You meant for me to die alone!

You always were flippant and presumptuous.
You estimated our life by eye
and borrowed a swollen loan.

Arugula words were all I tasted from you.
You were east of the sun then west of the moon.
I hardly knew where to point the bone.

Blah… The next pathetic maggot holds forth on stars…
You fought for that last stool on the cheap row
and lost a stage with the vacant throne!

Fine then. I know when I’m royally licked.
Someone gets me a psychotherapist.
Vagina dentata! My ardour has blown!

Lick-time is over. My Symplegades clash.
The dry pillar of Pompey engorges.
The end begins… and ends. Bring a blank die-stone!

Вензель_нижний

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2015

What am I feeling? ~ The one transcendental collaboration

Something happens somewhere. Between heart beats, between pulse throbs… something happens between you and me. I inhale. 

Suddenly serendipity
haven’t yet had
morning coffee
and already fingers
freely streaming
my sleepy feeling
can’t dissuade

What am I feeling? 

A fragile lotus
arouses from
the innermost recesses
of me

Its petals glimmer
They spire through sleepy slough
My core breaks
into bloom

What am I feeling?

I’m endlessly grateful to Spahr Plops, an amazing poet and my great friend, for this collaboration. It was really transcendental experience. It was insight. It was a breath-holding poem. I exhale…

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & SPAHR PLOPS
© All rights reserved 2014