Category Archives: POEMS

Oops!… We Did It Again (P.S. I Love You)

Erm… hullo there. (This is rather awkward…)

Dear Reader, the stuff that was originally posted here has been removed.

We have done this because said stuff has since been included in one of our published books. We hope you’ll believe us when we say we’re not trying to be stingy. No, this has been done to honour the people who have already spent their hard-earned money on our eBook creations.*

If, however, for some reason you’re unable to buy one of our books, and feel you’ll die without seeing this piece of writing, then please contact us via admin@unbolt.me. We won’t allow our Dear Readers to fade away in the dark. We’ll send you the piece in question, and it will be absolutely free. All you need do is ask.

* Of course, we would be like two happy puppies if you too decided to buy one of our books.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2015-2018

Dry-clean Only

Let’s see… it’s your soul.
It was delivered to you
at birth as a gift.
What? Why are you so surprised?
The usual birthday gift.

Has your grandmother
ever presented to you…
let us say… mittens?
All grandmothers love to knit
cute motley mittens, I know.

You got your present.
You adore your new mittens
(and your grandmother)
and treat them grandmotherly.
(Oh, what a great word I found!)

You wear them with care.
You scold yourself for foul spots.
You wash and sew up,
any stain and any hole…
Do you remember that day?

You think, ‘Tomorrow!’
You say, ‘It’s a seamy side…’
Fading in the wash,
shrinking, getting out of shape…
Small stuff. The mittens! Big deal!

Where are your mittens?
Now it’s a dirty duster.
It doesn’t fit even
for the second-hand strip mall,
not to speak of paradise…

Quite right, paradise!
What? Why are you so surprised?
You forgot, buddy!
I tell you about your soul.
These mittens are just a trope.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

GUEST POST // I Am Not… But I Wonder by Jonathan Noble

I’m not a shopper, hopper, nor a pill-popper;
I’m not a preacher, teacher, not a people-leecher;
I’m not a vendor, lender, nor a mind-bender;
I’m not a thug, slug, not an assassin-bug;
But I wonder who I am, and how many are,
∼∼∼∼∼∼∼ as I reach for my own bright star.

I’m not a socialist, idealist, no party fist;
I’m not a protestor, warmonger, not a go-getter;
I’m not a street bum, bibber of rum, lord of a slum;
I’m not a hater, traitor, nor a game-baiter;
But I wonder who I am, and how many are,
∼∼∼∼∼∼∼ as I reach for my own bright star.

I’m not a suit, brute, nor a corporate boot;
I’m not a romantic, pedantic, not a life-mantic;
I’m not a heller, speller, nor a fortune-teller;
I’m not a doubter, shouter, not a doctrine-flouter;
But I wonder who I am, and how many are,
∼∼∼∼∼∼∼ as I reach for my own bright star.

I’m not a scholar, trawler, not a doctrine hauler;
I’m not a specialist, analyst, nor a game panelist;
I’m not a lazy man, crazy man, nor member of a klan;
I’m not a doubter, shouter, nor a free-flouter;
But I wonder who I am, and how many are,
∼∼∼∼∼∼∼ as I reach for my own bright star.

Where am I? Where are you? As our world turns and burns,
Waiting for love from above, and release to real peace?
What are you, and what are you not? Who is and who is not?
∼∼∼∼∼∼∼ as you reach for your own bright star…

by JONATHAN NOBLE
© All rights reserved 2015

Try-on

I try to pull words
over gnarled reality.
They bulge at the seams.
They rip like worn-out stockings.
Fast. Uncompromisingly.

Darn! Reality
is prickly and awkward-shaped.
I throw ripped phrases
into the rubbish-words-bin
and take the next unworn pair.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

Blunt cunt ~ The one… well… the one pretty sassy collaboration

You can’t wear a shirtprada
with the words ‘Bad Girl’ in bold
and a Prada bag
hanging off your bangled arm
and bling-bling knuckled fingers.

I can list the stuff
inside your brand-name feedbag
with closed eyes. Firstly.
Coelho. A paperback.
(You adore vanilla quotes.)

pradaAudio Chopra –
there’s only one way a girl
like you navigates
that upwardly mobile maze.
This said with no irony.

A piece of paper.
A worn cinema ticket
to the world premiere
of ‘The Devil Wears Prada’.
Why? It’s your holy scripture.

Valium six pills.prada
You think life’s a tv show
with a mean laugh track.
Anxious you swallow one, two.
Don’t doubt it’s anything else.

Pink lip gloss, of course,
because your overworked lips
should shine on selfies…
And please, wipe that dry white spot
at the corner of your mouth!

pradaA pack of wet wipes
to soak up cum on your back.
You’re careful like that.
You’re not loose, you lie to him.
Bitch knows how to make a man.

Should I continue?
I know you from the ground up.
Your current ringtone.
Your preferred brand of tampons.
You’re an open book for me…

…and I hate you, slut!prada
At the clearance sale you grabbed
from under my nose
the LAST cut-price Prada bag
and MY SIZE of the pink shirt!

Maybe I’m going to blush right now. Damn! It’s hard to be a good girl around this cheeky Babe (by the way, she is part of the crew ‘Conceited Crusade’ which violently fights with villainous bad writing and not to give indulgences to anyone… Beware, lazy potboilers!)

Well, okay… never mind. I’m not a hypocrite. I’m NOT going to blush. I love what we did. Thank you, Babe! It was great and… hey… Hey, you! Don’t touch this bag! It’s mine!

P.S. By the way… Prada guys! Don’t think we forgot about you! We performed our part of the contract. Where’s our money? Where do we sign?

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & LISTENTOTHEBABE
© All rights reserved 2015