Arriving

I walked down the street.
Nice weather and blah-blah-blah…
I didn’t hurry.

“Hey! Excellent news!
Today you’ve got a great chance
to arrive at God!”

A woman… she seemed…
ahem… slightly motheaten.
Yes, inside and out.

“Do you mean me? No…
I prefer a private chat.”
A low joke, I know.

She muttered, “Lost sheep.”
I hate mutters at my back…
I didn’t hurry.

“10 minutes for you.
And then 10 minutes for me.
The clock is ticking!”

I listened to her.
Her motheaten preachments.
Whole 10 minutes. (Yawn.)

My turn. “Go, ma’am, go!”
This is my favorite roof,
my favorite time.

7.59PM. A sunset.
“Don’t worry… I’ll hold your hand…
Well… Are you ready?”

…the bare sky poured down
the liquid sun on our heads.
We were light-spattered.

The Revelation.
Her books were scattered. They looked
poorly, quite grotesque…

“Did you petrify?!
Open your arms if you want the Beloved’s embrace!
God arrived at us…”

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

a Catchy question

“Sane people don’t write
poems. Do you agree?”
I nod, “Surely!”
and think, “…rhymes with poorly.”
Colleagues esteem my good sense.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

Misguided

Sometimes you fly in the electric sky
and doubt… WTF am I doing here?
Sometimes you wake in a president’s tie
and cry… WTF am I doing here?
You’re a spoiled child… and boom! You’re a scapegoat
and bleat… WTF am I doing here?

Hey, you can’t win a regatta aboard a tugboat…
Stop doubt; cry, bleat. Jump overboard. Take control and steer!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

Haiku

I often wonder…
We waste dozens of words where
Haiku is enough

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

Bottom sediment

Sometimes he loses the flow
and feels like an empty caul.
Sometimes his favorite show
is a tapestry on the wall.

His voice is an ant in resin
Dumbness. An unfertilized plot
becomes incoherent and thin
on the bottom of the dry ink pot.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015