“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
Category Archives: STRICT POETIC FORMS
Haiku
I often wonder…
We waste dozens of words where
Haiku is enough
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015
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a Pissed off Muse
Do you think
that your Muse is dead?
Balderdash!
She is tired.
She is just flat on her ass.
Yes! Dash it all, yes!
She couldn’t bear
your endless snivel,
hysterics,
binge drinking…
You, pathetic Creator!
She dumped you, dumbass!
Two talented lines
aren’t worth two wasted years… yes.
Muses can fuck up.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015
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Oops!… We Did It Again (an Averter)
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
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Butchering (paying a tribute to my old yoga mat)
A medium size.
A medium density.
A medium price.
Generally, it’s dark blue
in the null assemblage point.
(Sometimes it becomes
red or green. But it’s kinda
my little secret.)
A fray is on the back edge
and a slight scent of joss sticks.
Dozens of defects…
The usual thing, in short.
Where is theurgy?
It’s a matter of arrows.
The bright red on the dark blue.
It’s my secret path,
my color-coded loophole,
my molded carcass.
A scheme of the primal cuts
for my gnostic butchering…
Numinous blades slip
and split along my axis.
The golden section…
I yield my offal and meat
under the Karma Cutter.
When my shanks sprawl out
and my round points to the east,
I distinctly hear
chuckling of a sacred cow
in esoteric silence.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015
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