Tag Archives: Poetry

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

Lightbringer ~ The one restored collaboration

A collaboration. Two different worlds collide and break. Myriads of shards fly apart. A broken glass… They say it’s good luck. Matt and I gathered the shards carefully. We didn’t hurry. We enjoyed the process. Our collaboration is like a restored stained-glass window. I must admit that the picture that appeared when we finished was a big surprise for both of us.

I want to put one of Matt’s comments here.

“This one had a profound effect on me, my philosophy and beliefs.”

I don’t know what I can add here. Thank you, Matt! Thank you for your courage, for your honesty. Thank you for your talent.

I’m proud of our collaborations.

lucifer_by_caelicorn

Lucifer by Caelicorn

If a world is a house
and people are windows
I am the window which is always dark

Too long I was under your curse
I doted too hard on you
I was doped… near a fatal dose

Upon cold Earth I fell
raptured by the hungry darkness…
as years like days passed

The transparency slowly fled
My glass tempered and stained by rain
scraping my pane like salted tears

I am a black leukoma
on the spotless white face
Inoperable, necrotic cells

I was deplumed to blood by you
I was grilled to ash by you
I was the roasted angel…

But I will know light again
for my descendants are many
on the final stage they have placed me…

Rustle of maracas
and cold black candle-ends
are around me. I take a wax knife

Shamans circle – music peaks
West winds blow relentless
My rite of passage awaits

I fight with bright sunshine
to the last drop of day
I kill it like a mad savage beast

The years are purged now
My ethos born anew
beneath stars of endless night

If a world is a house
and people are windows
I am the window licked clean by hatred

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & THIS MORTAL FLESH
© All rights reserved 2015