blue suede blues

yeah, i really should’ve checked on the weather
because the sky goblins are just not a thing
but it’s said that to go back can be bad luck
if even to grab a forgotten umbrella
once left, one’s house should be stayed away from
so, splish of puddle, meet my blue suede shoes

today, me and my shoes have things to do
firstly, to visit that old bench in the park
it’s been looking drab and lonely recently
and the pigeons poo on it for merry sport
a stimulating rub with keen hands and suds
will bring the hardwood back to its former glory

secondly, to treat old man river to coffee
with a shot of brandy made piping hot
it’s been looking sluggish and tired recently
so, me and my shoes with a flask, bottoms up
shall give a golden shower for the ages
over the truculent swans, honking, aggrieved

and finally, to hug that weeping willow
grimly wilting in silence out there on the bank
me and my shoes with clumsy handmade scarf
with playful breath control will swaddle her nape
until the chlorophyll leaves the leaves on high
to fill the night sky with a new constellation

and postscript will find me in that same evening
placing upon porch my hopelessly damaged shoes
could they be an offering to the sky goblins
we all know they’re blue suede footwear fetishists
so, anything’s possible, is it rather not
and, hopefully, tomorrow there will be no rain

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

GOSPEL NATURA // Six Word Story #58

Seed baptised in river’s burgeoning flow.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

GOSPEL NATURA // Six Word Story #57

River’s swathe swelled for rain’s seed.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

’til river do us part

a black river rolls its waters in state
past a dirty hut’s stoop and manor’s gate
a white nymphea on the satin river’s breast
eyes enthralled like a bride’s at a funeral fete

the young maiden stands on an old dam crest
folding a long wedding dress to her chest
a cold wind hugs her shoulders, her ideal mate
it whispers to her in feverous behest

a black river rolls its waters to the strait
aloof, indifferent, like the decrees of fate
the young maiden on the satin river’s breast
the hearse carries the bride to her wedding fete

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2018