Author Archives: Tony Single

weltschmerz

your voice echoes back from yesteryear
as i perch on the edge of hope & fear
once more there’s this pang of you not here
the sun leers through cloud’s shame above
upon grounded white crow & black dove
whose answer for the wrong question needs love

tar soap scent atween the birches
your shadow no longer afore me
just othering eyes from briar to fens

your hand reaches through the fullness of time
untold happenstance of future clime
dusts sensate shoulder with earthly rhyme
it signals to turn that withered page
to uncloy myself from ferocity’s cage
release sweet sadness & fathomless rage

tar soap scent atween the birches
your shadow no longer afore me
just othering eyes from briar to fens

now & again when i turn to look back
i still see you not here & your hand’s slack
still you’re part of me on this doomen track
in these memories of you i abide
what remains of you the urn at my side
with no hope of turning time’s avian tide

tar soap scent atween the birches
your shadow no longer afore me
just othering eyes from briar to fens

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

noel

there’s less ahead than what came before
but when a man meets the mountain
he asks why it keeps standing there
& thinks not to count his blessings

the man would sooner meet a well
whereupon he’d drink deep down
plumbing the depths of misery
beneath the mistletoe abandoned

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

Tati’s Father

In 2019, I visited with my creative partner, Tetiana, in Ukraine. I wanted to experience what everyday life was like for her there, and was lucky enough to stay for a period of about three months. I had known Tetiana for years by that point but not her family, who still welcomed me—a complete stranger—into their lives with open arms. They really were so very generous and accepting, treating me like I’d always belonged there. I’ll always be grateful for that.

I loved spending time with Tetiana’s family so much that I vowed to myself that I’d return one day. However, there will be one less person to greet me when that day finally comes. Sadly, her Father has just passed away. As you can imagine, Tetiana, and her Mother and Brother, are gutted—so am I, to be honest. Her Father and I often bonded over our shared love of heavy metal. We’d do devil horns as a greeting, and he’d comb through YouTube clips to introduce me to many of his favourite, classic bands.

While I was there, Tetiana and I cobbled together some personalised mugs as a gift to her family—a thank you for allowing me to stay with them. Along with loving all things metal, her Father was also a huge Beatles fan, so I’m sure you can tell what famous photo our own image was aping. The man on the far right there is Tetiana’s Father. He was so fucking cool, and I hope my drawing captures something of his indomitable, adventurous spirit.

Truly, he was a beautiful man, and the world is poorer without him. I miss him greatly.

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

TATI’s AND TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Lobster-Quadrille by Lewis Carroll

“Will you walk a little faster?” said a whiting to a snail,
“There’s a porpoise close behind us, and he’s treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle, will you come and join the dance?
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?

“You can really have no notion how delightful it will be
When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!”
But the snail replied “Too far, too far!” and gave a look askance,
Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.

“What matters it how far we go?” his scaly friend replied.
“There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.
The further off from England the nearer is to France,
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?

by LEWIS CARROLL (1832-1898)
Public Domain Poetry

ткаля

pavuk, pavuk
wee christmas spider
says, ‘kill me not’
for above my candle
she weaves the world
protects me in my sleep

warm air rotating
i’m as old as my tongue now
& a wee bit older than my teeth
no masters, kings nor gods
everything’s a dream now
she keeps me safe in my sleep

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025