Author Archives: Tony Single

100 WORD SKITTLE // The Power of Oomph!

I looked at my horoscope today, and decided to test it. To see if it actually works.

I’m a Scorpio. Apparently, I’m some kind of magnetic personality that makes others go weak at the knees. So, when a nearby toddler fell over and howled like a banshee, I nodded sagely and made a mark in my notebook.

However, when a sweet natured grandad asked me the time before collapsing on his bus seat—chest in hands—I quickly got off at the next stop. I guess I should have told the driver but I needed to process this newfound power.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

enûma eliš (when on high)

sorrow is not forever
whenever hope gains a foothold
give me your hand, dear
and leave these burial fields behind

we rest our old ways on the funeral pyre
and hatch new wings within its fire
fragile and strong are we

the lustre in our eyes
we’re spinning dreams in our sleep
look to my eyes, dear
we’ll move the world in our wake

we rest our old ways on the funeral pyre
and hatch new wings within its fire
fragile and strong are we

let’s shrug off our draconian veils
let these settle in the dust at their feet
lay your brow to mine, dear
in a nest full of golden eggshells

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Sailor-Boy by John Clare

Tis three years and a quarter since I left my own fireside
To go aboard a ship through love, and plough the ocean wide.
I crossed my native fields, where the scarlet poppies grew,
And the groundlark left his nest like a neighbour which I knew.

The pigeons from the dove cote cooed over the old lane,
The crow flocks from the oakwood went flopping oer the grain;
Like lots of dear old neighbours whom I shall see no more
They greeted me that morning I left the English shore.

The sun was just a-rising above the heath of furze,
And the shadows grow to giants; that bright ball never stirs:
There the shepherds lay with their dogs by their side,
And they started up and barked as my shadow they espied.

A maid of early morning twirled her mop upon the moor;
I wished her my farewell before she closed the door.
My friends I left behind me for other places new,
Crows and pigeons all were strangers as oer my head they flew.

Trees and bushes were all strangers, the hedges and the lanes,
The steeples and the houses and broad untrodden plains.
I passed the pretty milkmaid with her red and rosy face;
I knew not where I met her, I was strange to the place.

At last I saw the ocean, a pleasing sight to me:
I stood upon the shore of a mighty glorious sea.
The waves in easy motion went rolling on their way,
English colours were a-flying where the British squadron lay.

I left my honest parents, the church clock and the village;
I left the lads and lasses, the labour and the tillage;
To plough the briny ocean, which soon became my joy–
I sat and sang among the shrouds, a lonely sailor-boy.

by JOHN CLARE (1793-1864)
Public Domain Poetry

Covid Diary pp. 19-20

Dear Diary,

I still can’t kick the habit of eating off of a knife. I remember my mother would get mad every time she saw me do it. I’d listen to dozens of reasons as to why I should avoid it. There were rather sensible ones such as hurting my mouth, and completely superstitious ones such as getting an angry temper for the rest of my life.

I did, of course, attempt to state my position. I’d declare dozens of reasons as to why I should be eating off of a knife. There were rather sensible ones such as reducing the amount of dirty utensils that would need to be washed after dinner, and completely superstitious ones such as it helping to develop an immunity to werewolf bites for the rest of my life. But my mother wasn’t having it—and anyway, why shouldn’t she have the last word? She was my mother! Her verdict would always be delivered with the same stinging whip crack as a wet kitchen rag to the neck—which she also did.

All rationales aside—even the irrational ones—I learned not to fall into these habits while my mother was in the room. But at other times? Well, then all bets were off. I didn’t have to concern myself with her displeasure and so I’d often not be conscious of all the wrong things I was doing until after I’d done them. And then I’d get a wicked little smile on my face. I still kinda do.

In these days of lockdown and social distancing, I find myself wishing she was still here. I would love to defy her again, to find new habits with which to earn the pleasure of her displeasure. I wonder… could that be the reason why I still eat off of a knife or walk under ladders or leave umbrellas open inside the house?

And also, I’m not afraid of werewolves, but that’s a completely different story for another time.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

100 WORD SKITTLE // Unentitled

This is an untitled story. It has no feelings of entitlement when it comes to being given a title. Why? Because it’s a humble story with humble expectations.

What’s in a name anyway? Titles are for marketers and sponsors who usually don’t care to read what’s written beneath said titles. They care only for numbers to crunch, property to own, and supermodels to breed. It’s all about empire building, baby!

But the story doesn’t want to be exploited by mean old moneybags. That’s why it hides behind a nonexistent title, hoping that they won’t notice it and leave it alone.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020