now i see that i
add not a jot of value
shall i lay me down
let them press on with their days
fruitful afore & after
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024
Author Archives: Tony Single
elderyouth indiscretions
waking up to reality
it really shouldn’t be so hard
without your morning coffee hit
tongue feels like a rusty bollard
your bladder is full to bursting
it jolly well hurts to high heaven
you were supposed to wake at eight
but had to take a piss at seven
the pins & needles in your neck
have you concerned for your health
your rickety arsed hinged knees
fold into the declining years of self
a mind filled with yesterday’s fog
a handful of pills for breakfast
you hope they’re not addictive
& could swear you’re growing a bust
is that a dead bear on the couch
the mirror says no, look again
your birthday party begins tonight
twenty-five? try four score & ten!
by TETIANA ALEKSINA, CASSY SINGLE & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024
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Tumblevision #27
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the distance
the eyes that skew away again
from what i have known all along
betray i’ll never be one of them
a stranger to their bonny world
their monuments hold to gravitas
even when living memory fades
as i maunder these streets alone
dust sieves through my pantomime veins
a thousand years ago today
the only space i’ve left for feeling
when i realise that no one’s waiting
that their light is all yet not in all
then i’ve never felt so far away
well, it’s not always been suffering
they tap me whenever i’m of use
yet their smiles mask the expiry date
a time to back off, to know my place
& i see that their sun too has left
will not anchor me to my shadow
that their moon with its pinprick halo
will not grant even slenderest grace
a thousand years ago today
the only space allowed for feeling
when i realise nobody’s coming
that their light is all yet not for all
then i’ve never been so far away
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
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TATI’s AND TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Way Her Silky Garments Undulate by Charles Baudelaire
The way her silky garments undulate
It seems she’s dancing as she walks along,
Like serpents that the sacred charmers make
To move in rhythms of their waving wands.
Like desert sands and skies she is as well,
As unconcerned with human misery,
Like the long networks of the ocean’s swells
Unfolding with insensibility.
Her polished eyes are made of charming stones,
And in her essence, where the natures mix
Of holy angel and the ancient sphinx,
Where all is lit with gold, steel, diamonds,
A useless star, it shines eternally,
The sterile woman’s frigid majesty.
by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE (1821-1867)
Public Domain Poetry
unbolt me 