Author Archives: Tony Single

ACROSTIC POETRY // Droid Antediluvian

Perambulation is something that featured a lot in Iron Uncle’s
Upbringing. His travelling oilcan never once dried up.
Rarely did his joints give out or his suspension develop clanky carbuncles.
Geez, he skipped up hill and down dale like a pumped-up pup!
And did you know he could bench press a thousand Tiny Tins if he really wanted to?
Tinderellas were thrilled with his seductive cast-iron buns.
Oh, if only he could return to those halcyon days and youth anew,
Rekindle what used to be instead of chased for conversion by rumpty nuns.
Years roll past like parts on a conveyor belt, and rust never sleeps.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

Open-Source Poetry Two #3

Dear Readers,

Honestly, how many of you have read Shakespeare? You don’t need to be embarrassed or lie and pretend. We’ve barely read Shakespeare ourselves! We keep meaning to but… well, we never seem to find the time. Sad but true.

Tati could say, “To be or not to be…” with a nerdy look, but if you asked her to continue, she’d probably mess up the next line. And Tony… well, Tony loves skulls and drama but that wouldn’t make him the next Prince of Denmark. All he’d be able to utter is, “Verily!” Pathetic really.

So, when all’s said and done, it’s a good thing we’re not writing Shakespeare. No, we’re simply writing a little poem with the help of our Dear Readers. That’s what we’re doing! And we do love that you make us giddy with the excitement of creating.

By the way, a big thank you goes to Fraggle for the next line! Fraggle, our dearest and faithful friend, you rock! Yes, we’re trying to be impartial here but we have to admit that we liked your contribution best. Oh, and why did you make us read about Lady Ophelia? Poor girl! She had a rough trot, didn’t she!

It’s clear that no one informed Ophelia of the rules to this poetry-making game. Let us remind you, Dear Readers, so that you don’t meet a similar fate…

1) We provide the next line of the poem.
2) You write the following line.
3) You submit your line via the comments section of this very post.
4) We pick the line we like most and add it to the poem.
5) We publish every line to date in a follow-up post.
6) Steps 1-5 are repeated until we have a masterpiece!

Please, Dear Readers, pretty please (with a cherry on top), let’s have a happy ending for this poem? Failing that, let’s at least screw Hamlet the fuck up and make a Disney musical from it!

Вензель

She looks in the book like into a mirror
The face of her sister is there
She wears daffodils in her hair

She reminds her of Shakespeare’s Ophelia
Amid weeping willows along the shore

Вензель_нижний

by TETIANA ALEKSINA, TONY SINGLE, THOM TNKERR & FRAGGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

CRUMBLE CULT // Slouching from Bethlehem (NSFW)

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

DARWINIAN // Wonky Vision

So, I’m waiting at the lights for the little green man to stutter. That’ll be my signal to cross.

I’m late for the bus again, and my back is sloughing into the seat of my pants via a river of sweat. Sizzling in this heat and humidity like a piece of rump steak is no fun, and the light is searing its bad self into every cranny of my awareness so there’s nothing but blank canvas everywhere I look. Yup, I’m a squinting Mr Magoo at the Seeing Eye Olympics. On the face of the sun. Being spit roasted by Satan himself. Or I may as well be. Summer sure loves to make me its inelegant, sweaty bitch.

I can barely make out the couple in front of me. They happen, as it turns out, to be making out—I can make that much out. Oh, hang on, they’re not actually making out. They’re just holding hands, sharing adoration and kisses despite the sun’s brutal, disapproving efforts. How sweet! I can’t help but smile. Not that you’d know it was a smile. It’s more like a scrunched up, mortified towel really—one that’s been used to exfoliate Donald Trump’s junk. Well, abused more like.

We’re hearing the green man now, so we all step out onto the road. The couple are still hand-in-hand, swinging their arms in time with the endearing skip in their gaits and hearts. We’re halfway across when a horrible realisation hits me. It’s two men! Shit! TWO MEN! I immediately begin to panic. The squinting has to stop. Like. Now. What if they see my expression—the grimacey scrunch that reads nothing like a smile—and come to the conclusion that I’m hating on their public display of affection? God almighty!

I try to unsquint as much as I humanly can, only to be blinded even more. Jesus! Fuck! The pain! The light is so fucking aggressive… and, holy fuck, the tears! My face is contorting all over the place like an epileptic cow with a cattle prod up its arse. It’s a wonder I’m not staggering into oncoming traffic. Still, I’m certain there’ll somehow be blood and recriminations next.

We reach the other side, and it’s only at that point when I realise something. Not only has this couple failed to notice my wank-walk of over the top social maladjustment, they clearly wouldn’t give a damn even if they did. They’re so besotted with one another, and so at ease within themselves and their immediate surroundings that… well, so what if I existed? Hell, it’s not even remotely about me. Or about what I think, for good or ill.

I’m just lucky to have witnessed this unabashed display of affection without getting smeared up the road by a Mack Truck—you know, like red jam over toast. Gaydom’s so normal that I should be considering it a bore really, not something to be noticed and having judgements formed about. Yup, nothing to see here. Just two folks very much in love. All’s right with the world.

And that’s enough for now.

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

to & fro

oh, hammock, how congenial you are
your embrace is clingy yet feathery
languid, you rock me from side to side
‘tween my past and future, to and fro
for now, suspended in harmony
for now, suspended in harmony

ain’t nothin’ will get done wrong
ain’t nothin’ will get done right
if this rope remains too long
if this knot strains too tight

oh, hammock, how unpalatable you are
your embrace entraps me, it is too easy
suffocated by your smothering tide
hung down deep, boundless sleep below
for now, crucified in harmony
for now, crucified in harmony

ain’t nothin’ will get done wrong
ain’t nothin’ will get done right
if this rope remains too long
if this knot strains too tight

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018