i am not your project
not in need of saving
to be restored from drafts
nor be redone from scratch
not a work in progress
nor a fixer-upper
not in your portfolio
nor part of your cv
so kindly fuck right off
you smug, self-righteous toff
look for another dunce
to suffer your ‘guidance’
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024
Hail and farewell to those who fought and died,
Not laughingly adventurous, nor pale
With idiot hatred, nor to fill the tale
Of racial selfishness and patriot pride,
But merely that their own souls rose and cried
Alarum when they heard the sudden wail
Of stricken freedom and along the gale
Saw her eternal banner quivering wide.
Farewell, high-hearted friends, for God is dead
If such as you can die and fare not well
If when you fall your gallant spirit fail.
You are with us still, and can we be adread
Though hell gape, bloody-fanged and horrible?
Glory and hope of us who love you, Hail!
by JOHN LE GAY BRERETON (1871-1933)
Public Domain Poetry
Strip tree bark to breath the rot
reading accumulated fear brew
filter coffee tasting sweeter lot
above tongue that tear through
nail deep on horizon brown red
claw clinging onto narrow faith
i hope my nose sticks out mud
while buried in a shallow grave.
by PAKARCHA VYADHI
© All rights reserved 2025
ice cube, shop tin roof
mourning’s inevitable
with dawn’s bastard sun
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
that one with the punched lungs
has taught me to breathe freely
to expand in every moment
my view beyond the horizon
has taught me to get drunk on air
raise a toast to the blissful life
uncork & exhale my dreams
& inhale all possibilities
that one with the punched lungs
has taught me not to hie away
from each rum quaff of oxygen
each gulp, each gasp, could be the last
has taught me to square my shoulders
wear my sailor’s crown on high
walk the plank with a shambler’s jaunt
use my voice with ne’er a grumble
that one with the punched lungs
has taught me to sing shanties
to marinate beneath the stars
away from landlocked bores
has taught me to stand before storms
to know my place within them all
when even acid rain stings my lungs
when even the mast punches my lungs
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024
unbolt me 