Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like water-lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!
by EMILY ELIZABETH DICKINSON (1830-1886)
Public Domain Poetry
& god make a fist one day
pulled a rib & make a lady
left a hole inside her that
mortal hunger ne’er could fill
then god make the other fist
custom fit for hungry holes
for to grease her up three ways
make muppets out of one & all
but i’s wise to him
that abba father ain’t no good
& devil plum misunderstood
& why that devil my lover?
in case anybody say
it cos he swear by consent
got a lovin’ temperament
the devil be my lover
yes is yes & no mean no
he hold me in our afterglow
he ain’t the beast they say
but i’s wise to it all
that abba father ain’t no good
& devil plum misunderstood
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
eyes of sand awash in a trench of tears
all i could do was sink & sift & wait
with crosscurrents of ancient memories
deserts flooded without, grain by grain
pupils flooded within, shard by shard
a tessellation of guarded hope
& i saw the turtles all the way down
& i saw the elephants falling asleep
thoughts of the flat disced earth beneath
felt soothing to my feet
i was a vision of tombs & flower voids
of dormant dolls raptured from the womb
of shallows, sunken barrows & undertows
yet above so below, steps & high walls
strewed worlds of cavernous possibility
all this in dim view of my timorous reach
& i saw the turtles all the way down
& i saw the elephants drowse in the deep
thoughts of the flat disced earth beneath
felt soothing to my feet
i breached into this world from deathless waters
& will dissolve in the chasm with time when i’m done
but for now let me take at least one lungful, if not the horizon
the longest voyage begins with the first stroke
then on to scurvied teeth & the bruises of experience
let the steady plash of oars be the sound of our freedom
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
is this a haiku
or just another tanka
we’re phoning it in
but no one answers the call
and we’re still unselfaware
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
a hopeful tanka
behold its hopeful glory
yup, it’s full of hope
ushering in a new year
with more hope than you can stand
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
unbolt me 