martyrdom

woke was such a first-class word
when used to club the ones you hated
but when it meant human kindness
you told all babies to go stop crying
more bodies for your amendment
made for an acceptable trade
in your esteemed estimation
freedom to brutalise was king

‘prove me wrong’ was ever your mantra
when even you were provably wrong
had you known what this would reap
would you’ve chosen to cut out your tongue
when dogma is paved with the blood
the pain of the disenfranchised
bigotry looks a lot less like reason
& more like what it actually is

now at the end of your short life
riding vermillion neck spray
it’s a vip one-way ticket
up to your imagined heaven
but even with your mic in hand
dumb wee trophy, make no mistake
whatever your god may say
we the people still vomit you up

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

GUEST POST // snap by Robert Greig

summer is over
when snapdragons finally
give up the ghost…

by ROBERT GREIG
© All rights reserved 2025

mark 8:36

every last piece of evidence
dissolved as i lay there in silence
the gold rush of my youth had gone
with nothing to show for in my pan
they steeled their bonds with stagecoach power
left me to rot in riverbed dreams
built their nations on monied towers
groundhog foundations all the way downstream

who cares that i’d had better angels
who cares that they were both now gone
who cares that i’d compromised my self
who cares that i’d vainly strove to fit in

& just like that, i saw men raptured
fond memories, their bullions in tow
they were headed for headier climes
as i died face down, the dead of noon
was fortune a living catastrophe
i was simply forced to decay through
a treasure refined for all but me
rippling away, spangles downstream

who cares that i’d needed dnipro
who cares that i’d gambled george town
who cares that the world could only take
who cares that i could now only break

every last bit of evidence
just like that, had raptured away
the gold rush of my youth was gone
my bones left behind to clot in dreams
the world had taken all it wanted
the little that i’d held in my hands
the fulgurate clumps long picked clean
by bream, the rest long washed downstream

who cares that i’d puddled down under
who cares that i’d puddled in ukraine
who cares that i’d struggled for it all
who cares that i’d done finally fall

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

i can’t get enough sox

i find it hard to imagine you knitting
without tangled fingers & rage quitting
your slim fingers were made to hold glasses of wine
your nails to clear daintily between the tines
your tongue to lick oyster juice, not frayed yarn edges
your toes to sun carefree over marble ledges
your hair to smell like a honeyed summer wind
your tummy to be desired, your skin on my skin
but when i find clumsy wool socks on my pillow
you’ve placed lovingly over cottoned billow
i’m melting with affection, all florid desire
so i slip them on, pull their li’l hems higher
we drink wine, eat oysters, make love on the beach
you rather like me in socks in july’s hot reach
don’t you

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

Tumblevision #31

Grimacin’ in the Rain.

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025