Category Archives: POEMS

dog in the manger

no one cares in this world of tyrants
of sycophants and bended knee
how deep goes the well inside of me
and if my bucket is full of holes

the finger of god daubed my soul o’er pain
and it’s making me want to dissolve again
into blest relief from his violent ways
away from nephilim and the sons of earth

i swear the day will come
when y’all will forget about me
for too long have i given life
the benefit of the doubt

the ox and horse cannot eat the hay
dead baby jesus bestrews the manger
a doggerel gospel for the hateful pious
and mongrels returning to their vomit

i swear the day will come
when y’all had better forget about me
for too long have i given life
the benefit of the doubt

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022

hit the backbone (wanderlust)*

what’s hidden behind the shabby black cover?
stories about a villain or a long lost lover?
scuffs and scratches like a palm’s ley lines
threatening mysteries and ominous signs

what’s hidden within the worn ivory pages?
tales of baby killings or long lived sages?
rustles and whispers foretelling the past
flaxen foundations beneath moments vast

a forbidden fruit is often the sweetest one
and the most sinful deeds often much more fun
so, how does one not yield to the temptation
to circumvent the usual pedestrian damnation?

hold your breath like an anchor and jump off that cliff
all book learning and vice yearning has a beguiling whiff
it draws out the courage needed to forge ahead and discover
so you’ll find all that’s hidden behind the shabby black cover

* Dedicated to all the souls out there waiting to be unbolted or unscrewed. May your 2022 be free-spirited and full of cool adventures!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

guttersnipe

a big heavy cloud
that hangs out above your head
it’s a speech balloon
that’s crammed full with jumbled text
rubbish you shot from your mouth

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2021

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // December’s Snow by Arthur Conan Doyle

The bloom is on the May once more,
The chestnut buds have burst anew;
But, darling, all our springs are o’er,
‘Tis winter still for me and you.
We plucked Life’s blossoms long ago
What’s left is but December’s snow.

But winter has its joys as fair,
The gentler joys, aloof, apart;
The snow may lie upon our hair
But never, darling, in our heart.
Sweet were the springs of long ago
But sweeter still December’s snow.

Yes, long ago, and yet to me
It seems a thing of yesterday;
The shade beneath the willow tree,
The word you looked but feared to say.
Ah! when I learned to love you so
What recked we of December’s snow?

But swift the ruthless seasons sped
And swifter still they speed away.
What though they bow the dainty head
And fleck the raven hair with gray?
The boy and girl of long ago
Are laughing through the veil of snow.

by ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE (1859-1930)
Public Domain Poetry

over the rim

sitting near a freeway on the dusty verge
picking tart berries from a briar patch
do we resist the urge to eat and dirge
yes! tho’ we’re vagabonds of a luckless batch

and we’re the queen and king of the universe
thrown on the scrapheap with crowns in hand
made from disposed packets of potato chips
we’re vowing to outlast this dead oasis

wiping berries clean with a dirty nose rag
feeding each other by hand and with laugh
to keep ourselves buoyed whenever we flag
in the scathing dust trails of the motor riff-raff

we’re the queen and king of the universe
regal wanderers with our crowns in hand
made from disposed packets of potato chips
we’re vowing to outlast this dead oasis

the night air smells of freshness and exhausting fumes
the cars swooshing past leaving snatches of tunes
we’re so tangled in tail light and bitumen plumes
that we’ve delayed overlong our return to the dunes

we’re the queen and king of the universe
waiting for the rapture, our crowns in hand
made from disposed packets of potato chips
we’ve vowed to outlast this dead oasis

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021