relentless

a darkness was waiting in the wings
for the final curtain call on my veins
and even though i’d stepped away
gaslight still thrubbed a spell in my brain
i was skipping across the icy stones
upending my way toward a new home
determined to outrun the snowstorm
the hollow blast of their winter gloam

maybe i’m broken
but now i know i’m free
just a short run and i’ll be there
white lies the wolf at my throat

i was stepping outside the story cage
the one they’d fashioned, devoid of heat
that was meant to contain and subdue me
an austere tale more terror than sweet
the world broken down on every side
i upended way beyond their reach
never again would the cage define me
my soul to keep from dogma’s teach

maybe i’m foreswooned
but for now i know i am free
just a short run and i’ll be there
their lies the wolf at my throat

when they gorged on the fumes of their dead sun
i knew i could never be one of their pack
when they piously bayed against the moon
as it dared to haunt them from out of the black
so now i’m appending beyond their beseech
loping for ice that burns a ruby glow
stepping and running before i expire
to the inevitable ebb of fate’s flow

maybe i’m foredoomed
for now i know for sure i am free
just a short run and i’ll be somewhere
your lies the wolf at my throat

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

cooks & cocks (1st meal after lent) 18+

she rides cock, baby
it’s huge with big red feathers
gee up! gee up, baby!
a massive crest and sharp of heels

she rubs cock, baby
drags her fingers through its feathers
rasp off! rasp it off, baby!
crop its cocky crest, dull its heels

such a giant in its field
it’s fed its pride in grease
bums up! puckaw! spit roasted!
a glorious coq au vin!

she soaks cock, baby
marinades to taste its feathers
salt up! salt it up, baby!
drink a toast to crest and heels

she eats cock, baby
plucked rude of all its loud feathers
om nom nom! om nom nom, baby!
gnaw it ’round, chew it through

such a giant in its field
it’s fed its pride in grease
bums up! puckaw! spit roasted!
a glorious coq au vin!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

quarantine ballad

an orange lays on the table
juicy and fresh
the apple is feeling rotten
much less than blessed
a radio on the wall
forecasts a storm
the tv near the window
declares the day too warm

two ants near my feet
fight for a crumb
a chaffinch takes flight
escapes the mortal thumb
life all around me
is full of small wonders
evolution’s more than
stray, successive blunders

that gives rise to hope
no, i’m not a mistake
forged in the heart of stars
you plus me, we equal awake
even if sometimes
i feel like a rotten apple
i’m an orange soul
warm beneath the leafy dapple

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

Open-Source Poetry Four #5 (Final)

Our Dearest Readers,

We should warn you, the creative process can be dangerous, especially when other people are involved. You may think you know where the narrative’s going, but everything veers out of control before you can sneeze or finish another pack of chips.

Fortunately, we have cats. Cats make everything cooler. A rainy day. A dull TV show. A boring book. Even poetry—something that is already cool by default!

So, who do we have to thank for helping us stick the landing? (On four legs like cats do?) Well, the aforementioned cat, of course, but also two cool poetry making machines of the human variety: Obbverse and Michelle Beltano Curtis. (And now we’re seriously contemplating a new comic series about Mr. Mort, a super cat that saves the world from strands of especially excitable string.)

By the way, if you think this whole process was an easy flight, just check our previous editions. There were moments when we thought this would turn into a complete poetic disaster. This was the first time we considered running away in tears of defeat, praying to the ghosts of Shakespeare and Mayakovsky.

Вензель

hm, what should I draw?
maybe a hairy monster with a furry claw
or a demon crow that sticks in the craw
or a huge bloodstained saw

hm, what should I write?
maybe a slow growl will stir up a fright
or a girl will be twirled by a meat-eating kite
or grandma pole-dances in a bikini too tight

hm, what is that?
the words have disappeared, the pictures aren’t flat
they’ve come to life like a cockroach cravat
crawling helter-skelter ’til i scream like a prat

hm, what the hell have i wrought?
my words have sprung to life, a ghastly thought
i need a superhero, musclebound and taut
or just leave my new comic to my cat, mr. mort

Вензель_нижний

by TETIANA ALEKSINA, TONY SINGLE, TOMAS MANKUS, MUNIRA EZZI, OBBVERSE & MICHELLE BELTANO CURTIS
© All rights reserved 2020

downshifter

hands full of fool’s gold
head full of idiot dreams
heart full of vain hopes
what on earth do i live for…
hello, i am a poet

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020