eidolon (she)

paint the room
herr weltschmerz has come to stay
and nothing will ever be quite the same again

tho’ the weather’s properly clement
tho’ he’s never cried the blues before
what left can be properly said
of a man who’d tried to claw back the earth
to kiss his truelove’s final resplendence

the ghost of she keeps count with him
there to haunt his bereavement vain
what can he be but indentured to sorrow
a pain as wide as horizons unstemmed

he sorely regrets he’d ever been human
mouthing silent words oft kept for silent roads
and for fear he’ll decant so many more along the way
stands deathly instead as a stone unleaving
locked inside with his grief… and losing

herr weltschmerz has come to stay
veins shockingly open to the unspooled light of day
paint the room

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Fringford Brook by Violet Jacob

The willows stand by Fringford brook,
From Fringford up to Hethe,
Sun on their cloudy silver heads,
And shadow underneath.

They ripple to the silent airs
That stir the lazy day,
Now whitened by their passing hands,
Now turned again to grey.

The slim marsh-thistle’s purple plume
Droops tasselled on the stem,
The golden hawkweeds pierce like flame
The grass that harbours them;

Long drowning tresses of the weeds
Trail where the stream is slow,
The vapoured mauves of water-mint
Melt in the pools below;

Serenely soft September sheds
On earth her slumberous look,
The heartbreak of an anguished world
Throbs not by Fringford brook.

All peace is here. Beyond our range,
Yet ‘neath the selfsame sky,
The boys that knew these fields of home
By Flemish willows lie.

They waded in the sun-shot flow,
They loitered in the shade,
Who trod the heavy road of death,
Jesting and unafraid.

Peace! What of peace? This glimpse of peace
Lies at the heart of pain,
For respite, ere the spirit’s load
We stoop to lift again.

O load of grief, of faith, of wrath,
Of patient, quenchless will,
Till God shall ease us of your weight
We’ll bear you higher still!

O ghosts that walk by Fringford brook,
‘Tis more than peace you give,
For you, who knew so well to die,
Shall teach us how to live.

by VIOLET JACOB (1863-1946)
Public Domain Poetry

your field of reeds

i don’t think i could have been old enough
to be the equal of you in our younger days
to the fullness of all our summers i lived
i know you have tried to remember them all

and of course we could never have been forever
here merely for the term of our natural lives
the naïve hope was to simply not die
how’s not to reason why

for as long as i shadow here at your side
your regret will be the coma of our dreaming
and that blanket of night will not cover you
because all you will feel is the ache of now

love is a beautiful hideous thing
i miss you my dear, and thank you for trying
if you could you’d kick the whole damn sky in
i’m nowhere forever though you’re haunted more
grief is a beautiful hideous thing
miss you my dear, and screw me for dying
but things will work out tomorrow somehow
you’ll smile again in the field of reeds at morningside

we thought we held all the keys didn’t we
to lock all the doors to mutual oblivion
but no matter how far and vain you wander
in this hall of echoes you’ll never find me

and of course you remain to remember now
how we railed at the stalking geist of death
though i wish i had not crumbled, dear
you shouldn’t long to have died with me

and you’re old enough now to be scared of forgetting
but the end, as we’ve seen, is a broad church
and the road there an arduous song
so resign yourself to the sunshine my dear (i won’t mind)

love is a beautiful hideous thing
miss you my dear, and screw me for flying
if i could i’d kick the whole damn sky in
i’m nowhere forever and joy will return
grief is a beautiful hideous thing
miss you my dear, and thank you for crying
but things will work out tomorrow somehow
you’ll smile again in the sunshine at morningside

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

GUEST POST // After Goodbye by SonOfDewangan

Two winters have already passed by
Two whole years without sadness, without joy.
The memories are still alive & fresh in my mind
Not alone, but still lonely most of the time.

Imagine a world where the past was different
Where we wouldn’t hurt each other
Our suns shone alone on different skies
Where our tears still rolled out
But not through each others’ eyes

A butterfly passes me by,
wings carrying storms of your place.
Sunlight reflects on its wings.
As if a long forgotten melody it sings

Carry on, as if it doesn’t matter.
We have been long alone together

Carry on, it doesn’t really change.
The fact that our lives we live are strange.

Carry on, Carry on till the piper plays.
Carry on, till the our paths cross again.

by SONOFDEWANGAN
© All rights reserved 2020