and so do we all decant
all along our silent roads
incant in silent refrain:
‘when the book of breathing is closed
when the clocks are covered in the town of lazarus
when the faience of minds has declined to the last’
in that final silence that befalls us all
will the ghost of you remember me
and gather up the ghost in me
will you lovingly take the ashes and bone
and carry me home
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020
this is the forgotten road
a funnel for the words we could never say
but should have
where his pain keeps step with the ghost of me
to this very day
of all the memories that could have been taken
what is the use of this last one
the one that was left behind
took on a life of its own
and with it has taken his own
i have wept in secret
through weather properly clement or not
and long after my heart had stopped
when i tried no longer to claw through earth
to claim again my former resplendence
the bones of me in this burial mound
the ghost of me in his room again
his bereavement heartfelt vain
one could pain to refill with hope
but his is a barrowman’s chore
and the husk that lingers
mere baggage for the day
and as much as the life not owned
was the purpose not sown
i still pine for that which was human
aimless and pointless tho’ we were
our lungs in chorus were a blessing
his pain keeps step with the ghost of me
silent words for a silent road
and when we think nobody is looking
leaning into myth to light our way
but is it okay that we inevitably fall
we have wept in secret
through weather properly clement or not
and long after his heart has stopped
when he tries no longer to claw through earth
will we meet again in former resplendence
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020
paint the room
herr weltschmerz has come to stay
and nothing will ever be 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 the days 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 unyielding
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
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
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
unbolt me 