don’t cry
we’ve a full life, don’t we
with full bellies
& you are here by my side
with love aplenty to fill our sail
own nothing & be happy
is what they’re bound to say
yet we’re happy anyway
are we not
you are mine & i am yours
too many fish in this world
are fighting to be upstream
near the lighthouse seen
no such thing as water in nets
only good days & some regrets
so, let’s be mindful, love
time is a loose spool
& the river winds on
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
Strip tree bark to breath the rot
reading accumulated fear brew
filter coffee tasting sweeter lot
above tongue that tear through
nail deep on horizon brown red
claw clinging onto narrow faith
i hope my nose sticks out mud
while buried in a shallow grave.
by PAKARCHA VYADHI
© All rights reserved 2025
that one with the punched lungs
has taught me to breathe freely
to expand in every moment
my view beyond the horizon
has taught me to get drunk on air
raise a toast to the blissful life
uncork & exhale my dreams
& inhale all possibilities
that one with the punched lungs
has taught me not to hie away
from each rum quaff of oxygen
each gulp, each gasp, could be the last
has taught me to square my shoulders
wear my sailor’s crown on high
walk the plank with a shambler’s jaunt
use my voice with ne’er a grumble
that one with the punched lungs
has taught me to sing shanties
to marinate beneath the stars
away from landlocked bores
has taught me to stand before storms
to know my place within them all
when even acid rain stings my lungs
when even the mast punches my lungs
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024
one life to live, one chance to give
two sides to every story & a chasm between
three words that mean everything: i see you
four pillars of living: compassion, kindness, loyalty, grace
five w’s to every situation: who, what, when, where, why
six degrees, the closest you’ll get to kevin bacon
seven wonders of the world that everyone should see
eight sneezes & you have an orgasm
nine ways to get to sunday
ten minutes, one sixth of a precious hour
by CASSY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
I found myself among the trees
What time the reapers ceased to reap;
And in the sunflower-blooms the bees
Huddled brown heads and went to sleep,
Rocked by the balsam-breathing breeze.
I saw the red fox leave his lair,
A shaggy shadow, on the knoll;
And tunneling his thoroughfare
Beneath the soil, I watched the mole
Stealth’s own self could not take more care.
I heard the death-moth tick and stir,
Slow-honeycombing through the bark;
I heard the cricket’s drowsy chirr,
And one lone beetle burr the dark
The sleeping woodland seemed to purr.
And then the moon rose: and one white
Low bough of blossoms grown almost
Where, ere you died, ’twas our delight
To meet, dear heart! I thought your ghost…
The wood is haunted since that night.
by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN (1865-1914)
Public Domain Poetry
unbolt me 