that is the place
where everything starts
fog in the trees
in the nettled heart
a tiny silhouette
a pouch on a stick
on demeter’s eve
on the move real quick
smoking pipe stuffed
with tobacco balm
a rite of refocus
or deleterious harm
fragile & daring
i follow my dream
between the wolf’s howl
& the night bird’s keen
that is the place
that i’ll journey to
for to make our peace
i’ll be waiting for you
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
another deer in the land of plenty
resplendent in summer coat so red
antlers adorned with aconite wreath
languid eyes fash the colour of lead
how stark he peers up into the star forge
where the ancient mother rests her crown
her fatigued breasts lift slowly, heavy
salted milk into mountain gorge drips down
crows are laying into three rivers creep
lawless with the weight of expectation
mayhap they were sent to test moral strength
in misfortune’s midst & tall temptation
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
If a man could live a thousand years,
When half his life had passed,
He might, by strict economy,
A fortune have amassed.
Then having gained some common-sense,
And knowledge, too, of life,
He could select the woman who
Would make him a true wife.
But as it is, man hasn’t time
To even pay his debts,
And weds to be acquainted with
The woman whom he gets.
by H.C. DODGE (1865-1915)
Public Domain Poetry
Twin stars, aloft in ether clear,
Around each other roll alway,
Within one common atmosphere
Of their own mutual light and day.
And myriad happy eyes are bent
Upon their changeless love alway;
As, strengthened by their one intent,
They pour the flood of life and day.
So we through this world’s waning night
May, hand in hand, pursue our way;
Shed round us order, love, and light,
And shine unto the perfect day.
by CHARLES KINGSLEY (1819–1875)
Public Domain Poetry
Life with the sun in it –
Shaded by gloom!
Life with the fun in it –
Shadowed by Doom!
Life with its Love ever haunted by Hate!
Life’s laughing morrows frowned over by Fate!
Young Life’s wild gladness still waylaid by Age!
All its sweet badness still mocking the sage!
What can e’er measure the joy of its strife?
What boundless leisure
Count the heaped treasure
Of woe, that’s the pleasure
And beauty of Life?
by THOMAS RUNCIMAN (1841 – 1909)
Public Domain Poetry
unbolt me 