nigredo moth song

you are the clinging taken flight
ev’ry night at behest of gaslight
a shadow’s veil o’er pale lea
froing ev’ry where with ev’ry care
a full-wing’d catastrophe

expell’d from skeet cocoon
& still not yet fully bloom’d
unaliv’d to breathe again
into hallow’d dustings of lung & wing

the flame, they say, casts a treacherous spell
but you’ll scudder through like you always do
prevail somehow, wee gossamer soul

you are the feelings all at once
all fronts abandoned to the hunt
to dire thunder afore the dawn
ev’ry care to ev’ry prayer
to ev’ry thready need to mourn

but dusk can ne’er negate joy
tho’ you feel not yet fully bouy’d
forsake all the haggl’d horrow
in begotten age of thrum & wing

the flame, they say, casts a treacherous spell
but you’ll scudder through like you always do
prevail somehow, wee gossamer soul

the tide does heap perilous weight
its freight upon you a cragging hate
dragging the air from your charcoal frame
ev’ry prayer scries ev’ry where
hying too close to dark waters again

traject’ries erratic as night is long
are you feeling too much all o’er again
will you be a conclusion forgone
you surely cannot be the only one

the flame, they say, casts a treacherous spell
but you’ll scudder through like you always do
prevail somehow, wee gossamer soul

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Yesterdays by Abram Joseph Ryan

Gone! and they return no more,
But they leave a light in the heart;
The murmur of waves that kiss a shore
Will never, I know, depart.

Gone! yet with us still they stay,
And their memories throb through life;
The music that hushes or stirs to-day,
Is toned by their calm or strife.

Gone! and yet they never go!
We kneel at the shrine of time:
‘Tis a mystery no man may know,
Nor tell in a poet’s rhyme.

by ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN (1839-1886)
Public Domain Poetry

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Full of Life, Now by Walt Whitman

Full of life, now, compact, visible,
I, forty years old the Eighty-third Year of The States,
To one a century hence, or any number of centuries hence,
To you, yet unborn, these, seeking you.

When you read these, I, that was visible, am become invisible;
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me;
Fancying how happy you were, if I could be with you, and become your comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with you.)

by WALT WHITMAN (1819-1892)
Public Domain Poetry

moonwalks & jitterbugs

hey, rocketman, where are your wings
where are your heart-shaped sunglasses
& what are those drops of blood there
smeared along that yellow brick road
who’ll save you from critical thought
you think it’s gonna be your time
who’ll spoon-feed you zen magic now
the touchdown’s gonna smash you up

rocketman, where’s your piano
your pocketful of skimming stones
exchanged your ticket to the moon
for cheeky mooning & moonshine
who’ll grant you the life that you sought
you’ve fought so hard to make that climb
who’ll sing to you your swan song now
that splashdown’s gonna wreck you up

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

a life not lived

stale memories in the cupboard
forgotten dusty souvenirs
that shirt you used to wear to church
the viola case on which you’d perch
those magazines with bums & tits
that more wholesome mickey mouse pin
you found on the path two streets over
near to the white cliffs of dover
the tin with lollies stuck together
mint & lemon with orange peels
‘twould be best to not partake
of these out-of-date belly quakes
faded photos with shabby corners
also out-of-date, make the heart shake
the more years fly, the more’s at stake
for lives with dead dreams in their wake

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019