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

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Minor Poet by Stephen Vincent Benet

I am a shell. From me you shall not hear
The splendid tramplings of insistent drums,
The orbed gold of the viol’s voice that comes,
Heavy with radiance, languorous and clear.
Yet, if you hold me close against the ear,
A dim, far whisper rises clamorously,
The thunderous beat and passion of the sea,
The slow surge of the tides that drown the mere.

Others with subtle hands may pluck the strings,
Making even Love in music audible,
And earth one glory. I am but a shell
That moves, not of itself, and moving sings;
Leaving a fragrance, faint as wine new-shed,
A tremulous murmur from great days long dead.

 

by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET (1898-1943)
Public Domain Poetry

2016 bc (before covid)

we kissed in george town
where sidewalks are an afterthought
where one must step into oncoming traffic
or take no chances at all
i’m glad we took ours

 

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

enûma eliš (when on high)

sorrow is not forever
whenever hope gains a foothold
give me your hand, dear
and leave these burial fields behind

we rest our old ways on the funeral pyre
and hatch new wings within its fire
fragile and strong are we

the lustre in our eyes
we’re spinning dreams in our sleep
look to my eyes, dear
we’ll move the world in our wake

we rest our old ways on the funeral pyre
and hatch new wings within its fire
fragile and strong are we

let’s shrug off our draconian veils
let these settle in the dust at their feet
lay your brow to mine, dear
in a nest full of golden eggshells

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020