forever ambered

we set out to find a secret stone on the pavement
and began to whirl like that girl in the devil’s dark pearl
do you remember
we laid upwind the pheromones of enslavement
then took a daring stance to dance the prance of scalded squirrels

we looked right at the april sun
tho’ we were told not to
we huffed and chuffed o’er happy air
dandelion swirls behind our eyes

we set out to find the hoary old chestnuts of burgeon
and began to pray like gay fey in jehovah’s dark play
do you remember
we rowed upstream with a warry shoal of kingly sturgeon
then in emerald grass laid brass to glass in arcane ritual

we looked nebby at the may moon
musing next on what to do
we fussed and cussed o’er happy air
dandelion swirls behind our eyes

the locket on my neck
as ambered as the gleam in your eyes
enshrining our faraway spring
you do remember

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

Open-Source Poetry Five #2

Dear Readers, have you ever visited SantaCon? It’s a magical combination of binge drinking, public urination and trauma to small children that everyone should experience at least once in their life. Why? Because it’s a reminder that no matter how bad things can get, there’s always something worse around the corner. We went once and were scared into leading fulfilled and happy lives from that point on!

We seriously have to wonder if SantaCon was invented by people who didn’t get any Christmas gifts right throughout their childhoods. It’s clear that they want adults to indulge the child within, rather than their actual children. And this would be a laudable goal if they weren’t puking all over one another in naked glitter-filled orgies. Is this their revenge on poor old Santa? It could be. Just read their rules:

Can I bring my kids?
Probably not. Kids get the rest of Christmas and all the other holidays. SantaCon is normally adults only.

Can I get smashed?
Sure. But if this is what you want to do, we ask that you stay home and don’t dress like Santa. Definitely don’t show up at a SantaCon.

Well, Dear Readers, let’s make it clear that we have no desire to cosplay Jung and Freud here. We’re merely trying to understand what exactly it is that motivates certain people to dream of being Santa whilst simultaneously wanting to kick the shit out of him. And although we might not understand this, we must concede that everyone has the right to go crazy in whatever fashion they choose. Crazy, after all, can be a lot of fun!

By the way, about the fun… It was great fun to read your submissions! There were a lot of terrific new lines that might have suited our communal letter poem thingy to Santa really well, and as such we felt our minds gradually slipping to the brink of cray cray in a way that was only mildly alarming. However, we eventually settled on SonOfDewangan’s submission because we felt it straddled that uncomfortable line of fun and crazy quite well. Congratulations, sir, you’re a psychotic fun wizard! Here’s how it looks:

Вензель

Dear Mr Santypoos, how do you do?
Hope you don’t have COVID and the deer are healthy too.
Hope Rudolph’s nose still is bright red.
Time to wake them elves up from their bed,
but please do it so it’s real gentle like
or they’ll sue you without so much as a first strike.

Вензель_нижний

(Oh, by the way! SonOfDewangan, we edited your lines a wee bit for the sake of the poem’s overall flow, so please don’t sue us! Everything is for the sake of poetry and getting nice gifts!)

So, Dear Readers, let’s keep this Santa friendly and socially responsible letter poem thingy going. We promise that neither you nor your kids will get smashed, even should you choose to dress like a drunken Santa, his red nosed, allergy-ridden reindeer, or even his outrageously big bosomed wife with the tinkly bell nipple piercings. All you need do is follow these simple festive steps:

1) Close your eyes and recall your deepest wish. 
2) Open your eyes, read the above lines of our poem in progress then submit one or two more lines of your own. 
3) We pick the lines we like most, add them to the poem and then write more. 
4) When the letter is done, we seal it, put all your names in the envelope, and send it to Santa with the next sled dog team that’s willing to chance harsh border lockdowns and Covid security measures.

By the way, as of this posting there are only 68 shopping days left until Christmas, so let’s crack that whip over those reindeer tushies!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA, TONY SINGLE & SONOFDEWANGAN
© All rights reserved 2020

GUEST POST // if I’m a slut will you still like my art? by Summerhill Lane

if I’m a slut will you still like my art?
Judge me
Judge me
Take a look
And bash me
Kick me
Slap me
Cross the street
Instead of meet me
Need me
Take me
Make full use
Then abuse me
Talk about behind my back
Whisper stories like a hack
It matters not
you have no heart
If I’m a slut will you still like my art?

 

by Summerhill Lane
© All rights reserved 2020

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // At Sea by Sara Teasdale

In the pull of the wind I stand, lonely,
On the deck of a ship, rising, falling,
Wild night around me, wild water under me,
Whipped by the storm, screaming and calling.

Earth is hostile and the sea hostile,
Why do I look for a place to rest?
I must fight always and die fighting
With fear an unhealing wound in my breast.

 

by SARA TEASDALE (1884-1933)
Public Domain Poetry