Tag Archives: Poem

event horizon

misanthrope’s been afraid all along
even tho’ he’s been feigning strong
has it not all been said before
look, a tower; look, a flower
something about the balance of power

no one listens that needs to repent
& no one’s yelling that needs to dissent
we’re all cooked as the world flames on
& now he’s wondering who left the gas on

he sees there’s no sea change coming
while others pledge to hate & kill
& just one more messianic stare
ought be enough to tip him off the edge
of a sanity pilling with unicorns

he suspects our god is flawless evil
that mercy’s become the devil’s trade
how long ’til the sun peeks over the yardarm
’til mankind swaps out the blood for gin

has this ship of fools sailed merry away
away off the edge of yesterday
where messiah’s blood was not asked for
nor its spiteful resurrection
misanthrope has his life by the noose

between an ocean & fire
here at the point of no return
look, a tower crushes the flower
sanity’s pilling with unicorns

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

odds & shells

rain waters carry down the street
somebody’s orange flip flops
now, could that hue be less discreet
hell’s bells, no, probably not

maybe somewhere in darkest drains
mutant turtles wait for the drop
flip flops plopping into the mains
nab ’em for keeps, ready or not

sitting ‘tween soaked pizza cartons
two small, obnoxiously bright suns
they would’ve preferred doc martens
but beggars can’t be choosers, hun

later tonight when rain in’s done
all of their non-refundables
out of warranty dibs & dums
will join the flip flop cupboard rubble

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

retrofitting salvation

snowfall
shrouded the roofs
festooned with icicles
antennas’ calvary crosses
preaching

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2026

GUEST POST // Tairngreacht by Whitecatgrove

The last hum of summer — I hunger
for more, a kinder year when all is not
withered on the vine. The burning boats
are not a kind sun, the wildfires are not
the butterfly migration. The cup
poured out again, by an unjust king
emptied and spent on wasted earth. Red
the riders to the house of red, red
the naked spirit who knocks on the door.
What a time to live — seeing a myth
paid in full, embodied and poured out
in a sea without fish, a summer
without fruit, a land without justice.

by WHITECATGROVE
© All rights reserved 2026

cults & culpability

lo, seeker of transcendence
in a failed, godless universe
lapsarian in the silence
will you yet yield to the blame
outside the tyrant’s garden
of angels clouding like locusts
where an arch snake was man’s spar
their blame impugns to swarm you

but consciousness & conscience
have never been the same thing
so pocket each & every tooth
when they cry “bend” to every “no”
when their fists try to make it so

however pious they may cry
how can you ever render blind
to gaps they love upon your smile
to the contusions on your mind
in light of false providence
outside a garden not your own
how fatherless the universe
how beaten down to the ground

but intention & consequence
are hardly ever the same thing
pocket each & every tooth
when they cry “bend” to every “no”
when their fists try to make it so

in a rudderless universe
outside a garden long disowned
remember those who fought well
against all tyrants & their ilk
honour those maligned as fallen
those fallen long before your time
& those fallen in the here & now
in this lost autumn of your soul

transcendence & obedience
never count as the same thing
so pocket each & every tooth
when they cry “bend” to every “no”
when their fists try to make it so

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025