more bad poetry
& scribbles in the margins
ready the tissues
cue the gothic orchestra
sackcloth, keening & ashes
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
more bad poetry
& scribbles in the margins
ready the tissues
cue the gothic orchestra
sackcloth, keening & ashes
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
your voice echoes back from yesteryear
as i perch on the edge of hope & fear
once more there’s this pang of you not here
the sun leers through cloud’s shame above
upon grounded white crow & black dove
whose answer for the wrong question needs love
tar soap scent atween the birches
your shadow no longer afore me
just othering eyes from briar to fens
your hand reaches through the fullness of time
untold happenstance of future clime
dusts sensate shoulder with earthly rhyme
it signals to turn that withered page
to uncloy myself from ferocity’s cage
release sweet sadness & fathomless rage
tar soap scent atween the birches
your shadow no longer afore me
just othering eyes from briar to fens
now & again when i turn to look back
i still see you not here & your hand’s slack
still you’re part of me on this doomen track
in these memories of you i abide
what remains of you the urn at my side
with no hope of turning time’s avian tide
tar soap scent atween the birches
your shadow no longer afore me
just othering eyes from briar to fens
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024
there’s less ahead than what came before
but when a man meets the mountain
he asks why it keeps standing there
& thinks not to count his blessings
the man would sooner meet a well
whereupon he’d drink deep down
plumbing the depths of misery
beneath the mistletoe abandoned
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
“Will you walk a little faster?” said a whiting to a snail,
“There’s a porpoise close behind us, and he’s treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle, will you come and join the dance?
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?
“You can really have no notion how delightful it will be
When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!”
But the snail replied “Too far, too far!” and gave a look askance,
Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.
“What matters it how far we go?” his scaly friend replied.
“There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.
The further off from England the nearer is to France,
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?
by LEWIS CARROLL (1832-1898)
Public Domain Poetry
pavuk, pavuk
wee christmas spider
says, ‘kill me not’
for above my candle
she weaves the world
protects me in my sleep
warm air rotating
i’m as old as my tongue now
& a wee bit older than my teeth
no masters, kings nor gods
everything’s a dream now
she keeps me safe in my sleep
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025