rainwreck

the morning i came back home to you
there were clouds of thunder behind your eyes
and something told me that day
no raincoat nor lightning rod would help at all

i offered you my rose-coloured glasses
a divergent lens you could pardon me through
i hoped to see your rainbow smile
and a sundog dancing a jig on your nose

but adoration’s spine got broken with words
our kisses tainted by ire and woe on fire
and so the rose-coloured view was cracked
overwhelming the room with a fatal shatter

punctured by the shards of desperate memories
of us never at peace despite love’s prevailing
weak and vulnerable, ever weather-exposed
without imminent hope for a good forecast

and so i pulled at the pieces until they fell away
a trail of wreckage leading out the door
a wet season took its hold over the world
the morning i forsook a home with you

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

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

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Halloween by Madison Julius Cawein

It was down in the woodland on last Hallowe’en,
Where silence and darkness had built them a lair,
That I felt the dim presence of her, the unseen,
And heard her still step on the ghost-haunted air.

It was last Hallowe’en in the glimmer and swoon
Of mist and of moonlight that thickened and thinned,
That I saw the gray gleam of her eyes in the moon,
And hair, like a raven, blown wild in the wind.

It was last Hallowe’en where starlight and dew
Made mystical marriage on flower and leaf,
That she led me with looks of a love that I knew,
And lured with the voice of a heart-buried grief.

It was last Hallowe’en in the forest of dreams,
Where trees are eidolons and shadows have eyes,
That I saw her pale face like the foam of far streams,
And heard, like the leaf-lisp, her tears and her sighs.

It was last Hallowe’en, the haunted, the dread,
In the wind-tattered wood by the storm-twisted pine,
That I, who am living, kept tryst with the dead,
And clasped her a moment and dreamed she was mine.

by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN (1865-1914)
Public Domain Poetry

storm in a teacup (spit & forget)

i have lost
the storm is already in my head
verbum domini
someone take this teacup from me

i’m roaring from beneath the earth
life, you beautiful bastard
you’ve gone and avalanched me again

her plane flew the coop
she left me to silk another day
and i am bereft, here to rot
death beneath an ashen tree

i’m roaring from beneath the earth
in an arc of sonic dismay
life gone, you’ve avalanched me again

farewell to thee, my dead christ
farewell to thee, my once fey
to crucifix and pricked white bosom
farewell fate’s capricious dice
farewell this bleak and empty day
in the month of may i hied away

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

Come Unto Me (based on a true story)

I feasted my eyes upon the gorgeous frescoes that adorned the ceiling one more time, then turned to the exit. When I reached the wide doorway, I saw that today (to my great surprise) the forecasters had been right. There was a heavy rain.

Of course, I hadn’t taken an umbrella. Who can properly enjoy walking around one of the most splendid European capitals with unnecessary stuff in hand? One hand is for my camera, another hand is for ice-cream cones. A third is not a given.

I turned around with the intention of going back into the church and waiting out the storm. No such luck. A stodgy man in a black robe blocked the passage. In answer to my wordless question he pointed to the notice board. It stated that the canonical hour would be starting soon, so I went out to the big porch in the rain. There was no choice.

The porch was quickly filling up with people. The rear pushed at the front, perplexed as to why they would stand out in the downpour and not enter. Toward them moved ‘exiles’ like me who had been turned out of the building. A sullen acolyte stood at the centre of this live whirlpool like a hard-shelled bouncer at a night club doorway. It looked like no one was fitting the dress code for this private party today.

I lifted my face to the grey sky and inhaled the heavy, wet air. Some huge raindrops fell on my cheek. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. There’s always choice.

I covered my head with a leaflet detailing the schedule of canonical hours, and ran to a bar opposite the church. Thank god these sanctuaries are always willing to embrace and warm the sick and suffering. Amen.