sometimes a lone leaf on a tree
has more poesy than a whole book
sometimes a lone page in a book
has more mosey than the hole in me
sometimes a lone me in a tree
has no more pith than a hole for a heart
sometimes a lone hole for a heart
has no more kith than cliff and scree
is this how it’s gotta be
an empath tipping from reality
into the inscrutable
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
deadwood on a silent shore
the crack of daylight on her face
says maybe she won’t want to die
one day
ever unsure
unable to see tomorrow
yonder rot & spore
& chokehold of black trees
the war in her brain
can anything numb the pain
thunderclouds or amnesty
they say the forecast is up to she
dumbly she hangs ‘tween root & limb
awaiting the rain
ever unsure
the marrow’s in the morrow
this is what they say
but hope is a blithe man’s game
deadwood on a silent shore
she doesn’t know how to be
defiled she hangs lightly
for another day
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
pooch, go away now
i know you crave attention
(cannot feel my arms…)
i’m open to your absence
happy to be anywhere
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022
in the starchy days of the victorian era
there was a bearded goat, the noble caballero
he had a heart of gold, was an opium wars hero
he was a strict vegan with a soft spot for madeira
the goat was head of the royal spy agency ‘chimera’
one day he was in a hurry because of an urgent case
and by chance swept off a table the queen’s favourite vase
moreover, he nudged a box of royal tissues from its place
unfortunately for him ill news always flies apace
and in a blink of an eye the goat lost the queen’s grace
next day another qualified as head of the secret vow
while the poor clumsy goat hitched a rope over a royal bough
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2022
paint the room
herr weltschmerz has come to stay
and nothing will ever be the same again
tho’ the weather’s properly clement
tho’ he’s never cried the blues before
what’s left that can be properly said
of a man who’d tried to claw back the earth
to kiss his truelove’s final resplendence
the ghost of she keeps count with him
there to haunt his bereavement vain
what can he be but indentured to sorrow
a pain as wide as the days unstemmed
he sorely regrets he’d ever been human
mouths silent words oft kept for silent roads
and for fear he’ll decant so many more along the way
stands deathly instead as a stone unyielding
locked inside with his grief… and fading
herr weltschmerz has come to stay
veins shockingly open to the unspooled light of day
paint the room
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020
unbolt me 