hush hunting

a sound with the force of cotton on skin
the sigh of a newborn sprout leaving its seed
fish tail swishing beneath the crescent waters

hush, careless hunter
you’re the thorny crown of evolution
creeping between the boughs in tuonela

shod with the intemperance of steel
girded by the rapacity of gold
leaden with the dullness of expectation

hush, warless hunter
your former life lays in smithereens
far from the sun in the lap of louhi

and you’re doomed to ghost in the shadows
until the end of days or ebb’s white never
ears leery to the thrum of nature’s quiet demise

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

simulacra (game over)

i looked on high at a dark sky
with some lonely clouds thin & wan
like strands of grey hair combed over
to hide a barber’s disappointment

the lunar crescent arched on itself
it bristled like a wild white ferret
as undecided as god’s weather
to snug with lume or pounce the hand

youth once held such gilded hope
but everything tends towards decay

the pleaides winked down on me
‘tween those wispy bars of thraldom
as i staggered o’er the aging earth
yearning there to feel more grounded

the head feels all that the heart cannot
guidance through the lack of direction
in high pastures and greener heavens
lies the mathematics of destiny

youth once held such gilded hope
but everything tends towards decay

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

hiraeth

her paintings are on display
in the gallery’s endmost room
where there are only dull bulbs
and long, timid shadows

away from the greedy eyes
away from the greasy hands
away from the eco idiots
armed with their cup-a-soups

her paintings are on display
in the endmost of memories
where there is only yearning
for the might-have-been past

where sweet melancholy slumbers
where there’s no desire for awakening
where a soft nightsong is
sung by cicada ensemble

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024

winter elegy

it’s winter but the wind is warm
like a giant’s hearth breathing
where is the forest’s ghost white shroud
where are the grand glaciers of old

when was the last time you heard the raven cry
when was the last time you saw the mirror smile
change is but a turning of tides

the lazy sky yawns and stretches
though swaddled in blankets of cloud
not even the rain shall fall
not even the earth shall swallow

when was the last time you heard the raven cry
when was the last time you saw the mirror smile
change is but a turning of tides

the trees slumber in dreams so fey
where the woodcutter loses his axe
dull all meaning with the seasons
dull the blade of understanding

when was the last time you heard the raven cry
when was the last time you saw the mirror smile
change is but a turning of tides

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

TROTTERSVILLE #1

Dear Readers, despite our decision to make 2024 the Year of Poetry on unbolt.me, it’s still essential to break the rules occasionally—especially when we’re feeling particularly naughty. Of course, we also hope to make 2024 the Year of the Graphic Novel—our fingers are firmly crossed on that one.

Anyway, how does this all relate to the silly little piggy strip you see below? It doesn’t! It’s all just stuff that we’re doing because we enjoy being creative. A poem here. A graphic novel there. A piggy strip or two. These things keep us on our toes, and will hopefully keep you engaged too, Dear Readers. We want to entertain you!

The strip below is another great opportunity for Tati to sharpen her translator claws—or, rather, dig her translator muzzle into some sweet word mud—whichever tortured metaphor works for you. We hope this little nothingness can entertain you and make you happy. And perhaps it can show you how differently language can work from one culture to another in the medium of comics. Should you find yourselves loving this effort then please consider supporting us on Patreon or Ko-fi—that would make us very happy too!

 

by TONY SINGLE & TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2024