vernal whistlestop

hey there, whistle pig
jumpin’ at your own shadow
i heard loose chatter
’bout the oracle of spring
surmisals of what you are

are you really tho’
in a world that is burning
the end at our door

hey there, whistle pig
time & season frock to you
like sacred vestments
as dictum starved rootle minds
shuttle past the hot black tar

what will you augur
in a world full of burning
the end at our door

hey there, whistle pig
when have you ever been right
flowers wilt in march
forsooth a burning april
‘neath the californian stars

have you e’er been real
in a world black with burning
the end at our door

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025

blue suede blues

yeah, i really should’ve checked on the weather
because the sky goblins are just not a thing
but it’s said that to go back can be bad luck
if even to grab a forgotten umbrella
once left, one’s house should be stayed away from
so, splish of puddle, meet my blue suede shoes

today, me and my shoes have things to do
firstly, to visit that old bench in the park
it’s been looking drab and lonely recently
and the pigeons poo on it for merry sport
a stimulating rub with keen hands and suds
will bring the hardwood back to its former glory

secondly, to treat old man river to coffee
with a shot of brandy made piping hot
it’s been looking sluggish and tired recently
so, me and my shoes with a flask, bottoms up
shall give a golden shower for the ages
over the truculent swans, honking, aggrieved

and finally, to hug that weeping willow
grimly wilting in silence out there on the bank
me and my shoes with clumsy handmade scarf
with playful breath control will swaddle her nape
until the chlorophyll leaves the leaves on high
to fill the night sky with a new constellation

and postscript will find me in that same evening
placing upon porch my hopelessly damaged shoes
could they be an offering to the sky goblins
we all know they’re blue suede footwear fetishists
so, anything’s possible, is it rather not
and, hopefully, tomorrow there will be no rain

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

GUEST POST // on the cusp of an unknown by trE

“they say” Elsa is on the way;
ready ourselves for the inevitability
of thunderstorms
yet the sun is skydiving
without a care in the world and
I’m growing skeptical.

I want to be prepared;
steer clear of windows and
shut down all electronic devices
in a timely manner;
I can’t help it–every time there’s
a storm, I hear my mother’s voice;
“Turn off those lights and
that damn tv! God is talking!”

shouldn’t I be mindful if
in fact, God IS speaking?

meteorologists are tapping their
pointers at markers on their
maps, unsure of exact touchdown
points yet “We should be on the
lookout” for damaging winds
and heavy rain
and every year, during
hurricane season, my anxiety
levels are heightened.

there’s a new storm named
ever other day, it seems . . .
why does the ocean argue
with the sky?
who is monitoring its raised voice
or defending the shores
and the pleading animals?

Elsa may show up with
a pent-up wrath buried inside
her and I say, “let it rip but
just have mercy.”
the souls of man
could use a cleansing.

by TRE
© All rights reserved 2021

GUEST POST // The North Wind Shall Blow… as Introduced by Christine Mallaband-Brown

The North Wind doth blow
and we shall have snow,
and what shall poor Robin do then?
Poor thing.
He’ll sit in a barn,
and keep himself warm,
and hide his head under his wing,
poor thing….

Introduced by CHRISTINE MALLABAND-BROWN
Public Domain Poetry

bikeocalypse

jesus harold christ
changes a bicycle chain
croaks at ill weather
does not see the stillborn crows
falling out of trees’ bosoms

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2019