relentless

a darkness was waiting in the wings
for the final curtain call on my veins
and even though i’d stepped away
gaslight still thrubbed a spell in my brain
i was skipping across the icy stones
upending my way toward a new home
determined to outrun the snowstorm
the hollow blast of their winter gloam

maybe i’m broken
but now i know i’m free
just a short run and i’ll be there
white lies the wolf at my throat

i was stepping outside the story cage
the one they’d fashioned, devoid of heat
that was meant to contain and subdue me
an austere tale more terror than sweet
the world broken down on every side
i upended way beyond their reach
never again would the cage define me
my soul to keep from dogma’s teach

maybe i’m foreswooned
but for now i know i am free
just a short run and i’ll be there
their lies the wolf at my throat

when they gorged on the fumes of their dead sun
i knew i could never be one of their pack
when they piously bayed against the moon
as it dared to haunt them from out of the black
so now i’m appending beyond their beseech
loping for ice that burns a ruby glow
stepping and running before i expire
to the inevitable ebb of fate’s flow

maybe i’m foredoomed
for now i know for sure i am free
just a short run and i’ll be somewhere
your lies the wolf at my throat

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

GUEST POST // Let Live by Ry Hakari & Tony Single

in central park twilight, a lone wolf
left alone, entrapped in thought
cold air and the staining snow
accursed regret, a taunting effluvium
and what is this a hint of
copper burnished with shame
the burning around the fur
it leaks, tastes bitter

i want my mother’s teat
nurse me, mother, don’t leave
tell me what ties bind me here
in this horrible hinterland

the sticky tree needles scent
strong, while i give off fear
is there life beyond the pack
where do i begin or end
the chase i lost, you chased me off
you wouldn’t forgive or let me live
and now I’m sleepy, fighting weak
with iron teeth as darkness falls

i want my mother’s teat
nurse me, mother, don’t leave
tell me what ties bind me here
in this horrible hinterland

by RY HAKARI & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2015

* * * * *

It’s dark. It’s cold. It smells like blood, sweat and… milk.
It’s virile.
It’s fucking awesome!

I’m happy to show you, my dearest Writers and Readers, the first collaborative poem of my friends. They both are incredible poets, they both are amazing friends and they both are… well, just cool guys!

Ry Hakari and Tony Single.
They both are great.
Check these blogs.

Learn poetry beyond the pack.

Yours,
Unbolt

a Storyteller

He comes every evening.

He sits near my bed and reads tales. The terrible tales.

How the Wolf devours Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White eats the poisoned apple and the Cruel Giant swallows Tom Thumb… Every evening, he ruins my naive childish dreams about the Perfect World. He calls this ‘adaptation’ and ‘preparing for your adulthood’. And he leaves my room with a sense of accomplishment.

I cry… but not too long. I have a low level of adaptation… it’s written in my anamnesis, and I do believe in the power of written words. I just take a pen and start to correct every mistake… to repair the non-perfect, spoiled world.

Tom Thumb swallows cruel giants… Snow White hates apples… and Little Red Riding Hood devours wolves. That looks much better. I fall asleep with a smile… and with thoughts about this strange word… ‘hyperlexia’. It’s also written in my anamnesis. I don’t know what it means but I guess that it’s just a perfect name for one Beautiful Princess who steals the eggs of dragons…

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

Little Red Riding Hood

The awesome illustration by Gloom82… it was love at first sight. Thank you very much for your works, Anton!

– Oh, grandmother, what big pears you have!
– Stop! What is this? What the bullshit did you say?

(The wolf stares at me… Damn! I always fail with accurate quoting!)

– You should say: ‘Oh, grandmother, what big ears you have!’

(I nod. My red cap slides down to my nose. But I don’t surrender.)

– Oh, grandmother, what big wands you have!
– Are you jeering at me? Hands! What big hands you have!

(I keep silence and wait. The wolf is looking at my resume.)

– I cannot understand how you coped with your role in ‘The Green Hornet’! Who is your custodian? I should devastate him! I gauge your dramatic talent like the dramatic talent of a fruticose lichen!

– I didn’t have a big role. I was a lame ship’s boy on the ark ‘Young liches’… and a corpse on the skiff in the next scene…

– And what are you doing here?! Why do you think you can cope with this role?

– I believe in myself… My grandmother always said…

(The wolf is almost growling. The wolf is almost ready. The wolf is almost near me…)

– Stop! Stop wasting my time! Get out!

(The wolf is bending over me… and I’m wresting his Adam’s apple.)

– My grandmother always said: ‘For be it my mask, or be it your blood, red will be the last color that you’ll ever see…’

(OMG! I’m a hero! I didn’t make a mistake in this quote!!)

…I come out to the yard. This morning I see gnomes around the adjacent pavilion. ‘Snow White’. I throw away my red cap and put on a white apron.