Our mothers’ mother
speaks within the ancestry
of bees and flowers.
Our mothers’ mother
speaks within the ancestry
of bees and flowers.
Life will use the air abused by ill words as offerings for trees who paint our futures with their leaves. Happy Friday Everyone, This post is later than originally planned but as a Brit going through the chaos of Brexit whilst processing a few things in my own life, I’m going to forgive myself. …
I’m called ‘citizen of nowhere’
by Theresa May, who asserts
this as the British Prime Minister,
though this is the land of my birth,
Bone weary; this drama has me soul fatigued; diversions perform faux democracy; facts erased; side-lined. Antonia Sara Zenkevitch a shadorma in grateful response to Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday Challenge words to find synonyms for: ‘hobby’ and ‘play’ (alternative text for below photo: an ambiguous graduated grey – a wall or misty window no one…
They call this the greatest mandate ever;
even though the results split the UK
in half, more than one union near severed –
they call this the greatest mandate ever
when half the voters go unheard – inferred
consent through barefaced lies, flagrantly
they call this the greatest mandate ever
even though the results split the UK
losing words and dates again, I laugh when I have trouble with a form but part of me is frightened, my neurology is not the norm, never was, but this dense fog is getting deeper; first I cannot read as I lose focus, my thoughts loop, as I infer what I inferred before before…
Originally posted on The 48%:
“The will of the people”, she says, Though the UK is divided As Brexit drills on, come what May, Accords wrecked where lies decided ? The will of the people; But they do not serve us, Pretending it feeble As millions amass; ? The will of the Once Great Britain’s Identity…
Originally posted on NottNormal:
? (alternative text for those who cannot see the images above, 3 stylised versions of the same portrait of face sit in a line. Only one in colour. The expression on the face is ambiguous, seemingly changing in relation to light and shade and to representation.) This is what ‘disability’ looks…
My grandma’s handbag
carries memories
as well as coins and keys;
not just another thing to grab
but the next lines of a story….
in this circus home
forests of recollections
whisper new seeds.
Originally posted on proletaria:
(a quintuplet on the creative – and destructive – power of words) ? Word; one breath on four winds, forever. … ? Hope, forever written in the margins. ? … ? Like these words, you are curved prana. ? … ? Shackles are forged where-ever lies govern. ? … ? Words,…
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