Our mothers’ mother
speaks within the ancestry
of bees and flowers.
Category: Heart-lands
Heart-lands explores core of experiences of love and friendship and self-worth. It is a ‘home’ we return to and a place we travel from. Poems celebrating a life or rite of passage are ‘heart-land’ and ‘soul scape’.
Poems looking at peace, conflict transformation and our relationship to one another and earth is also found in this category as well as others such as soul-scape.
The Last Free Form Friday
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. …
Citizen of Nowhere
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,
Stories of Objects that Sustain
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.
Tough Love
Tough love, life is precious, my energy too scarce to push the granite walls you build, shift now. Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
Dragon Thaw
The winter stretched like Ouroboran tail,
Thus, the rider sought the dragon
Iron Scale beneath her bridge
“we need your breath of fire
For life to prevail,”
The rider said.
One roar,
Spring.
Candles & Questions
One of two poems:
we lit candles after
their names and tales on our ears
flames flickering, like souls.
#FreeForm Friday Round up and Prompt
Hello all, Below is the wonderful round-up of last week’s #FreeFormFriday prompt, exploring the art of free form and combined form. Many thanks to contributors. Apologies for being slightly delayed today, life overtook events. From now on I’ll be running this fortnightly. If you would like to join in I’d love to hear from…
Love & Hate
Hate; a verb, an abstract noun
That we may give our power,
Love; a verb, an abstract noun
That is hate’s funeral pyre.
In black and white
You may not see our battle scars,
but know this; we are not victims
we are this world’s warriors.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch 