Songs of Poppies Revisited

This Remembrance Sunday I am attaching links to two past posts of mine. On this day I recall all those who died or were injured in body or mind in wars they had no part in starting. I honour those who stood and fell against the forces of fascism from whatever country they hailed from. …

Ghosts Rising

Ghosts are rising this Halloween;

Unrestful wraiths mourn us,

The veil is getting thin between

These whiles and the bygone,

Souls speak on the squall,

Hearts become funeral drums;

Ghosts are rising this Halloween,

The fallen of past conflicts warn

Of further turbulence to come,

Shadow Fingers

my shadow’s fingers draw far into the corners that my hands can’t know.   Antonia Sara Zenkevitch Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com Alt Text for the image above: a grey panelled room with low hanging light-shade and wooden chair near an empty hearth. There are indistinct disembodied shadows, including of splayed hands.      

The Dyslexic Poet

Dyslexic, yet I

write too much, the same frayed ends,

or should that be ‘to much’ –

you may read it either way;

we write to much the same ends,…

The Meltdown

Dumbfounded, I watch this presidential meltdown – hardly the first – the Finnish president looks on as Trump, at his worst, alleges treason against his person; this ‘stable genius’ who coerced the leader of a besieged nation; withholding aid to trade with dirt on an opponent and his son; all this to pervert the next…

Priti

  Priti Patel tells a nearly all-white, mostly male reactionary elite what she has been taught to say and think in order to be accepted. They look at her, confused, blank round faces staring back at this Asian woman reaffirming all their cherished prejudices. She speaks of ending the free movement of people once and…

Forgotten Eve

Hear this modern Eve,

where the apple slices sharp

the wax drowns new wicks

swallowing the knife of words

watch a candle cut to flame,

choaked, a blessing came

with an absence of honey;

uttered without tune

where weary throats broke quavers

on past moons, hope a sliver.

Antonia Sara Zenkevitch

A Billion Raindrops

A billion raindrops

fall like all the promises

you forgot you made,

cold, tired, soaked to my bones

I seek trumpets in the storm.

Cat Lore

serenely she sits

on my favourite plant pot

and relieves herself.

Antonia Sara Zenkevitch

MRI x2

“Breathe in, breathe out, hold your breath,

breathe normally,”

a recorded voice instructs,

reiterates

as other sounds pierce my heart,

I feel entombed

staring at that small black hole

as I comply, …