Self-Sustaining

To sustain the self Is fraught with complexities, I remain alive.   Hello All, I hope you have enjoyed your Sunday! I’ve not been physically or mentally able to write or blog post this last fortnight. I won’t bore you with all the details but it is due to a domino effect of connected flare-ups…

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,

The Slide

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…

The Great Mandate

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

Lost Words

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…

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.

Returning

sweetened seeds in sheaths,

spring’s tunic dressed in

last sun’s poppies,

twelve moon pirouettes since

we consumed these;

Sand Treads

Tracking the lost ones I listen to the desert where the sands tread us.   Antonia Sara Zenkevitch