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. …
Category: poem
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, …
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch 