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,…

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.