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.      

Strange Sights

I do not get out as often as I’d like due to severe mobility & health issues. Seeing the world from up on high, complete with aerial views of early autumn hills and human habitats, is a rare thing for anyone, especially those with special access needs. Last weekend I went on a cable car…

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.

Saffron Shores (art and poem)

Thieve me into relief or sleep,

Steal me onto far saffron shores

Where Valerian seas beget

Rests thirstier than nutmeg thoughts

Thieve me into relief or sleep.

Antonia Sara Zenkevitch

Equinox

Equinox,

wets paint for sunsets

stroking sky

stretching age,

etching gold with eager hands,

gilt votives in shades.

Antonia Sara Zenkevitch

Blue Eons (Anagram Verse)

blue eons observe

lone silence’s ire,

in it yells a curse

to rile oceans;

to rouse bile in us,

yet envoys arise

to yearn,

to learn

in soul’s urn

obverse to ruin;

converse orations

annul bribes;

no absolutions

in love’s alibis

yet our orisons

vault bliss; …

The Bend

…life; potential; vitality,
such strength for the able-bodied,
I choose a bolder path you see,
or perhaps ‘choice’ was eroded
by kinks in my neurology
and the way my cells encoded
in ‘abnormal’ biology; …

Pi; a tanka

submerged origins

stretch this jazz of blues to gust

bright brine-washed being;

I see clouds and wings trace Pi

sweeping up a cyclone’s tail.

Paper Towers

Lured

They wait

As lies fold

Up a fortress

Of paper towels

To fight the furling rain,

Gusting like old promises

To race the edge of reasoning,

We are the blurring syntax written,

Ruched towers tear the torrents beginning.

Antonia Sara Zenkevitch