Where I was once in tranquil calm
Amid the greens, where waters flow
In long-lost summers’ timeless balm,
In soft repose, so long ago …
Category: Sense-scape
Sense-scape touches upon the physical world; the taste, the feel, the scent, sight and sound, the body in nature and our access & experience.
One Haiku of Sky & Water
gateways of water no human knows their locks; lochs, clouds, creviced realms. Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
Signals
I love the rain spiral
senses encompassing animation,
satellite clouds, and clouds
displayed in white
in grey telemetry,
You love, the soft rain at night,
cold and warmth, tickle soft matter,
the interplay between pressure,
a means of guiding
receptors
placed in the injured part,
in this work, we fabricate one
love the just, visible,
forecast invisible intensity
from sunset to sunrise,
both play a role,
signals traveling
a spinal radar,
ignoring the pain
we love for the last hour,
signals from the skin;
low-symmetry particles
with shapes, spirals,
spirals, spirals,
yellow altitudes,
fluid, few to overcast
blue, blue, blue
gusts are green,
you, love,
the spiral …
Stars Given To The Moon (a poem for Women’s Day)
First, Majesty made sun and moon Equal luminaries, a sky to crown, Legend says Majesty spoke with the moon Who said no two could wear one crown, Majesty, some say, decreased the moon, The sun, it seemed, was left to wear the crown, Majesty, tales say, ministered to the moon By giving her…
The Moon Child
(*trigger warning – depicts a dystopian future) Do not ask where the ancestors are in this great, lonely city, for they are all around. Do not ask where the guardians of this lone child are, for they are with her every step. They go before her and follow after. They raise her up though she…
Sub Rosa
In those tangled threads of gold she has conceived a key, in stories long since told, in the electric codes of cities, sub rosa, wrapped in ribbons, she stands by St. Pauls dome, hers the more secret realms of inner wisdom and imagination for she is our unknown. Antonia Sara Zenkevitch With…
Whimsey’s Gate (#writephoto)
Cunning threshold Where green inks Chiselled stone, Where whimsey Herself is enthroned, Her maidens inches from each path In imprints of each grown child’s laugh, A secret garden we may never know And so, we seek the inner world it fed; Fertile forests where thoughts are sown Into primordial seedbeds. Antonia Sara…
I am
I am free form, my cells don’t properly connect, according to the norm, as if I’ve stretched to welcome ocean but with it comes the blue as if particles of broken lives get beneath my paper skin, abrasive, gritty, at times bruising walking on pebbles and yet, this is coloured in with collective dreams…
Hope has petals
Insignificance does not apply, Rose pepper wings and crumbling things, As petals fade in half-light Clinging to the old walls To catch the flight of butterflies. Antonia Zenkevitch a response to a VJWC prompt
Chronicles
mind cataloging the shifting circumference
and significance
as sentiments deposit sediment
and their sands stretch wide and far,
and it feels i hear every footfall
until all i can hear is thunder
and still air …
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch 