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,…

Real Fantasy

(post formally called ‘the magic touch’) I love magical realism, the unexplained sitting side by side with routine, reasoned reality.  Perhaps I love it because in truth reality rarely appears very reasonable. My fascination may in part be because that taste of magic fulfills in me a yearning for everyday enchantment, but not too much…

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; …

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

Wolf Sky (#Writephoto)

Thanks to Sue Vincent for this week’s #Writephoto prompt. Not done this in a while but glad to be back. So here goes:   Wolf fur sky, Ink scratched branches reach From golden Fallow curves Where rays write green ligaments Into lead and white. Antonia Sara Zenkevitch