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.
Category: Soul-scape
Soul-scape is an exploration of seeking and experience of spirit, soul, oneness, unity, faith and its flickering, prayer, the divine romance, traditions, law and lore reflected, re-evaluated, affirmed, questioned, discussed. It is my way of navigating, expressing, reaching, translating without dictating. The role of artist or poet is not propaganda but a speaking soul to soul, heart to heart, eye to eye in such a way that shares experience and ideas whilst opening space for another’s own personal interpretation and experience. This is my aim.
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
Unquiet Dream
Emerald Borderland
Where once the fey
Kept their gateways
Between realms,
Now, the frontier of man
Patrolled, man marking ways
As in more troubled days
Clutching old guns,
Yet, one day the Fey return.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch 