(*this post is about living the diagnostic process of a serious chronic illness and may contain triggers) They have to rule out worse alternatives But it’s almost definite, As geneticists speak of neurologists Physiotherapists, cardiologists And, if they deign to see me, Rheumatologists, There’s a remote possibility Of the one specialist Rehabilitation place in…
Tag: Chronic illness
The Jade Quill
Life
between
sheets of dreams
knowing none know
where my tides convene
at breaker’s edge, the brow
transformed in the under-toe;
Measuring Absence; a collaborative poem, join in.
Measuring Absence How do you measure the weight of absence; the void at the gate, in ambit, to wait to become an interval or sequence, a hitch in the air to anticipate, to calculate the mass of an absence …. (What comes next? Can you fill the absence of following verses?) I have recently…
Shit-Sock Sonnet (a political satire)
“Roll up! Hear the latest reports from our government,” A homeless man on a park bench gleefully shouts, “Woman in wheelchair throws shit-socks at parliament!” “She said it was for the country’s good, She’d ensured the more decent MPs weren’t about, Roll up! Hear the latest reports from our government, “No one believed her;…
To Speak
I have learnt to speak;
I have learnt to speak in silence when my voice was gone,
in mimes, memes and gesticulations with one arm,
I have learnt to speak in rhythms when my limbs were
free,
I have learnt to speak within the forms my body allows me,
I learnt to speak again,
again,
again,
again,
….
if and when
my voice is gone
as voices one day do,
when they speak of all I’ve done
I hope they’ll say this too;
I learnt to speak.
To All I was Before (poem)
I often speak of all I was before, Those ghosts carried ever in my casement, Echoing, like the voices of the wars I traversed, yet now I feel displacement, Life in pause, forbidden summits, woods, shores, Shops, parties, pavements, Vanished continents, consonants, confidence, The family, colleagues; friends I see no more; Those ghosts carried…
Indices
I write of lives in indices, Scenes sketched within margins Of halts for breath in sentences, Of freedom in parenthesis In our secret garden, I write of lives in ink; Hers inscribed in water In quiet apocalypse Others would call order, I write of lives, Their curve in words At boundary lines To…
Wild Forever
Wild Forever Welcome to my wild forever Born of the forests of my mind, An acorn in every letter Of words that no one can fetter Though my body cannot get there, Bones and sinew left behind, Welcome to my wild forever, Born of the forests of my mind. Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
Inspiration Porn
I’m not your inspiration porn For you to sensationalize As your source of motivation For your more abled-bodied lives, Not your inspiration Or measure of your skill, A Paralympian Nor life uncured to kill, I’m not your porn, Objectified For you to own Or criticize, Not your Provocation Your stimulus or spur;…
still here; still hear
Hello, I say to friends, poets, travelers and unknown warriors,
I have not posted on this site for a long while initially due to being messy-busy then due to being very unwell. I seem to have collected chronic illnesses to add to life-long and new disabilities. I’ve recently written an article in a local newspaper called Left Lion about these experiences, so instead of boring you here, I’ll let you decide if you’d like to know more by clicking the link.
For a while, I could not write or talk much, which let me tell you, refocuses you somewhat when you can. I’ve been slowly compiling my work into books. Between computer and brain crashes and bouts of bardic outbursts, this is taking time. I’m also trying my hand at fan fiction, which began as an exercise to flex my literary muscles while escaping the adult world, yet seems to be evolving. I will shortly be posting a link…
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch 