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,

MRI x2

“Breathe in, breathe out, hold your breath,

breathe normally,”

a recorded voice instructs,

reiterates

as other sounds pierce my heart,

I feel entombed

staring at that small black hole

as I comply, …

The Last Free Form Friday

Life will use the air abused by ill words as offerings for trees who paint our futures with their leaves.   Happy Friday Everyone, This post is later than originally planned but as a Brit going through the chaos of Brexit whilst processing a few things in my own life, I’m going to forgive myself. …

Candles & Questions

One of two poems:

we lit candles after

their names and tales on our ears

flames flickering, like souls.

In black and white

You may not see our battle scars,

but know this; we are not victims

we are this world’s warriors.

Heart

cardiology; ‘an abnormality of the functioning of the autonomic (involuntary) nervous system,’ another one; a condition common with my co-morbidities, nothing I’d not guessed we already do much of what they say I should, I laugh during the tests; “Don’t get up too fast,” he says smiling knowingly – as if I could, and we…

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…

Freeform Fridays

Hello poets, writers, artists, and other thinkers, Welcome to the first #FreeformFriday Prompt! This is not meant to compete with the other prompt, simply to add another angle.   The prompt words this week are: GRITTY, CALM, BLUE (you can choose any 2 or 3) Set your words free Friday could be an alternative name…