but they still talk about the Trumpist base
all ‘bout the base, not justice,
but some of that Trumpist base are fascists
it’s ’bout that base, ’bout that base, not justice
it’s all ’bout that base, ’bout that base …
Tag: peace
Dear Antisemite; a poem for Holocaust Memorial Day
The poem below is the first of a collection it has taken me a long time to share. I’ve not been sharing my work broadly for a while, both for health reasons and the sense of being silenced. Enough said on that one. This Holocaust Memorial Day I am sharing this. It is actually being…
Songs of Poppies Revisited
This Remembrance Sunday I am attaching links to two past posts of mine. On this day I recall all those who died or were injured in body or mind in wars they had no part in starting. I honour those who stood and fell against the forces of fascism from whatever country they hailed from. …
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,
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.
Candles & Questions
One of two poems:
we lit candles after
their names and tales on our ears
flames flickering, like souls.
Love All
Whatever’s happening in the world, in all our lives, whoever you are I feel the will to say I Wish You Peace!
Just Accords
For the families
may past wrongs come to light,
may past wrongs stay past.
Remembrance: a poem by a red & white poppy wearer
If I don a red poppy it is not for one state, It is not to declare some glory in war – It’s so often started by greed, fear or hate – But I recall those perished on many a shore Due to directives of others, not due to fate, So many have died, I…
A Song of Poppies (in hope of more peace)
Bend swords into ploughshares, flutes, trumpets, drums and violins As one exhales their last, still another greatest symphony begins, And this is our triumph; when words fail us, the sound of horn Quavers upon wind, words of peace as seeds of poppies spawn; I will wear both red and white in remembrance and anticipation Of…
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch 