humanity
cut from the same cloth
bolt of material flesh
jolt of spiritual lightning
flashes of the familiar
the fabric of our wrinkled lives
rolled out before us
texture of feeling
colour of blood
grief ribboned with joy
patterns emerged
flowered tapestries
bordered
by imprints of past generations
shadowy ghosts
wonder courage fear
landscape of regret
the stain of sin
cloaked
in stiff brocaded silence
the deafening unknown
that wrapped itself around us
like delicate transparent skin
mummies bandaged in some ancient tomb
unravelled by yet another century
sometimes we hid
under the hood or in the sleeves
of polished cotton comfortable corduroy
blue jean babies
fastened
in fashionable silks and satins
sometimes we mourned
the missing the dead
that left a hole in the weave
that one we couldn’t mend
like the hole in our hearts
but always
we wore the threads
day in and day out
of frayed and fading memory
memory that would one day
wear us up and wear us down
until we departed as once we arrived
cold forgetful shivering
naked and blue
under it all
Til Suddenly
Alone in my room
my thoughts out of tune
my memory spent
I can’t pay the rent
My spoken words broken
I a mere token
of what we call life
I live week to week
off that old refrain
Poor me poor me
threadbare unravelled
untraveled
tattered torn
(I’m going insane)
I’m skint I'm scant
I rage i rant
for being born
Fading dreams
worn-out schemes
All is not what it seems
Whatcanisay?
There are no words
for the hole in my pocket
the hole in my soul
the give and take of
night and day
the all of nothing
the nothing of all
that's taken its toll
I’m skint I'm scant
I rage i rant
I can’t recant gone yesterdays
Poor me poor me
a penniless pauper
unseen a mere being
running on empty
nothing to tempt me
pre-empt me
til
suddenly
from my tiny window
comes
the immense feeling
of a star falling through
the miracle of healing
the light i once knew
Why is it only
now that i recall
this one shining moment
out of sight
How to hold onto
the stroke of midnight
this second of September
the dust that transcends
Where to begin?
How does it end?
Why is it only when
i am without
that i remember
stars lit from within
are blessed from above
How to hold onto
all that we are
all that we have
when all that there is
Is love is love
Antonia Alexandra Klimenko was first introduced on the BBC and to the literary world by the legendary James Meary Tambimuttu of Poetry London–-publisher of T.S. Eliot, Dylan Thomas, Henry Miller and Bob Dylan, to name a few. his death, it was his friend, the late great Kathleen Raine, who took an interest in her writing and encouraged her to publish. A nominee for the Pushcart Prize, The Best of the Net, and a former San Francisco Poetry Slam Champion, she is widely published. Her work has appeared in (among others) XXI Century World Literature (which she represents France) and Maintenant : Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing and Art archived at New York’s Museum of Modern Art. She is the recipient of two grants: one from Poets in Need, of which Michael (100 Thousand Poets for Change) Rothenberg is a co-founder; the second—the 2018 Generosity Award bestowed on her by Kathleen Spivack and Joseph Murray for her outstanding service to international writers through SpokenWord Paris where she is Writer/ Poet in Residence. Her selected poems On the Way to Invisible was recently published by The Opiate Books and is now available.
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