READING AKHMATOVA
obsidian clouds
…..cloak starless sky
seeking my muse
sitting on my
darkened patio
she’ll probably speak
some obscure dialect
from an isolated
steppe landscaped
russian village
CHERNOBYL
Your name noble city
…translates as mugwort
dried & dispelling moths
from home & garden
where once corn pollen
scattered & danced
into Ukrainian winds
haunting my name
radiated blood of
your ancestors surge
through my veins
in vain clouds
drizzle upon
forsaken earth
but will the mugwort
rise again amongst the ruins
WANDERING STEPPES
When I die
When they sort
Through my possessions
Through my poems
Tossed into recycle bins
Tossed into Siberian soil
Will my soul
Will itself
To come forth
To round again
+++
Terrence Sykes