Name: Aurora Antonovic
Country: Canada
Bio: Aurora Antonovic is a Canadian writer, visual artist, and the former co-editor and columnist of the now-defunct GT Times. Her poetry has recently appeared over three hundred times in seven countries and five continents in publications such as Poetic Voices, Blind Man's Rainbow, Falling Star, The Entouist, Makata, Thunder Sandwich, Megaera, Adagio Verse Quarterly, The Regal Quill Quarterly, and The Bohemian Rag. She currently resides in Ontario.
Midnight Flower

When the starlight sparks the sky, there are certain flowers,
That fill the night time air with intoxicating powers,
And, as the cloak of evening with its darkest hue is telling,
So is the scent of jasmine and pink primrose most compelling.

From these beckoning flowers I have taken a wise cue:
They blossom just at night time, and I blossom just for you.
So when the fall of night creeps into its midnight hour,
I will open up and become your midnight flower.

The sun will long have gone, and the daylight will be spent,
As you'll be overcome with a mesmerizing scent,
Patiently, appealingly, I'll wait until the night,
And then I'll fascinate you while I bloom with all my might.

Remember, as you see that the midnight hour is coming,
That to rich perfume, with delight, you soon will be succumbing!
And as the sky is deepening to its blackest, deepest hue,
Remember that I blossom, and I blossom just for you.


Like  a slice of life
a wedge out of time
I suddenly recall
catching the plane
as I ran in my white tailored Chanel suit
holding onto my hat
with my hands encased in tiny white gloves

I recollect the sound my pumps made on the pavement
and the relief I felt when I boarded
the taste of fresh fruit for breakfast
endless sunshine
the ocean's pull
and how I thought I could never leave
tropical delight
lemon, papaya, and pineapple days
mango nights, and
stars  that seemed scented with citrus

All of this,
evoked by one bar of
tangerine soap
that holds the warmest of memories
in its tangy lather
and makes the shower's spray
sound just like the ocean's roar.

Sunday Night Supper

Food tastes better
When eaten while I'm nestled in your arms;
Even cold, day old rice,
Takes on a certain exotic flair
When you feed it to me,
With worn chopsticks
While I sit on your lap,
And lean against your chest,
And feel the softness of
Your favourite T-shirt,
While your beard tickles
My face.

Five O'Clock Shadow

There is something about it that begs a caress,
That woos for a stroke and a gentle, soft kiss,
It rasps of virility, roguish and sure,
And possesses its own manly allure.

It yearns for a touch with a cheek pressed just so,
That leaves my skin with a reddish, warm glow,
The sandpaper graze of that potent embrace,
Ah, the feel of a masculine, unshaven face!


The first time I saw the look
in your eyes as you drank in
the beauty of that ancient Persian rug,
the way your hands caressed the nap
as though quickening up images
from days gone by,
I knew you understood

We both haunt antique shops
and imagine those who
once sat around ornately carved
mahogany tables, pretending we can
count the number of happy family members
who lived and loved as they ate their dinners
in  stately houses

We take turns rocking in chairs
conjuring up the personalities of those
who tottered out their troubles as they
knitted sweaters for loved ones, or
whittled a Christmas present for a mischievous

Neither of us have any past
or roots
so we know the importance of hanging
onto those who do

Summa Summarum

the sum of sums
is that we can never give
more than we take

that autumn will tumble into spring
without  winter  being noticed

loneliness becomes a need to escape the crowds

and even the brightest of sunrises
inevitably turns into falling sunsets
holding on with its burgeoning embers


when I was a little girl
I learned the magic of planting seeds in sun-warmed soil,

sat unnaturally still, while sunshine danced
its colour amidst my errant curls,

felt the cocoon of love I thought would last forever

and without even asking,
butterflies would come to rest
upon my waiting shoulder


You've become
A bad habit
Like Coke
First thing in the morning,
Or endless bottles of
I can ill afford
But seem to crave all afternoon

Procrastinating, like
Not cleaning the lint screen
Each time I use the dryer
Thinking next time will turn into
This time

Reading until two am when
I have to get up at five

Skipping supper

Buying sweaters
I know I'll never wear

Collecting toe rings

Lip gloss
In every sticky shade

Not really needing any of these things
But not wanting to do without either

So you've become, like,
This addiction

But I can give you up
Any time I want

Yeah -
Any time I want

Seaside Serenade

A walk along the sandy beach
Could not put memories out of reach,
The summer's day, though warm in hue,
Refused to still all thoughts of you.

The waves pounded rhythmic refrain
That splashed your name over again,
Strong winds blew thoughts of you along
With gusty blasts of sea- soaked song.

The seagulls screeched it as they flew,
And said I'd not get over you,
There was no place for solitude
In Nature's raucous interlude.

A seashell coated like a pearl
Could not keep you outside my world,
For as I held it to my ear,
Your name echoed hauntingly clear.


Her father used to call her
Which is Serbian for
Because she used to chase after the Monarchs
Flapping her chubby little girl arms
In an effort to fly just like them.
Now her thin hands flutter like
Working quickly
Over her project
While there is still
Light of day.