Pandemic Poems - APRIL 2020
Bio Note: I am a northern New England writer; a mother, and an AIDS survivor. I found my voice and community in writing poetry, and hope to keep sharing as part of my practices-for-health-and-sanity. These also include a daily walk when possible, tai chi, and listening to and singing along with my indie radio station. I'm looking forward to Spring blossoms.
Wild Goats of Llandudno Lockdown
coronavirus diary IX
Go goats, go! Run wild, run free! munch the hedges, run atop ledges, swarm the streets. Stick together, or stray apart; there’s no one to stop you now. We’re at a distance; sequestered in our bubbles, living by remote. How amazing to be a goat just now and not hold back! Feel your power; feel the wind in your fleece! Fly, fly through our streets like a squadron of migrating geese! We watch from windows, capture you on video, share with our captive kind, through clouds of internet, as we dream of freedom
Coronavirus Diary II
Congregating (in groups more than fifty) has become a danger. Especially for those over sixty. In the covid-19 pandemic, we are sitting ducks. My Father, sealed into his elder-care home. Our younger son and college mates could be carriers. This sucks! Fear is creating toilet paper hoarders; hand-sanitizer hogs. A large group of crows is called “a murder”. It seems we are all just swirling black dots on a cluster graph, mapping out contagion. However, some communities are forming; becoming stronger. Books-to-read lists are circulating; poems exchanged. I was sent a link to “sixty minutes of calming music”. Yes. Music is magic. Humming, still alive, I’ll hold tight to hope that Spring flowers arrive.
Descending On Us All
coronavirus diary VII
There is a desperate friendliness in the smile from walkers as we separate to either side of the street or sidewalk, passersby in a pandemic. The grin is a little too wide; the lips pulled to an almost-grimace, calling to mind skeletons; the just skull and bones we are, beneath it all. This is a friendliness desperate to show connection. The distancing, desperate to avoid droplets of a breath which could be virus-laden, in a time of isolation and sequestering into private bubbles of protection, hoping to avoid a sweeping coronavirus cloud as it descends on us all.
©2020 Marjorie Moorhead
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell her or him. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL