Guest Post: Spirit of the Hills poets on Covid 19

2020: A Journal in Time of Pandemic and Lockdown

We benefit from participating in writing groups…and this is one of mine: Spirit of the Hills / SOTH. It is a total-arts organization where members range from those developing their passions through to those who have published collections and are very accomplished: writers, painters, sculptures — the full gamut.
You will see from this recent post, that the poetic response from our group is all over the map. This is as it should be from a group of independent, creative thinkers and writers. I hope you enjoy reading these poems and will be inspired to write, of course, and to participate in a local or virtual group. Our local group suddenly became a virtual group, as have so many others.
Enjoy (and one of my pandemic poems is included). Please scroll down . . .
So, what do you think? Like & Share (and write).

Thanks for reading to the bottom, Kate.

Some Poetic Reactions to Covid 19

IMG_4863 Reva's cat

The Literary Cat image by Reva 

At This Time by Reva Nelson

I know that

Some of you have

Cleaned the stove, tidied your closets, painted your bathroom, emptied your cupboards

Washed the floors, cleansed your cushions, vacuumed your cars

Written three novels, painted five pictures

And accomplished countless other achievements.

 

I have

Talked on the phone

Watched Netflix

Read ten novels

And have been in shock.

This author of ‘Bounce Back’, Creating Resilience from Adversity

Has not felt resilient, has not felt new energy, has not felt creative.

 

However

I do rejoice

That Nature said, “Enough”

Too many pollutants, too many emissions

Too much waste

 

And has started to stitch up the ozone layer

Put fish back in the waters

Allowed bees to flourish

And has set us straight

 

In spite of ourselves.

hands-1926414_1280

Image by Myriam Zilles from Pixabay

 

LOVE IN A TIME OF DISTANCING by ANTONY DI NARDO

 

Love is but a syllable in a book

two other words are you and me

together we determine how bright

the last light leaves the day

 

you talk in terms of candles

I quote variations on a simple word

for luminous

we agree to flatten the curve with a kiss

 

the cello plays Billie Holiday

the clouds a chorus from Hallelujah  

April snaps and out we flutter like birds

from mountain to mountain

 

a moment’s breath to reach the peak

our breath combines the words we speak

dead-trees-947331_1280

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

FADING STARS by CHRISTOPHER BLACK

While robins woke to fading stars,

That drew fat worms to morning doom,

And tired hands sought coffee jars,

Still half in dream and nightly tomb,

While prostitutes and presidents,

Walked secret streets, or secret rooms,

And madmen claimed it all made sense,

But nightly danced in drunken fear,

While others stared in innocence,

But couldn’t help a sudden tear,

Rising from their aching hearts,

For those they lost they once held dear,

A message came from foreign parts,

Of something strange passed through the air;

As if a fusillade of poisoned darts,

That pierced the old and young, the sad and fair,

In silence, swift, and thus, unseen,

As Satan climbing Heaven’s stair,

His strength renewed and body lean,

To reclaim his old authority,

And sit the chair where God had been,

Sans remorse, regret, sans pity,

First one succumbed and then the many,

From east to west, in town, in city,

The working poor lost every penny,

And sat alone, apart, in wonder,

For them escape there was not any,

As the world around them broke asunder,

For existence cares not what your name,

Or what day they put you under,

And while many played the ancient game,

Of searching entrails for some secret reason,

A bleating scapegoat they could blame,

Others knew we’d had our time, our run, our season,

Had squandered all, destroyed the world,

Against Life itself had plotted treason,

So down the great abyss were hurled.

 

soup-1006694_1280

Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay

MAKING SOUP by KATE MACDONALD

What’s in the cupboard?

What’s in the fridge?

 

She peeks here and there.

Veggies? Broth?  Seasonings?

 

Abundance     and scarcity.

 

Peel.     Chop.     Substitute.

Sauté.     Simmer.     Taste.

Adjust.     Purée.

 

Beyond the window

sun shines     beckoning.

Her bike’s in winter storage.

Tulips

Yellow daffodils

Narcissus surely bloom

Robins and worms

Bunnies under spring Hosta leaves

A solitary swan on the river

But an ingredient’s lacking?

Quixotic desires?

Think Midas.

 

Don your cowboy bandana.

Substitute two feet for two wheels.

Make soup.

 

 

dessert-3334057_1280

 

GREAT BRITISH BAKING SHOW HAIKUS by KIM AUBREY

1.

Reality too harsh?

Retreat under meringue peaks

to bake a Daquoise

2.

What could be more real

than sugar, egg whites, and cream

beaten, then eaten?

3.

To frost sweet pastry

amidst news of plague and grief

pipes rosettes of hope.

IMG_0585 Kim'sCakes

Kim’s cakes, K. Aubrey

 

Thanks to the hard-working volunteers — K. Aubrey and Felicity Sidnell, among them — and poets.

For more about SOTH’s pandemic project: Spirit of the Hills

 

Author: Kathryn (Kate) MacDonald

Writer & Writing Facilitator. Photographer. Eclectic Reader & Reviewer.

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