AIPF and Coronavirus Poetry
In these difficult times it helps to have an outlet, an opportunity to let off some steam that builds up with lockdowns and other restrictions on social behavior. Below are poems from more than 3 dozen poets whose voices should be heard
during this particular pandemic.
GOING VIRAL
An anthology dedicated to those
Impacted by the 2020 Pandemic of the Corona-19 Virus
--
Edited by
Dr. Charles A. Stone
Copyright © 2020 by Austin Poets International Inc
An anthology dedicated to those
Impacted by the 2020 Pandemic of the Corona-19 Virus
--
Edited by
Dr. Charles A. Stone
Copyright © 2020 by Austin Poets International Inc
Introduction
THE virus has knocked society aside its head and sent it spinning on its collective heels. What virus? You name it; there have been outbreaks of one virus or another every hundred years or so for generations.
WHAT makes the viral pandemic of 2020 different than its predecessors? Rapidity of spread, mortality, demographics, origin, political posturing? The same questions could be asked about any viral pandemic, going back to biblical times. Each has had its unique profile and society’s response to each has differed according to the technology of its time. Answers to questions about the 2020 pandemic will be debated long after the fact, and may not be settled even then…whenever ‘then’ will be.
FORTUNATELY, we are poets and are not expected to be articulate about the science or analysis of the virus’ impact; not another word about that here.
THE one undeniable fact is that we all have been impacted in one way or another - there may be those in society who have not been knowingly impacted, but I doubt they are reading this anthology. Poems in this volume are meant to express feelings and insights gleaned form exposure to the Covi-19 virus and society’s response to it; the virus may not be the central issue of each poem contained herein; there are other things that have impinged on society simultaneous with the pandemic, some of which may be exacerbated by it: economic collapse and social unrest at the top of the list.
THIS volume of di-vêrsé-city is a timely response to the virus in light of the fact that AIPF 2020 had to be cancelled, yet many AIPF poets had something worthwhile to say. Read their poetry, appreciate their insights and come together with us at AIPF 2021 in April.
STAY healthy, keep writing as though you mean it, and god-speed.
Dr. Charles A. Stone
Editor
Table of Contents
Poet 1:Rubeena Anjum
Poet 2: Alamgir Babul
Poet 3: William Blackburn
Poet 4:Ally Blovits
Poet 5: Paula Brown
Poet6: Ian Burns
Poet 7: Raymond Byrnes
Poet 8: Allexis Torres Campos
Poet 9: Aarisha Chakraborty
Poet 10: A.J. Chilson
Poet 11: Matthue Davis
Poet 12: Ellen Diamond
Poet 13: Brian Docherty
Poet 14: Jeanette Dunbar
Poet 15: Peter Edgar
Poet 16: Hugh Findlay
Poet 17: Penny Freeland
Poet 18: Lorien George
Poet 19: Shritama Ghorui
Poet 20: Rich Glinnen
Poet 21: Vonnie Hunt
Poet 22: Theresa Judge
Poet 23: Gilbert Juergens III
Poet 24: Mark Kessinger
Poet 25: S. Ramesh Kumar
Poet 26: Katherine Leavy
Poet 27: Aimee Lowenstern
Poet 28: Thomas Murphy
Poet 29: Alex Phuong
Poet 30: Elissavet Pontikakis
Poet 31: Anne Rauth
Poet 32: Georg Reilly
Poet 33: Arianna Sebo
Poet 34: Lisa Slaikeu
Poet 35: Ellanora Smith
Poet 36: Charles A. Stone
Poet 37: Lisa Taylor
Poet38: Mary Taylor
Poet 39 Brett Thompson
Poet 40: Steph Thompson
Poet 41: Sarah Williams
Poet 42: Sean Winn
Poet 43: Helen Zax
Poet 1
Blue Diamonds
night giving shivers
dry cough, mild fever, headache too
tomorrow maybe, fingers google what's wrong
muscles marinated in pain; body pricked
with barbs, punctured lungs can't breathe
needles passing supplements in veins
BP cueing qualms, virus tested positive
hospital pillows are no more soft
etherized silence, gloved hands
masks checking vitals, decoding scans
drooping eyes are oysters shelled in a plate
sweaty palms, erratic breathing, blackout:
its a bouquet crushed under wheels, broken
frazzled lungs, forest fires smock sick, charred
wilderness inventing sinuous syntax
phantom white coats stand close
day sedating into oblivion
time to pause, time for confession
the Lord is there, a conversation starts
so easily accessible if that was known
who would not have tapped Love's door?
begged a flicker worth of faith
exchanged doubts with a belief, saved
the soul swindled by baits
be the best, be the first in the race
be a backer, be the burning bite
beat funk out of bones, be entrepreneurial
mortal breath engaged in bidding torpedoes
if that be not you, invent lies, create
images of invincibility, buy and sell
such reliance on self, is it worth it?
progress, an obsession, dearly paid
small pleasures, pranks, and fun
shelved till next year, the next to next
rainbows trapped in work routines
conceits wrinkling acned expeditions
major headlines yet to catch, stars above
ladder and its rungs inviting inclines
fists tensed, and feet taking leaps
self- denials are flaws, seldom fixed
body wired like motherboard
anguish piercing through tangled support
carrying debts of life on shoulders cold
rungs have fallen, ladder no more
saline drops trickling cheek to neck
a pulse showing signs ahead; nods exchanged
wristwatch measuring seconds left
no one there to say goodbye
darkness layering darkness
ceiling curdling clouds, roofs fall
white walls vanishing in spiral smoke
pitch blind passage opening-up
the coal mine has no air inside
walking solo, uncertain and scared
behind me are some others catching up
ahead are those ventilator-free
bee-line traffic passing by
roadsides filled with Hyacinths blooms
white, purple, pink as in shades of red
sunburnt spring dying in shears; stems pruned
fading slowly in the rustle of leaves
colonies of quiet expand underneath
columns of blue diamonds will appear
when the dust settles as light
Dr. Rubeena Anjum
Poet 2
Lost my love 2020
Just you know
I lost my love
Sky is too cloudy
COVID - 19
Take my way
My city my memoir
Virus took golden leaf
My heart brook down
No feelings tears in eyes
Lost mother and father
My mind blow my
No more in blue sky
American eagle
Street road highway
Everybody at home
Nobody at grocery store
Everyday heartbreaking news
Make me sad sometime upset
I do not know what I need to do
Time is too bore no job no income
What I need to do
Sometime lost mind
My world now so dark
I don’t find my nest, my pat
My sweet heart my bird
Just fly way to Gulf of Mexico
I lost everything even my love .
Alamgir Babul
Poet 3
Cubicles
Beginnings
Within those hallowed hospital walls, square rigged and mortared, born to this world
In a casket set and slept rocking cradled sepulcher
Teething: maple blocks brightly painted alpha-numeric symbolic nonsense,
As ramparts stacked, guarding Counterpane
That satisfying "click" as petroleum-based bricks clasping one another
Totems of modern art racing cars
Trials
Barred from nightlife, incarceration in cribs in bedrooms allotted all the nighttime through
Sneaking jailbreak as parents just begin to cuddle
Those rooms, feng-shui stacked haphazard McMansion neighborhood arrayed
Carefree blocks radially from center town
School daze: another stack of blocks, building meaning in units discerned
A captive audience for mold making
Tribulations
Other homes on other lanes similarly designed and narrowly traversed carom-combed
Mid-street, midlife, calamity of calisthenics lawns mowing
A place of servitude to each other, for we cannot all be plotted farmers
In workstations ergonomic allotted as cubicles set
Still soapbox racing to and fro’, in cycles daily dream-fasting
Along majestic city blocks parading
Ends
Where all roads lead: leave now these city streets, bus-caressed, lay out in tartan plaids
To our temples vast, heaven reflecting window blessed
Perchance to dream, the long sleep, as that first, in cradle casket bound
Oak and silk the final bed beneath bright flowers
Landed, as aristocracy and rot-forgotten
All these round pegs locked in square holes.
William Blackburn
Fear III
Sat alone, dining room table bound, performing tricks, laptop clicks
A penny and farthing earned
Nervous awaiting, headline scanning, the bodies piled accounting
I, middle-aged and wanting
The slow repeal of market gains congealed as paste and posters
Advertisements for snake oil
This memory efficacious like a disease
William Blackburn
Poet 4
Quarantined
I wake up later than I want to. The sunlight lays
on the bed next to me, bird song lulls me in and out
of consciousness. I get up, brush my teeth, eat breakfast.
I watch episodes of a show I’ve seen hundreds of times before.
I clean my desk. I make a craft. I open my window out of guilt.
The branches of the trees beckon me with curling fingers
but the danger is invisible and inside I am safe.
It’s dinner time. I never ate lunch. We watch
Jeopardy while we eat and suddenly it is bedtime.
On my way to bed, it turns to 3 am. I don’t know
where the time went.
I wake up. The sunlight rocks me back to sleep.
When I step out of bed, a vague memory pulls
at my ponytail, but I’m pretty sure it was a dream.
Did I eat breakfast? No, that was yesterday, or last week.
I take a walk. Each person on the street flashes
like a warning sign. I make a craft. Idle hands lose
time faster. I think it’s Sunday, no Thursday, I think it’s April,
no May. When will this end? I wake up
in this perpetual time loop, no, time is progressing, I am not.
Now it’s midnight, there’s nowhere in this house I can hide.
I’ve memorized the cracks in the paint, and where to step
for the floorboards to speak, I remember emails
I haven’t responded to, or maybe that was last year, or
maybe it was not real, or maybe tomorrow
the sunlight won’t wake me up.
Ally Blovits
Poet 5
Shelter in Place
Do you remember
our outing ten days ago,
perusing that upscale kitchen wares store,
so tempted to bring home
the plates with gray rabbits peeking
over the rims? Ten days ago when
people were still doing those things.
The rabbits so fresh with hope, evoking
spring the way it used
to be. I found those dishes online.
They’re all half price now, but you can’t
touch them.
I am trying to remember how they felt in our hands,
the cool porcelain,
how the rabbits’ faces looked so
typical, so ordinary.
I am trying to remember ordinary,
so I breathe outside for hours
where the citrus blossoms bring hummingbirds in
by the dozens, their bouquet
so sweet it can’t possibly be real.
I go back inside and I’m lost
groping for hours with so much news,
so much media, so much trying
not to touch my face.
I want to bring the citrus blossoms to your house.
I want to touch the rabbit’s face.
Paula Brown
Poet 6
Immunity
The virus is not a country I’ve visited
nor season after season of change
I could watch from the cozy of my home
It is a cloth holding the world in its folds,
imprinting neighborhoods and cities
with indelible ink of anxiety
It is like floodwaters of Spring rivers,
cancelling footprints of shore birds
and rearranging the landscape
The virus is a field gone fallow
under a blistering sun and a driftless
wind blowing from East to West,
But while society is locked down
by fear of its far-reaching breath
and inequitable assault on the aged
An irrevocable echo emerges
from thundering clouds, and songs
of truth spring from choirs of churches
And secular stages: this too shall pass,
this too shall be imprinted in the annals
of history of body, soul, and community.
Ian Burns
Perspective
Despite the moon’s wide passage
over waterfalls, over sleeping forests
and tides forever being pulled
this way and that
This earth, shared by man and beast,
this satellite among stars,
is no more than an estuary
mired in a race through time and space
Pretending an importance beyond
its seas and canyons and mountains
as seas dry up, canyons fill in,
mountains fall and viruses reign
supreme
Ian Burns
Poet 7
Once
Once this deadly scourge is truly over
there are several steps I need to take:
climb again aboard the Silver Line
full of red hats bobbing like a school bus
hop off at Capital South and stroll down
to Half Street where the plastic-bucket
drummers pump up pulses; see some
high-steppers prance, nodding to the beat
funnel slowly through Center Field Gate to
the concrete plaza above the flawless green
watch white batting-practice mortars arc
toward kids pounding gloves at the railing
float on deep-fried aromas toward
Section 114; stop for a crispy bratwurst
concealed beneath sauerkraut and mustard
carry a cold foaming amber lager pint
find row LL-12 to sit and chomp and gulp
and dab at juices sliding down my chin.
Top of the third, wave a five at the peanut man
who always knows he’ll throw another strike
and once that first homer clears the wall, join a
roar that cannot cease until the hero tips his cap.
Raymond Byrnes
Originally appeared in Quaci Press Magazine, Spring 2020
Poet 8
A Calamity of the Present
Stormy Winds, starry nights, 2020
When will it end?
Tragedy after tragedy.
Why were plunged into this insanity?
Oppression, years of racial discrimination, all unveiled. The death of George Floyd, the breaking point, millions couldn't bare.
They emerged on a mission once righteous.
Even in the midst of a ravaging pandemic.
But, it quickly lost its innocence,
Individuals bent on passion lost sight of it's true purpose. Peaceful protests gone rogue.
Buildings massacred, businesses dismantled, innocent people murdered.
The tidal waves soon calmed.
But anger was only deflected.
Pinned upon a new scapegoat.
China, the site of origin was blamed.
But, can't we all see?
This was done in vain.
How can we tolerate such division, in a time where unity is all we need.
Fortunately, in the darkest times there comes a distant light,
Which steadily grows, from the souls of those who wish for a better world.
But, until then
Life be it no more, this chapter of fate, the door must be closed.
Alexis Torres Campos
Poet 9
A Clueless Mind
Well, at first thought we all would feel,
Reason behind this? No-one had a clue
And making the vaccine was a great deal
We all would lay down feeling blue
But something shone brightly
Made us realise,
What god thought above was very wise
Neither I nor you were expecting this
School got closed
And everything was online
And some people went into quarantine
But our family had a bright side,
These days were used in the best way possible
And we all tried to forget the terrible
We spent most of our time as a family
And all of this became heavenly
While our car keys gathered dust,
We would be at home playing a game of trust
Stressed mornings reduced to relaxations
And we didn’t need any explanation
To tell us that, this all would be fine
All we needed to do was just have some family time
With the air less with voyagers,
The earth began to breathe
The beaches bore new wildlife
Which scuttled off into the sea
Tiger Hill was visible from Darjeeling
And the moon looked brighter from my ceiling
I heard chirping outside my windows
Of birds, I didn’t even know about
The sky began to clear
Revealing a beautiful layer,
Of mountains huddled with snow
Though I didn’t miss school for the last few months,
By the memory of the times when
We could play mischievous pranks on our friends
And the tenuous giggles the evoke laughter
Then wish that the teacher would not make all of this end
I am yearning. The most terrific part of school,
The times when we all would scramble towards our desks
Not even trying the take any big risks
I can no longer hold myself to the chimes of the morning bell,
And the climbing of ups and downs in the stairs,
Meeting old friends in a new class,
And embracing them in pairs.
Sharing each other’s tiffin’s
and waiting for the teacher to say “Good Morning” With a smile
Well After all it has been a while
We’ve done it!
We’ve won it!
And we will never forget to maintain perfect hygiene
So vividly taught us by the COVID-19 Pandemic.
Sharing each other’s tiffin’s
and waiting for the teacher to say “Good Morning” With a smile
Well After all it has been a while
We’ve done it!
We’ve won it!
And we will never forget to maintain perfect hygiene
So vividly taught us by the COVID-19 Pandemic.
Aarisha Chakraborty
Poet 10
Masks
No, I don't like wearing a mask,
So please don't put me to the task.
Either you let me in your store,
Or I won't come by anymore.
Whenever I wear masks, I gag,
Like wearing a grocery bag.
I'm the person who likes to breathe,
And masks are like distracting sleeves.
Where's my Freedom of Expression?
Is this Communist expansion?
I'm sorry, but it's only me
Who I care about to be free.
I just hate this damn government;
Their involvement leaves me hell-bent.
A. J. Chilson
Poet 11
Virus Angst
Do I have it? Do I not?
How do I know what I’ve got?
My temperature is 99,
A teeny more, but I feel fine.
I think I’m fine, that is to say,
But am I, maybe, just OK?
Is my throat a little dry?
Or is it scratchy? If so, why?
If I conclude that it is scratchy,
Does it mean that I am catchy?
My nose is runny, that’s not new,
But much more than it used to do.
I think. Perhaps it’s just a cold,
Or maybe part of getting old.
It’s also true that I am tired,
But then I also feel I’m wired.
Maybe I should take a rest?
Or could I, should I, take the test?
I’m ready for all outdoor tasks,
With Clorox wipes and gloves and masks.
But still I’m clueless and cannot
Begin to guess just what I’ve got
Matthue Davis
Poet 12
Pandemic Slide, July 2020
As if a wind can come from anywhere,
be anywhere when bringing it...
the message arrives.
How it happens...as if the word insidious
was made for it. Everything is stop
and go, stop and go.
Doors don’t slam --
they close so quietly you wonder if you
had closed them and forgot.
Each day another floorboard creaks,
and the space between what was possible
and is no longer possible narrows.
Life as you took so long to figure out
how to do...as a simple series of well-worn
steps...life as a broad reach for help...
life as a computer that means well...
life as a remembrance of taste, of shape...
gone for now and gone again tomorrow.
Ellen Diamond
Poet 13
An Ecology of Love
(after Teilhard de Chardin)
Is what will keep us alive
in the darkest times, as long
as we accept who we truly are
and reach down into our
deepest well of being, and
persuade anyone who acts
or reacts out of fear to self-isolate,
especially those who cannot
accept we are truly one world,
that there is no starship waiting
to warp speed them to a new life,
no walled garden reserved
for them and their kinfolk,
and the parable of the big table
and the long-handled spoons
is an invitation to share
what we have in fellowship,
that our ecology, our household,
is a house of love, that there
is no limit on the love in the
world, and any true religion
had always had this truth
as its only message, no need
to go to any house of religion,
we are our own temple, we
are all one temple, now and
forever, we can be our own
prayer, and if we are all one
prayer, we can be truly alive,
and save our only world.
Brian Docherty
Poet14
Epiphany
Scary, oh how scary,
is this world we live in.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Goes the sound of the gun
dropping one by one,
bodies hit the ground.
Red, anger. Black, danger is this
World as it fuels with confusion.
Is it me, my skin, my race, my circle?
Is it you, your skin, your race, your circle?
Why is there so much hate in a world full of
nations capable of choosing love?
If we fall, do we not get up? If they fall,
do we just stare and walk away?
So many questions. So much confusion.
So much fear metamorphosing into hate.
Seeking clarity is too time consuming.
Being slaves to social circumstance is what
we wade into.
Epiphany...
How about choosing love, forgiveness, peace?
Ludicrous! Pointless! Tedious!
Say the masses without words.
We are not blind, yet we cannot see for time seems
wasted, sense makes too many demands, requires too
many explanations so let time on earth decay with
thoughts and actions so facile, yet somehow, delivers the
security we long for.
For love; love is acceptance, love is commitment,
Love is kind. Love is forgiveness, love is an encourager.
Love sees no color. Love; stands up for one another.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
So easy to pull the gun trigger,
the emotional trigger,
the hate trigger.
We hate when we see black, white, gay, straight,
Someone different than our own reflection.
Are we really different?
Do we hate because we're actually the same
and too afraid to admit it?
Instead we take everyone down like a waterfall,
having no care for how hard it rushes to the bottom
despite of what else suffers below.
A hate rush filled with abandonment
and abhorrence spewing words like
bullets killing each soul one adjective
at a time, murdering all hope for our
decedents.
Like DNA, our actions leave a little piece of uf
wherever we go. What we do, how we act, how
we speak, leaves a trace that others
will indeed follow.
In the end, are we really that different?
My heart can be yours, my liver, my bones,
what once was mine, it is said, can be yours.
I checked the box. I gave permission to take
what once was mine to save your life, the one
I do not know!
We are all intertwined regardless of our skin, our walks
of life, our circles, our decisions.
We are all the same; broken, confused, sad, mad, scared, hurt,
oppressed prisoners in our own internally identical, red-blooded
bodies merely holding on to discern what is next.
Not one soul is innocent or excluded of hate.
We all are culprits and victims of walking down the path of hate.
There is no innocence in this subject matter.
Some stay for a while and at long last finds the berms of shoveled
earth and dethrone its very name.
Some stay and egress, falling cavernously by each passage they
take in binding them deeper into a dark loophole of perplexity.
Some never discovering their own unconscious bias as they
amble and prodder.
Will you embrace your own fruitful, self-selected path?
Or will you surrender yourself to succeed social circumstance?
Epiphany...
How about choosing love? Forgiveness? Peace?
Ludicrous! Pointless! Tedious!
Say the masses without words
Jeanette Dunbar
Poet 15
Ghazal for Arjeet
After Ed Yong at the Atlantic and a tweet by Zeynep Tufekci: “we should not yearn for the normal: ‘Normal led to this’”
Thank God for the miles between us; I can step back with
a tap water while you lament the new abnormal.
You’d trained for hurricanes and school shootings but sickness
is what, child of physicians, blasts away your normal?
You said without social interaction you wither,
and is this what you would return to, this old normal?
Why not find strength in that now your real world, and your myth,
your waking, working, playing, and sleeping, can renormal-
-ize. Morph a brand new life as your life around you shifts.
I pray principle, not routine, define your normal:
may adaptation and skill, wisdom and tact and faith
be what you’re known for— not where you were when your normal
died. It’s happened to my family before, that crisis--
that numbed word—every two years redirects “what’s normal”:
an earthquake for a month, add three for civil unrest,
and now, for six, disease. My “plans-change” family normal.
I say this not as “shame,” it’s not as a “look at us,”
I say this to say “welcome.” Welcome to our normal.
P. D. Edgar
Poet 16
Same Script
New car sleeps its battery dead
Netflix our new best friend
Celebrities fade are forgotten then
Miss my team they survive somehow
McDonald’s delivers how sweet is that?
Washing the mail a dirty chore
Drawing fake smiles on cotton masks
Wash your hands baby shark do-doot do-do-do
Walk the hood this way today
Wear your sweatpants from yesterday
Hopscotch chalk the sidewalk cracks
Hello neighbor how your garden grows
Amazon boxing up our doorsteps
Do the jumble jigsaw Jenga too
Clean out the closet attic shed
Paint the bedroom the shelves the desk
Blow up the pool drink eight beers
Microwave leftovers drown with wine
Dad grows a beard Mom goes natural
Sister bites brother cat swats dog
Go watch TV shut up and play
Skip a shower who the hell cares?
Pay late rent cut the grass
Balance the budget deposit the dole
Shoot off your mouth talk to the wall
Don’t touch me sleep alone
What have we got to lose?
Everyday news
Hugh Findlay
Poet17
Disappearances
First, the semicolon
slipped away leaving sentences untamed
running through each other like broken stop
lights run ons everywhere. Initially
the dot, then the comma curled under tried to hide out,
to no use.
But it was in China, so we didn’t worry.
Next, the comma. It began to vanish
like the dials on a television
like wall phones.
Tiny curls holding phrases
now words gone wild.
But it was in Europe so we didn‘t worry.
Then the question mark wriggled
through so easily was it ever
really there the exclamation point
tipped away along with the period now this
was serious
words piled up
in New York New Jersey Connecticut
in New Orleans now my own little town...
but when the space vanished
EverythingchangedIfwelosetheapostrophe
Therellbenosenseofbelonging
Penny Freeland
Poet18
The World Ended
the world ended you know
and you didn't spend the last few minutes being kinder
and the last few hours saying i love you
and the last few days holding them tighter and closer
and the last few weeks being mindful and positive
and the last few months living life to the fullest
and the last few years choosing your words and thoughts
and deeds carefully
but the world still ended
and then it started again
and now you have a few more minutes to be kinder
and a few more hours to say i love you
and a few more days to hold them tighter and closer
and a few more weeks to be more mindful and positive
and a few more months to live life to the fullest
and a few more years to choose your words and thoughts
and deeds carefully
because the world is ending you know
even as it has just started
Lorien George
Poet 19
It’s about Covid19 (Corona)
Dad informs us
Today in the morning,
The whole world is
In the teeth of covid19.
I am shocked & decide
To search the ins & outs
Of the pandemic corona
Which has broken out.
By & large it attack the respiratory organs
I succeed to find out,
But info is less compared to
The effects it has wrought.
Contagious & spreads through
Sneeze & nasal discharge,
Even WHO is in confusion
In solving the herculean task.
China is the first victim as
Corona has taken birth in Wuhan,
Now affecting super America
Along with Africans, Indians.
Everywhere there are
Lock-downs, evacuation
Each & every citizen
Is suffering in a long run.
All over the globe
There’s hue& cry,
Death is approaching
To many people by & by.
I know well that researchers
From the corners of the globe
Are working against time and
Something can be done by famous STROBE
.
Poors are living from hand to mouth
Not getting a square meal,
Is there no genius like Jenner
Who could work with zeal?
But I have a firm faith in
Doctors, nurse, researchers
Corona shall be alleviated with
The great efforts of servers.
There will be end to
The virus which is aborning,
Stay home, save life
Abide by the prevailing warning
Shritama Ghorui
Poet 20
Progress
I would have given anything
For an excuse to stay home
And smoke weed all day.
But a year before the world got sick
And we were encouraged to stay home,
I had to go and get sober--
How high I must have been.
In the evenings I walk the black branch streets
And through the clear clouds of smoke
That have stumbled from sleepy houses
And linger on the sidewalk
Like they are unsure of which way to go.
Rich Glinnen
Poet 21
Contents of a Frame
a shot of redemption
sprayed out across the globe
invisible, potentially deadly
like crushed oleander
sprinkled on the wind
humanity on the brink
shut up and locked in
peek out your windows
peek into your screens
what truth can you
see wrapped up in weeds
walk into the chasm of the divide
a dove flies through the canyon
while tourists peek through lenses
red and blue contrasts in the sun
crack the glass of this picture frame
drop the image on the ground
reach through the empty frame
with your outstretched hand
see the truth with your naked eye
a coyote howls in the empty streets
listen with fear
listen for truth
with honest ears
and an open heart
Vennie Hunt
Poet 22
Renovate Your Mind
Started the year with a vision so clear
Then a pandemic struck and honestly, I got shook
Yet something inside me would not let go
of my plans, my goals, I was driven to keep moving on
You see external turmoil I refuse to allow
to permeate my internal being, that's my personal vow
We all have the power to remain steadfast
To maintain our hope and faith, Y'all know storms don't forever last
I invite you to join me our positive thoughts combined
We can accomplish great things, When we Renovate Our Minds
Theresa Judge
Poet 23
Imagine
Imagine there’s no virus
spreading throughout the land,
no sudden death among us
nor illness close at hand.
Imagine there is a future
With good health on command.
Imagine there is a cure,
it isn’t hard to do;
that scientists among us
can conquer this latest flu,
that pandemics that plague us
will lead to a new world view…
You may say I’m a dreamer
but I’m not the only one;
there are doctors among us
whose work may soon be done.
Imagine all lives matter,
that we survive to discover
that when we conquer this disease
we will respect the rights of others
who have survived the struggle
and meet new sisters and brothers
Imagine this flu unites us
in ways we cannot understand,
that we can all stand together
and worship hand in hand,
that like viruses that stalk us
discrimination will be banned.
You may say I’m a dreamer
but I’m not the only one;
there are clerics among us
whose work may soon be done.
Gilbert Juergens III
Poet 24
Black Stetson
Helicopters hover over our rodeo grounds
and is the picture in picture insert
of the live press conference
when they tell us they're shutting it down.
No rodeo, no concerts, and
tickets fully refunded
means no scholarship money this year.
No grand prizes for man nor beast.
No tears in the telling from the mayor
or the county judge, or the health officials
or even the chairman in the white Stetson.
It is the day of the declaration,
officially, now a world wide pandemic.
Just the way we feared.
Rushed, a bit, because of the concern governments
weren't moving fast enough to head this off.
Here, someone at the cook off ended up sick,
ended up somehow with a test kit to say so.
No Egypt in his past, no connection to China.
Just cowboy plain and simple. Bang that iron angle. Schools are on spring break. No one else told to close.
I imagine the pools and beaches will be okay, being mostly sun, salt-water and bleach.
Plenty of breathing room.
We may need that rodeo world to turn cattle pens into beds, fairgrounds for wait lines, exhibit space into barracks. All that fencing...
Mark Kessinger
Poet 25
Social Distancing - A Poem
The need of an hour,
All thanks to the pandemic,
Terms like these are virtue today,
In my days people practicing this phenomenon are exclusively considered "INTROVERTS".
Irony is, today its a social cause,
To Be Honest it has always have been,
But then again it takes a global
Shout out to realise.
Truth is our kind is one in a nth millennium,
A curse with a reason,
A cosmological blunder ,
And yet we thrive to die.
Humans touch is soulfully alive,
And hardly we live without it.
We've defined ourselves with such
Proximity, and all we are trying to do is
Hold our end of deal of being a primal species occasionally.
S. Ramesh Kumar
Poet 26
Zoom Teaching
sturdy_xx_cil is connecting to audio
Cilla, can you please change your name?
“don’t smoke that joint around the baby”
Note to self: call DHS after Zoom call ends
reading grade level short stories that no one understands
6 students out of 27 in class
the rest--
sleeping?
on Tik Tok?
uncared for?
either no one is home or everyone is
no one cares or everyone is shouting, screaming, squirming
some family supports are shooting up and others afraid of
shootings
there’s no Wifi or only one device
there’s no quiet space to study
there’s not enough food to help them concentrate
there’s nothing I can do but attempt
and that’s not enough.
Katherine Leavy
Poet 27
Contemporary Fruit
Mom brings home oranges and I wash them in soapy water,
fingers slipping over the stippled rind. My phone
reads out the names of the dead in real-time.
I put it down the garbage disposal but I think it’s haunted.
Didn’t even pause. Took it out so I could
rinse the oranges. Their blazing color
feels intimate. The hot water
even more so. The names
turn into white noise. I watch white suds
slide away. Every now and then I realize
that these words are people dying
and I cry for twenty seconds,
or the amount of time
it takes to sing “happy birthday”
twice. Every now and then I realize
that the sun hasn’t moved for days.
Neither have I, and neither
have the oranges. Their segmented bodies
are perfect for sharing.
I lay out a section
for each of the dead. It is not enough.
Aimee Lowenstern
Poet 28
Living, Teaching, Near the Water
Living, teaching, near the water
COVID-19 changed everything we know
Lectures on writing and slaughter
COVID cases front page blotter
Testing sites, obituary deaths grow
Masked up, quarantined near the water
Online PowerPoints, Harry Potter
Fear the card, Lightning Struck Tower hollo
Avada Kedavra slaughter
Twenty second handwash bother
Plexiglass hangs between computer row
Master says, “teach near the water”
Hate, riot guns, Black Lives Matter
Flatten the curve, Fakebook flambeau
President Trump’s record slaughter
Patrick Dan, “Die for grand-daughter”
Refer container for body bags to stow
Gasping, dying, near the water
Corpus Christi led to slaughter
Thomas Murphy
Poet 29
Déjà Vu
Experiencing Déjà Vu
Julie Andrews felt as if
The world is reliving World War II
Many writers pouring out thoughts
Wanting to break free,
But with limited mobility
Nevertheless,
The pen is mightier than the sword
And instead of feeling bored
Create a new reality
One might believe
That he or she cannot
Yet anyone can still dream
Of a better world
If one chooses to
Accept the fundamental fact
Of mortality
Keep living!
Alex Phuong
Poet30
I wondered if he knew
Walked in the dusk to bring peace in mind. Closed inside,
one more day went by.
Near the forest I walked,
a giant tree stood by and there I heard,
the nightingale’s,
greetings to the forthcoming night.
Inertia, pandemic’s pains,
Isolation, hard work, sedentary life,
longing for hugs
instantly all and many more flew away,
what mattered then was
the dominant divine sound.
The daylight was saying goodbye.
Its outlined silhouette
pinned to the top of the pine tree
its hymn filling the air,
a song for the spring newly arrived
thanks for the glorious smells the air was filled by.
Sending condolences
to those who left
and those who were left behind.
I wondered if he knew.
But without a doubt he proclaimed,
all, will be alright.
Elissavet Pontikakis
Poet 31
Renascence to Revival....103 Years
Iinspired from Edna St. Vincent Millay’s Renascence, 1917
All I seem to hear these days is “But”
But, be sure and wear your mask if traveling East
and
Wear that mask if traveling West
But when will
I be able to pinch
Your cute chipmunk cheeks the
Way I used to? I love you with all my heart
And That
Is a fact I can
not
hide. I keep
thinking that one day I will see them
and you. Yet all I hear has pushed
me to think we may forever be apart.
I try to remain hopeful and
Hope that one day he
Or she whose
Rules we are following will see my soul
And know that it is
Breaking...and sad... and flat--
And I miss the
Cheeks, the meetings. Yet, I can still see the sky.
I know I will
Be able to see you again. I will not cave.
I will protect you in
all the ways I can and press on.
To know him
and remember what he has been through by
Keeping my distance and
Not say a forever bye
Anne Foley Rauth
Poet 32
Burlesque
The virus spins dark
through a sky once blue
now pierced by gray…
Clouds replaced by masks
that don’t shape-shift
in foreign winds…
Spires of churches replaced
by spikes in infection and deaths
reported in alarming headlines…
Hands across continents
now history as social distance
and culture change run amok…
Unadorned pedestals, like stalks
of summer crops or crumbling
chimneys, stand naked, silent…
July’s hot, humid eyes burning,
truth and justice blurred by violent
weather, politics and mobs…
I used to live here, so did they
until the perfect storm of mayhem
debilitated civilization.
Georg Reilly
Co-vid Haikus
I hid from Co-vid
behind a mask and I stayed
away from my friends
I don’t think I strayed
Into a church or a bank
I prayed all alone
When finances tanked.
When my pockets were empty
I sneezed and shivered
And I coughed plenty
Until my Uncle Sam sent
A check in the mail
Which I promptly lent
To my mother’s best friend to
Buy toilet paper
Georg Reilly
Poet 33
Solitaire Together Apart
I’m in love with solitaire
the card came
and the lifestyle
Spider
Tri Peaks
Klondike
Freecell
isolation at home
chatting to co-workers via Slack
video meetings via Zoom
writing with pen and paper
reading actual honest-to-goodness
paper books
eating rice and beans
heavily tipping personal shoppers
never shaving
barely bathing
single-handedly keeping the cable companies
in business
using all available free wifi and data overages
holding deep meaningful philosophical conversations
with the cats
playing indoor fetch with the dog every day
being okay with being not okay
we are okay
together
apart
Arianna Sebo
Poet 34
Steady
The powerful were unprepared; no one was ready,
yet many expect me to be steady?
Whether we admit it or not right now everyone is on high alert.
People argue whether illness or economic downfall is better to avert.
I'm not sure that I can fulfill what people want me to be,
for what is on my mind no one can see.
Some want the country to return to normal already,
but others still want me to be steady.
I've been called many things: loyal, a listener, empathic, an introvert...
I'm not immune to this shared hurt...
Lisa Slaikeu
Poet 35
A Contrived Purgatory
Everything carries the sentiment of nothing
Until I walk
Barefoot and brooding,
through my backyard
I slam my warm fists against the corners of my world
They progressively lost a leniency,
Eliciting only fleeting shapes and colors
That taste like my past
And unravel the construction of the future
The present is missing
Swathed in fabric and slippery politics
I am dead to the world and it to me
Numbers climbing as I sink deeper
Too knowing to be untouched
Too fortunate to have a reason
Ellanora Smith
Poet 36
Consider
Consider microbes,
viruses and such other minute things
that we can hardly imagine
them hollowed out
as our souls are hollowed,
as our lives flash by
Consider inflated broadcasts
and hollow headlines
about social distance, masks,
and impossible vaccines,
never knowing what would save us
and what reaching out used to be
Consider what will be redacted
from sacred records and archives
when it comes time to blame
pale politicians or stout demonstrators,
none of whom knew enough
to turn the tide of the apocalypse
Consider
last meals
roads less taken
impossible dreams
unrealized potential
and the mystery of prayer
Dr. Charles A. Stone
Poet 37
At What Cost?
I’ve begun calling you The Beast. Yes, you're less effort than the dog, but still, you're more
demanding—never satisfied, capricious, unpredictable—will today be joy or sorrow? Do I really
need you in my life? The jury's still out, Sourdough.
Lisa Taylor
Poet38
At Waters Edge
It took me years of running you through my fingers
to realize that you were just pearls on a shoe string
I see now that I’ve always needed the ocean
a passionate torrent of sand plumes and shells
with insides so intimately pink, you blush upon finding
I like to think that for a time, I was your lost sea relic
a capsule from another world that you wanted to understand
but with the years, you learned I was waterlogged
and you didn’t have enough fingers to protect my soul
from the flood
I write to tell you that no sooner did you relinquish me
to the undertow did I sink to a depth where the sun couldn’t reach me
but like the sea foam, I had no choice but to rise
even though it burned my eyes and all I had known
at the water break was not there to catch me
With sputtering breath and dampened lungs
I broke through though I thought I’d never surface again
and felt a familiar heat upon my face
Because here, there is light even when you’re gone.
Mary Taylor
Poet 39
Covid-19: Notes from Social Isolation
It is morning and the coffee has run out.
Still, the light outside is good and my hands
have all their fingers for writing back to you.
If we had all stopped talking, would we ever speak
again at all? It is dark thoughts like these
that creep up at night when the world is still
like those days when the sun fails to rise. My God,
the trees are blossoming
without care and yesterday two
Canada geese announced their return to the lake.
They peck at the tufts of emergent grass
by our neighbor’s abandoned summer cottage
and like boys playing war
patrol their own little shore. Long-necked,
indignant, they paddle out to the island
for a quieter place to breed. The water below
them is cold and deep
and soon, I think
we shall all sink in it.
Brett Thompson
Poet 40
The Stand
Who will be the last one standing,
in this war our globe now spanning?
Disdain. Complain.
My God, the pain,
of living in a world so vain.
Where lives are lost while votes are cast,
hoard this grab that it’s going fast.
Can’t share. Don’t care.
Too bad, not fair.
At least my shelves aren’t going bare.
Besides, what if it’s all too late?
We die, they lie, can’t mitigate.
Left home, alone, forced to await,
the proclamation of our fate.
But wait...
What if we found a better way,
to solve the problems of today?
Erase. Make space.
Extend some grace.
We’re all part of the human race.
Together, that’s how this is done,
by unity a battle’s won.
Daring, planning,
all demanding,
not to be the last one standing.
Steph Thompson
Poet 41
Pandemic Creatures
I’m sick of my own air
I just want to go somewhere
This virus inside of my brain
Is driving me insane
Locked up
Dumb stuck
& Pouring from an empty cup
It’s a wild ride
I have to start adjusting
Or I’ll begin spontaneously combusting
Inside
Why do I feel so weak?
This situation is extremely unique
It’s draining everyday
People feigning they’re okay
Me, I walk the line
I’m sort of fine
I’m also kind of losing my mind
Am I the spark or the exhaust?
The fountain or the drain?
Mentally sane
Or totally lost?
Starving for association
In a broken nation
Bored with isolation
This beast of Loneliness rose
From the darkness beneath
Sharpened her toes
Curled her teeth
& Set us all screaming
Gone are the days of easy breathing
Sarah Williams
Poet 42
After
After the newspaper deliveryman made his normal rounds.
After knowing that he was infected.
After a dozen people caught it reading their Sunday paper.
After three of the oldest died.
After his photo was posted on the Internet.
After he was beaten to death making more deliveries.
After militia groups began patrolling shopping centers.
After the bow and arrow became the signature
for enforcing discipline.
Then everyone began wearing face masks.
Then people took it more seriously.
Sean Winn
Poet 43
Covid Sky
each morning the sky dresses like a lady
she wears one pearl earring and a puff-sleeved gown--
I wave
and she winks at my ratty pajamas
at noon the sky spreads above the grass
like a blue-checked blanket
cozy and roomy
enough for our family picnic –
no matter where we are
each night the sky rests like a bowl
of moons and planets and stars
on my windowsill--
a red giant hangs by the onyx rim,
ready to burst, like me
morning noon night
the sky wails like a silver siren--
my lifeline
to the world beyond the windows
of a home I never leave
Helen Kemp Zax
Be able to see you again. I will not cave.
I will protect you in
all the ways I can and press on.
To know him
and remember what he has been through by
Keeping my distance and
Not say a forever bye
Anne Foley Rauth
Burlesque
The virus spins dark
through a sky once blue
now pierced by gray…
Clouds replaced by masks
that don’t shape-shift
in foreign winds…
Spires of churches replaced
by spikes in infection and deaths
reported in alarming headlines…
Hands across continents
now history as social distance
and culture change run amok…
Unadorned pedestals, like stalks
of summer crops or crumbling
chimneys, stand naked, silent…
July’s hot, humid eyes burning,
truth and justice blurred by violent
weather, politics and mobs…
I used to live here, so did they
until the perfect storm of mayhem
debilitated civilization.
Georg Reilly
Co-vid Haikus
I hid from Co-vid
behind a mask and I stayed
away from my friends
I don’t think I strayed
Into a church or a bank
I prayed all alone
When finances tanked.
When my pockets were empty
I sneezed and shivered
And I coughed plenty
Until my Uncle Sam sent
A check in the mail
Which I promptly lent
To my mother’s best friend to
Buy toilet paper
Georg Reilly
Solitaire Together Apart
I’m in love with solitaire
the card came
and the lifestyle
Spider
Tri Peaks
Klondike
Freecell
isolation at home
chatting to co-workers via Slack
video meetings via Zoom
writing with pen and paper
reading actual honest-to-goodness
paper books
eating rice and beans
heavily tipping personal shoppers
never shaving
barely bathing
single-handedly keeping the cable companies
in business
using all available free wifi and data overages
holding deep meaningful philosophical conversations
with the cats
playing indoor fetch with the dog every day
being okay with being not okay
we are okay
together
apart
Arianna Sebo
Steady
The powerful were unprepared; no one was ready,
yet many expect me to be steady?
Whether we admit it or not right now everyone is on high alert.
People argue whether illness or economic downfall is better to avert.
I'm not sure that I can fulfill what people want me to be,
for what is on my mind no one can see.
Some want the country to return to normal already,
but others still want me to be steady.
I've been called many things: loyal, a listener, empathic, an introvert...
I'm not immune to this shared hurt...
Lisa Slaikeu
A Contrived Purgatory
Everything carries the sentiment of nothing
Until I walk
Barefoot and brooding,
through my backyard
I slam my warm fists against the corners of my world
They progressively lost a leniency,
Eliciting only fleeting shapes and colors
That taste like my past
And unravel the construction of the future
The present is missing
Swathed in fabric and slippery politics
I am dead to the world and it to me
Numbers climbing as I sink deeper
Too knowing to be untouched
Too fortunate to have a reason
Ellanora Smith
Consider
Consider microbes,
viruses and such minute things
that we can hardly imagine
them hollowed out
as our souls are hollowed,
as our lives flash by
Consider inflated broadcasts
and hollow headlines
about social distance, masks,
and impossible vaccines,
never knowing what would save us
and what reaching out used to be
Consider what will be redacted
from sacred records and archives
when it comes time to blame
pale politicians or stout demonstrators,
none of whom knew enough
to turn the tide of the apocalypse
Consider
last meals
roads less taken
impossible dreams
unrealized potential
and the mystery of prayer
Dr. Charles A. Stone
At What Cost?
I’ve begun calling you The Beast. Yes, you're less effort than the dog, but still, you're more
demanding—never satisfied, capricious, unpredictable—will today be joy or sorrow? Do I really
need you in my life? The jury's still out, Sourdough.
Lisa Taylor
At Waters Edge
It took me years of running you through my fingers
to realize that you were just pearls on a shoe string
I see now that I’ve always needed the ocean
a passionate torrent of sand plumes and shells
with insides so intimately pink, you blush upon finding
I like to think that for a time, I was your lost sea relic
a capsule from another world that you wanted to understand
but with the years, you learned I was waterlogged
and you didn’t have enough fingers to protect my soul
from the flood
I write to tell you that no sooner did you relinquish me
to the undertow did I sink to a depth where the sun couldn’t reach me
but like the sea foam, I had no choice but to rise
even though it burned my eyes and all I had known
at the water break was not there to catch me
With sputtering breath and dampened lungs
I broke through though I thought I’d never surface again
and felt a familiar heat upon my face
Because here, there is light even when you’re gone.
Mary Taylor
Covid-19: Notes from Social Isolation
It is morning and the coffee has run out.
Still, the light outside is good and my hands
have all their fingers for writing back to you.
If we had all stopped talking, would we ever speak
again at all? It is dark thoughts like these
that creep up at night when the world is still
like those days when the sun fails to rise. My God,
the trees are blossoming
without care and yesterday two
Canada geese announced their return to the lake.
They peck at the tufts of emergent grass
by our neighbor’s abandoned summer cottage
and like boys playing war
patrol their own little shore. Long-necked,
indignant, they paddle out to the island
for a quieter place to breed. The water below
them is cold and deep
and soon, I think
we shall all sink in it.
Brett Thompson
The Stand
Who will be the last one standing,
in this war our globe now spanning?
Disdain. Complain.
My God, the pain,
of living in a world so vain.
Where lives are lost while votes are cast,
hoard this grab that it’s going fast.
Can’t share. Don’t care.
Too bad, not fair.
At least my shelves aren’t going bare.
Besides, what if it’s all too late?
We die, they lie, can’t mitigate.
Left home, alone, forced to await,
the proclamation of our fate.
But wait...
What if we found a better way,
to solve the problems of today?
Erase. Make space.
Extend some grace.
We’re all part of the human race.
Together, that’s how this is done,
by unity a battle’s won.
Daring, planning,
all demanding,
not to be the last one standing.
Steph Thompson
Pandemic Creatures
I’m sick of my own air
I just want to go somewhere
This virus inside of my brain
Is driving me insane
Locked up
Dumb stuck
& Pouring from an empty cup
It’s a wild ride
I have to start adjusting
Or I’ll begin spontaneously combusting
Inside
Why do I feel so weak?
This situation is extremely unique
It’s draining everyday
People feigning they’re okay
Me, I walk the line
I’m sort of fine
I’m also kind of losing my mind
Am I the spark or the exhaust?
The fountain or the drain?
Mentally sane
Or totally lost?
Starving for association
In a broken nation
Bored with isolation
This beast of Loneliness rose
From the darkness beneath
Sharpened her toes
Curled her teeth
& Set us all screaming
Gone are the days of easy breathing
Sarah Williams
After
After the newspaper deliveryman made his normal rounds.
After knowing that he was infected.
After a dozen people caught it reading their Sunday paper.
After three of the oldest died.
After his photo was posted on the Internet.
After he was beaten to death making more deliveries.
After militia groups began patrolling shopping centers.
After the bow and arrow became the signature
for enforcing discipline.
Then everyone began wearing face masks.
Then people took it more seriously.
Sean Winn
Covid Sky
each morning the sky dresses like a lady
she wears one pearl earring and a puff-sleeved gown--
I wave
and she winks at my ratty pajamas
at noon the sky spreads above the grass
like a blue-checked blanket
cozy and roomy
enough for our family picnic –
no matter where we are
each night the sky rests like a bowl
of moons and planets and stars
on my windowsill--
a red giant hangs by the onyx rim,
ready to burst, like me
morning noon night
the sky wails like a silver siren--
my lifeline
to the world beyond the windows
of a home I never leave
Helen Kemp Zax
Austin Poets International (API), a 501(c)3 non-profit organization, promotes literary excellence by uniting poets from around the world to celebrate the diversity of humanity through the power of written and spoken word.
API’s three program activities are the Austin International Poetry Festival (AIPF), di-vêrsé-city Anthologies, and Youth Literacy.
AIPF includes unique Austin venues, diverse themed poetry readings, open mics, workshops, music & poetry, anthology readings, and panels. AIPF has hosted poets from over 50 countries from across the globe.
There are two di-vêrsé-city anthologies - one for adults and one for youth. Poets of majority age from around the world may submit candidate poems to the adult anthology. In addition to the Youth Anthology, API's Youth Program includes youth poetry readings and youth workshops.
Contact Information: director@aipf.org
Mailing address: P.O. Box 26455, Austin, TX 78755
API’s three program activities are the Austin International Poetry Festival (AIPF), di-vêrsé-city Anthologies, and Youth Literacy.
AIPF includes unique Austin venues, diverse themed poetry readings, open mics, workshops, music & poetry, anthology readings, and panels. AIPF has hosted poets from over 50 countries from across the globe.
There are two di-vêrsé-city anthologies - one for adults and one for youth. Poets of majority age from around the world may submit candidate poems to the adult anthology. In addition to the Youth Anthology, API's Youth Program includes youth poetry readings and youth workshops.
Contact Information: director@aipf.org
Mailing address: P.O. Box 26455, Austin, TX 78755
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