Your Voice is Essential.
Now more than ever.
Poetry on the Streets is collecting words/experiences/thoughts/feelings from YOU during this pandemic.
Sharing our voices during this time can help us understand one another's experiences.
It can help be an outlet for what is difficult to fully take in. It can be healing both personally and collectively.
It can help us feel connected.
It can help us document this time in history.
It can also help unite us.
Insights in a Pandemic, by Stefanie Z. (photo taken by Stefanie Z.)
Frozen with fear, deer in headlights. This can’t be happening…
Retreat inward for safety. I don’t want to know…
Remembering what’s like to be connected with self. This will be ok….
Permission to let go of too much external busyness. This is actually very freeing….
Awareness of what matters, truly matters. I can make different choices…
Life shifts toward the good and simpler existence. My new normal….
A Covid Spring, by Lawrence Cyrulik
April is the cruelest month… T.S. Eliot
All’s quiet in the Time of the Plague;
At dawn, the roads are void of ripping tires,
The workplaces being closed,
And cancellations smolder like funeral pyres.
Forewarned by Poe’s “Masque of the Red Death,”
They lock down cities and shutter schools,
Then don their masks and gloves, emerge,
And haunt the marketplace like ghouls.
Some take seriously the Flattening of the Curve,
And dutifully shelter in place.
Some skillfully hoard and make profit;
May those who do, disappear without trace.
In the country, apart from this groaning mass,
A Bluebird sits upon a bough,
And Grackles staring with yellow eyes
Forage behind a farmer’s plow.
In some clearing sits a Dove,
And incessantly coos its love.
THE FRONT LINE, By Kathy Nativo
We are all on the front line.
It is our time.
The tie that binds is around our head not in our bed.
No matter what they've said, some are no less dead.
The Mad Hatter has arrived and the Wizard cannot save us from ourselves.
There is no batter up.
No one is on deck.
The dugout is empty but the coffins are full.
The doctors and nurses, the healthcare workers
have become masked singers in a Greek chorus.
At least they are there for us, or are they?
You have to wash your hands to play in the band.
Mitigation, isolation, hospitalization, intubation leading to cremation
until there is stabilization or viable vaccination.
You must wear a mask to pray in this congregation.
All are laid low.
Everybody is furloughed from their own normality.
We are all in this together but some are more in it than others.
Better get shielded, your light saber wielded.
In the I.C.U. they're nice to you but you don't know how you got there.
Laying there bare, your heart barely beating, your lungs not breathing,
you are the hot spot because you have not.
Will we build up a resistance?
I think not.
Immunity, impunity, it's always been too crowded.
The rest will come when we are done.
So much for thoughts and prayers for those who die alone, which we all do.
We cannot rise until we die.
The eagle flies.
The dove cries.
We are all on the front line
at a social distance.