Poems for the Pandemic
Ever since I was a child, whenever anything truly significant or troubling happened in my life, I turned to my pen, and my words.
Those words were usually in the form of poetry. So today I give you two of those poems. One is positive, one is not. I feel both points of view are valid.

The Apocalyptic Flower
They said the sightless slayer was coming,
But we weren't prepared for battle.
So we skittered like cockroaches
Under the light
To our sequestered places.
Empty streets ring of nothing
But the occasional shush of wind
Tossing crumbled receipts down the sidewalk
Tumbled reflections of life before Corona.
We listen for the count
Like in Defoe's time
Waiting for the metaphoric dead wagon
Who was old, who was young,
Who was foreign or domestic in origin.
We point the finger at Cheeto man
Or the neighbor that emigrated
From Wuhan.
It's their fault, we say
We try to take back our power
But with an omniscient opponent
And ambiguous weapons
Who can win a war?
Hate and ugly words won't kill it,
Even the guns we love so much
Won't kill it
It galls us greatly,
Oh, great, superior humanity,
With all its knowledge,
Bested by a thing so tiny,
That microscopic, apocalyptic flower
Bigger than us all.
Whew! Need some relief? Here ya go:

Breathe
In this time of heartbreak,
In this season of anguish,
Breathe
Inhale the scents of spring,
Past and present,
Take in the rebirth of budding trees
And birds returning
Partake in flowers
Laboring through frozen ground
Alive again
Amid the echoes
of looming death
When it seems hopeless,
In the midst of blackness
In blinded vision
Life beckons
Breathe in
Your lover's sighs
And your children's laughter.
Draw in
The music
That bursts at your window
Life is calling you
Even when death
Is all you can hear.
Never fear
The seasons are rhythms
They wan and wax
And this one
is no exception.