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:


In this time of heartbreak,

In this season of anguish,


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.

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