Lockdown Poems

Thank you to everyone who has submitted Lockdown poems. On Sunday 5 July 2020 there was a Poetry of the Lockdown event as part of Ledbury Poetry Festival Online. The event featured a fascinating selection of Lockdown inspired poems, including poets commissioned by LPF, Naomi Shihab Nye, Sarala Estruch, Suzannah Evans, Elaine Beckett and Kim Moore. They read alongside poets who submitted to Ledbury Poetry Festival’s online call out. Hosted by Chloe Garner.

These poems were written during Lockdown and the Coronavirus pandemic, at a time when it seemed the whole country, and in fact the whole world was going through the same crisis. Though of course everyone’s individual experience of this situation is unique. I am aware, as many people are, that for people and places in the world, the challenges are huge and sometimes extremely harrowing, compared to my own. Nonetheless, in reading these poems, I find reflections on, and insight into, my own experiences. As well as differences. Other ways of thinking about, or seeing, what is happening in this present time. I have found these poems extremely resonant, and I hope you will too.

Thank you to everyone for their contribution.

Chloe Garner, Artistic Director

Your Poems

The Same Boat by Julie Sheldon

‘We’re all in the same boat’ they say But I would disagree So many different sailing crafts Upon this stormy sea

Some sail on ocean liners In comfort, style, and ease Relaxing on their balconies ….Sipping their G & Ts

Some speed along in motor boats As if it’s all ok…… With little care for smaller crafts Which may get in their way

Some struggle on their battleships Where nothing’s going right Endlessly preparing….. For the next relentless fight

Some huddle in their lifeboats… And pray that they’ll be saved Hoping for a calmer sea… And fearing every wave

Some drift around upon their rafts…. They barely stay afloat They’re praying for a change of luck… And chance to board a boat

Some haven’t found their sea legs yet…. And dread each wave and swell They’re struggling to stay upright And don’t feel very well

So whilst you’re on your journey To a safe and calmer port Look out for fellow sailors Who may need some support

Could you throw them a life belt? Or a paddle or an oar? Perhaps you could help guide them A bit nearer to the shore

This poem was later made into a short film that is now on YouTube

Some of the other contributions were read at a Zoom session in Ledbury’s online Festival in July 2020. Recordings of these are included with the following contributions where we have them.

Bubble Trouble by Julie Sheldon

I am a single granny With daughter, and a son I’ve got a newish lover And he’s a lot of fun!

Now I can make a ‘bubble’ But which house do I choose? Someone will be offended No matter what I do

Do I go to my daughter’s? And help wipe snotty noses Or do I see my lover? For candlelight and roses

Do I go to my son’s house? And risk an ear bashing Or shall I go to lover boy’s? And have some nights of passion

And then, there’s my friend Maureen Who has nobody else So shall I spend some time with her? And not think of myself

Am I a granny dutiful? On whom they can depend Am I a selfish lover? Or a dedicated friend?

This really is a problem That I could do without In fact, it was much simpler When I could NOT go out

Oh Boris! Why’ve you caused me Such a lot of trouble I really don’t know what to do With this flippin’ ‘social bubble’

Catch a Virus by Clive Grewcock

When I was at school we used Pencils and blackboard and jotters, Now things are virtual, But you can still catch a virus From coughing and snotters.

Some of us by Julie Sheldon

Some of us must stay at home And not go out the door Some of us are working Like we’ve never worked before

Some of us are falling out With siblings, Dads, and Mothers Some of us are reaching out And looking after others

Some of us are keeping busy Doing lots of jobs Some of us have given up…… We’re turning into slobs

Some of us are playing games And learning brand new hobbies Some of us are still ‘no good’ And watching out for Bobbies

Some of us have lots of friends To text with and to phone Some of us have no one And feel that we’re alone

Some of us feel positive And think that we’re in charge Some of us feel anxious And fear the world at large

Some of us have footpaths To cycle, walk, and jog Some of us have nowhere nice To even walk the dog

Some of us are welcoming New babies being born Some of us have lost loved ones And cannot truly mourn

None of us will ever know What’s really going on None of us will think the same When all of this is done

All of us can choose to spend Our days in fear and dread…..BUT All of us can choose to plan For better days ahead

What if it’s just Nature? by Julie Sheldon

What if it’s just Nature Taking back control Questioning the actions Of every living soul

What if it’s just Nature Asking us to stop To think about our planet And treasure what we’ve got

What if it’s just Nature Slowing us right down Time to look around us And see what can be found

What if it’s just Nature Asking us to think What is it that we really need? Love, health and food and drink

What if it’s just Nature Giving us the time To be more understanding, Generous and kind

What if it’s just Nature Asking us to care To think about each other And sometimes just be there

What if it’s just Nature Sending us this pain Time to re-evaluate Before we’re all insane

What if it’s just Nature Setting us a test To try to save our planet Let’s do our very best!

Veins by Emma Wells

A Venetian network: meet, fuse, form. Watery channelled communication; aqua-hued veins - a circuitry of life,

commerce, love, society. Gondoliers float, promising infatuation on muddy churned inlets - overexposed to humanity.

Our exploits. Stripy candy costumes entice sugar- craved tourists to taste the city’s sweetest wares; where love’s promise is sold at an extortionate price. London’s Underground: a multi-hued snake weaving textures, colours, shapes. Its pathways are arterial veins rushing to and fro perpetually linking nerve endings, vital organs, sacred hearts in the palms of its metal soul.

Medical corridors mimic veinal format - each cubicle a tiny blood clot hiding drama, risk, suppressed panic. Nurses, doctors, registrars skittle towards pins in a frenzy of duty, service, long shifts. Sweat drips from their overplayed, uncool veins.

City airports heave with a throng of tourism - each department gate an exit. A blood outlet. Drops plummet from airborne wings as they rise to fruition, distant climes…

Onboard, a central veinal corridor acts as a skeletal backbone for all: a bringing of nourishment, safety, scarlet-clad, overtly wide, waxy smiles.

Tarmac veins cast steely maze-like patterns across London’s aerial views - the M25: a beating pulse, ventricles, a central pathway. Traffic jams mimic reduced fluency. Motor. Flow. Jam. Stop.

Fluid ceases to rotate, creating oxygen starved passengers. Cars line up heaving laboured breath - too long captured in tin-canned warmth.

Social media: the loudest heart thrum. She beckons all focus, mind matter, conscious, current thought. This siren winds her veinous, electronic circuitry tightly amidst upheld fingers. Willing hostages. Compliant. Passively taken.

Phone charge leads are fibrous veinal columns: connecting, reaching, formatting a virtual, veinous world.

Its orthography was perfect by Aurora B.E. Blue

Its orthography was perfect, lock - down, protect the NHS, save lives, control the virus, social distance, stay alert, “wake up! put on masks! the time has come! But beyond choking pollution, lungs fill with death, changing day in, night out, dizzying times. Knock - Knock - who’s there? All the G’S outside our door, 1-5, popping away constantly! It draws right angles in front of your eyes but some see through it all … Still Orangutans fall from trees … Jaws are control - shaped. Locked in its jaws, full of power, I & you

Salisbury by Will Daunt

SP2 7EN: 18/6/2020

Driving to work I’d pass that imagined close where in thirty odd years 47 would toxify rushing off its owners One summer I dithered on a downland rim then ran from the rain as Chernobyl churned out terror vapours hours away Now the telly re-tells these as they weren’t not like the now we know from breathing fretting virally A Finnish show showed rabies’ empty kennels these and other warnings.

Re-imagined Photo Album by Martha Iris Blue (aged 12)

like oak, only older, stiller, stilling, waiting for a whispering wind to wake me from the silence,

orchards, vast, decaying, crumbling within pocked cement stone walls - keep-out! fruit pilferers, dust clouds clouding, only They know it is there …

kneeling in a puddle of pitter-pattering birdsong; feeling hazy rays of sunlight blazing through showering shadows of greying raindrops, knelt as in prayer, there, day after day after day…

now living in a kingdom of cackling crows, cawing against the crackling fizz of radio stations echoing in every background,

I once knew Quiet, knew Quench, knew Waterfalls falling into summer daydreams, knew Lichen, knew thoughtful thinking, knew lasting tearful embraces …

memories like Oceans finger the land, touching minds, pull away, drawing, as near but ever away again and again and again…

obscured sunsets, drenched fields now soaked like soft felt cloth, set amongst struggling burned, speckled with magpies and ravens that truly knew this place

opaque stones, warmed by evening suns, silhouette against ultra-marine seas of sombre stars, steal the sky for themselves, overpowering the moon’s sheen, slowly sink into morning: Us

A life with no colour by Charlotte Jolley

Our world of innocence was caught unaware, Taunted by a malicious nightmare, Locked inside for the foreseeing future, An experiment gone wrong; a distorted sculpture.

We wait through day for that word of relief, Citizens spiral into psychotic belief, “Lives have been lost” says the newspaper ad, Coronavirus is sending people mad.

Where to go; what to do, We try our best to struggle through, The roads are clear from cars and bikes, No long walks or country hikes.

Isolated from family and friends, Trapped inside till the crisis ends, Can we survive this helpless attack?, A life with no colour: only black.

Thankful in lockdown by Isha Matharu

We all knew 2020 would be unique, The days turned into weeks, then months, The government repeatedly gave warnings of social distancing, And the world sat there listening.

Today, I am thankful for family, But it is not just me, it is all of us internationally, Another reason of gratitude is technology, and all the scientists who studied biology.

And the people who right now work hardest of all, Are the NHS who stand up tall. This is for all the people who have lost their jobs in this pandemic, And all those who are diabetic, and those who work as paramedics, This is for all the people suffering from COVID-19, This is for those with bad hygiene, This is to make you realize, That we should be thankful for those who we miss the most in this time.

Socially Distanced by Michael Lawrence

It’s Sunday morning. The sky is the colour it does best. I have changed the contents of the cats’ litter trays and disinfected what needs disinfecting. Now I sit here in my brown leather chair, ankles crossed on its matching footstool, cup of cappuccino at my elbow, scrawling this. A small buzzing that’s not my ears, a bee or wasp my weak eyes can’t locate, otherwise quiet in an old farmhouse at the end of a long well-pitted track a world and worlds away from other people’s versions of isolation, socially distanced by scribbles in a pad.

Defenceless by Tess Biddington

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Choosing January and for the third attempt to withdraw the medication that keeps the walls neutral and conforming for me, that sets the bar (no lower but no higher) those weevils are returning to the woodwork, churning through old rot and making new.

There is so much to consume, forces and events allied to fight off the choking, chronic obstructions with a weapon of its own. Maps colour the insurrection’s most brutal invasions; satellites pick out the keloids, tiny scars in their rows on the red earth, where we are or will be buried.

We are made enemies, deprived of touch, faces barely readable, we die alone our last breath no release.

And, for days, sun pulls seedlings from their coats, wildflowers are named by chalk scrawls on the pavement, birds teach us their songs, the Earth calms itself and we wait and shuffle in masked queues our skin warm, nothing else to do but wait and look around.

Faded Rainbows by Francis Charters

We thought it would be over before the month of May, They said it was a type of flu, and would soon go away, But now it really looks as if the crown of colds could stay, Faded rainbows.

It was the Chinese Cholera, from a burger made of bat, Then Italy and Spain got it, what did we think of that? When super-spreaders brought it here, we were really in the crap. Faded rainbows.

And lockdown cost us billions, cash we could ill afford, But furlough gave us income, and time of getting bored, A life quite low and leisurely became our just reward, Faded rainbows.

But Malvern is a pretty place to lockdown with a friend, My kids bring life and laughter and a family to defend And Claire has kept her promise to love me to the end of faded rainbows.

Plaguelock by Juhi Joshi

The sudden invasion of pathogens left humanity in dungeons. As we sit and witness the ordeal heaps of corpses are left ideal.

The priest in white apron and the enlist in beige patron working hand in hand selflessly in a honourable exemplary.

The humankind is startled Gaea smiles and terra sparkles the passerine advancing towards havens as the tellus recuperates from our abrasions.

Take comfort and know better days lie ahead, but first we must endeavour to keep a cool head!

London Lockdown by Angela Wigglesworth

On 26th March the government finally took stock, As lock down was announced, at 8 o clock, Stay at home and isolate was their simple request, And listen to guidelines as they know what’s best, We listen to the guidelines and fear for the months ahead, And get angry with those idiots who still go out instead, Now there are no pubs or bars left open, schools and gyms are closed, Not just in the uk, but all around the globe Our routines have all been changed, we work from home with regular naps, And Friday nights are spent indoors, on video calling apps, Girls dye their hair themselves, and boys shave theirs heads, We’re running out of ventilators, and hospital beds, But the NHS staff continue and their work is so admired, Working long shifts, saving lives, even those who once retired Our minor day to day problems, no longer seem to matter, no one cares about their weight, or if their getting fatter With death tolls rising everywhere - the uk, the us and China, The least of your concerns, is waxing your vagina How long will this lockdown last - we still have no idea, According to the news, it will be a while until the we’re clear Now is the time, for communities to come together, And pray this will all be over, in time for summer weather So take shopping to elderly neighbours, but leave it at the gate, Reminisce about the good times With your missed best mate, We should get out while we still can, enjoy our daily walk, Call family often, with no reason, just to talk, Although these times are really tough, we must stay positive and excited, As in the not too distant future, we’ll all be reunited.

Everything by Paul Kidd Hewitt

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In the middle of this infinite black sea, Amongst millions of blazing stars, Hanging delicately by a golden thread, You and I are here, And that is everything.

Haiku -The New Normal by Kamla Murti

Haiku : 1 The New Normal The dolphins swim, While rhino gallops down the lane Is this new normal?

Haiku :2 The New Normal Peacocks strut in streets While I rejoice in peace Is this new normal?

Lockdown by Paul Ryan

Lockdown ended - but not for Me Gonna have to have another cup of Tea Stuck inside for at least another Month Watching Black Lives Matter And Statues that refuse to Move What a World we have Become Please show Kindness to Everyone !

First of April Twenty-Twenty by Jennifer Ridout

First of April Twenty-Twenty It’s April fool’s day today, But nothing to laugh about. More people will die from this virus. Of that I have no doubt. Google haven’t set up any Joke news articles this year. They assumed we wouldn’t like them, But they’d have brought some cheer. I didn’t see any on the telly, Or hear any on the radio. Just lots of talk of Covid-19. Our current invisible foe.

Gowns by Jennifer Ridout

I’m trying to make sure, My dressing gown doesn’t become My ‘depressing gown.’ I’m unlikely to wear A ballgown for a while. All events are currently cancelled. I have little chance Of fitting back into My wedding gown ten years on. I’ll do my best during this, Not to end up ill And wearing a hospital gown.

Ten Things to be Thankful For by Jennifer Ridout

My family are all safe and well. I am able to speak to them. I can enjoy more time with Owen. The weather is warming up. There are spring flowers to look at. My mental health is good now. I know I can get through this. I have a good job to go back to. We are fanatically stable. Wildlife is recovering without us.

Yesterday I Spent by Jennifer Ridout

Yesterday I spent three hours, On Facebook and shopping sites. (Trying to avoid the bad news) . Yesterday I spent over £400, On stuff I didn’t really need. (Most I’ll send back for refunds) . Yesterday I also spent my money, On presents for upcoming birthdays. (I’m sorted for up to October now) . Yesterday I spent five hours, Idly watching telly. (Mainly CBeebies and This Morning) . Yesterday I spent an hour, Walking in spring sunshine. (We spotted some new flowers) . Yesterday I spent another, Weeding the vegetable patch. (Ready to plant seeds Dad gave us) . Yesterday I spent twenty pounds On books for homeschooling Owen. (Trying to keep us motivated) . Yesterday I spent no time, With family I don’t live with. (I didn’t even phone any of them) . Yesterday I spent only moments, Actually awake on my own. (Today I’ll get some me time for poetry) . Yesterday I spent too much time, Worrying about the Corona virus. (It’s hard not to when it’s so bad) . Yesterday I spent a while, Searching for moisturiser. (My hands are so dry from washing) . Yesterday I spent too long Biting my nails and cuticles. (We’re to avoid touching our face) . Yesterday I spent the night In the spare room’s single bed. (I went to bed later than Phil) . Yesterday I spent ages Trying to get to sleep. (Feeling bad that I’d wasted time)

Good Friday by Jennifer Ridout

The sun was shining today. It was warm in the garden, And on our walk along the river. We set up ramps for Owen, To drive his monster truck over. We enjoyed a roast pork lunch. Owen discovered that he Absolutely loves crackling, But found the road parsnips, We too ‘sugary’ for him. It wasn’t the day we had planned, With circus at the theatre And a big family get together, But it was definitely a good Friday.

Socially Distant by Jennifer Ridout

When I was feeling really low, This was the normal state of being. Staying at home with just Owen. I’ve been better at keeping in touch, In the past fortnight than usual. I’m just glad we have the hand, The technology to do so. If this happened twenty years ago, Life would have been so different. No video calls or online shopping. Just dial-up internet and a land line. My son doesn’t really understand, All that is going on in the world. I’ve kept news off round him. He knows that we are trying to avoid, A nasty virus that is going around. He’s missing his school friends. I’m sure they miss him too. Axel Scheffler has done illustrations, Of Julia Donaldson’s characters, Complying with the distancing rules. Supermarkets have put down marks On the floor, so people stay apart From one another and stay safe. There are often queues to get in, Du to the restrictions on the number Of customers in each store at a time. They’ve put Perspex screens up, To protect the checkout staff. Even the cars at Phil’s work, Are staying one space apart. So many are working from home, Or are part of the Furlough scheme, That there’s so few cars on site.

bum bum by Tiago Wayne

There are little streams Black as the ribbons On an undertaker’s hat And a welsh pony Standing in the buttercup Embroidered field And a jogger ,unaware That they had stepped Into heaven looking At his watch.

Lunch Hour by Nicholas Starkey

It was lunch hour And the shop was as empty as concrete. They were only letting fifty people In the store at a time Due to the recent lockdown rules Amid the coronavirus outbreak. What worried people most Was not the virus itself But the outlook it had on humanity.

Outside, Gary, Whose wife killed herself After being raped by her dad, Was sitting down and being harassed by security For holding a cup.

Knockdown by Nicholas Starkey

This lockdown Is an old-fashioned knockdown. Streets are angry with iron, And lips are touching germ. People are recorded as saying, Why does it happen to us Every time, yet we Try hard for it not to?

This lockdown Is a new-famished eclipse Of pinnacle human expression - No touching allowed. Our dearest Seem alien, almost different From who we knew them as Months prior.

This lockdown Has a motive. To turn people for better; for worse. The choice is not the lockdown’s. People have shown Who they are - Even in lockdown, The homeless are

Left out.

Free Time by Christina Bezzina

I woke at 4am!, ?, No my watch’s no longer ticking No clock shops during lockdown, my handcuffs gently slipping. Sipping coffee in the garden I awaken to the day

But wait, the water butt is leaking - drip, drip, Tick, tick I’m in charge, its my free time not theirs. How dare those individual droplets escape the dark confines And break my dreams. I need them. Drippy hippies! I make a stand and put a stop, turn the screw, screw the tap. Freedom for them would flood the world, break down the gates. THAT’S NOT ALLOWED.

Now peace regains but for the pigeons’ clap. Is it Thursday? My free time melts to One-day. One day I’ll always have chance to just watch the baby birds Faltering at the feeder to shouts of concern from others, Mothers?

The plants meanwhile are busy doing nothing in the sun, Until tomorrow morning when I check on what they’ve done. A seed of mine bears fruit, a shoot, while the world is broken

Free time cascades around me, I’m almost drowning with relief. No one watches me right now, I’ve slipped outside “The System” I’ve made it through those walls and to the other side. I listen to those deep down calls and make a promise to myself:

Free time.

Maternity Leave by Lisa Marie Shepherd

I sing nursery rhymes while a masked nurse gives you your jabs We wash our hands We visit the park and wish good morning to strangers, two metres apart We clap for key workers You try to roll on the mat as the daily death toll is announced We wash our hands You give your first smile at grandparents over videocall, my mother cries We visit the park There are no baby groups or sensory play, I panic buy a disco light We clap for key workers I put my mask on in front of you, so you’re not afraid We wash our hands You giggle as I shout at the TV briefing, thinking it’s a game We visit the park I hold you close We clap for key workers I cry If you ever ask what it was like, I’ll describe your dad pulling silly faces at you during work telephone calls and how lucky he felt to bath you every night I’ll tell you that we witnessed the kindness of strangers, community spirit and war veterans honouring our precious health service I’ll describe that mild May night when Meteors lit up the night sky and I held you above my head so you could swim amongst the stars I’ll tell the story of when we woke to hear the first dawn chorus of the year, opening windows so we could watch spring swirl around your bedroom We washed our hands We visited the park We clapped for key workers and I’ll remind myself that we did our best

Box Brownie Memories by Phil Carswell

Box Brownie Memories Summer Sunday, When we sat in some quiet lane Munching sandwiches, And drinking thermos tea, The day stretched ahead ,lazy Bathed in childhood memory , Captured on Box Brownies To be released on rainy nights To bring back moments Spent together , The whole of life lay ahead . The only stress was school on Monday Heralded by the Sunday evening bath, Then the week with it’s smell of wet tarmac and brick clad streets Until the next weekend .

Now the quiet lane is empty . Sunday picnics replaced with leisure centres , Shopping trips and online engagement . To wander down a lane and back Now seems a pointless task , Photo albums replaced with discs and icloud stores No sitting watching a slide show of summers spent in Wales Now its off to Florida or Spain . The world is bigger The possibilities are endless . Until now . When this silent killer changed the game . So back to the woods for quieter times And Box Brownie dreams again .

restrictive social distance by jules blue

is it easy looking backwards now to former scenes of exuberance and capitalist extravagance in markets of gossip of dross and of hip to the tip of the tittle-tattle-tonguing cultural exchange of people passing people passing on people on stupendously-expensive pendulous pedals and heels pedalling the confetti masquerade of coffee-wine-café crowds whose accessorising identities were allowed to hang around in a stolen dance of sinful syntax seemingly untaxable beneath beautiful bejewelled architectures of children playing with unsupervised children contracting the social abstract all over like over-spilling flower-stalls like bursting fountains like a pandemic virus of white noise driven by the hunger for sensation behind the trance of conformity or the rolling out radioactive 5G enormity but is there still a heart between brain and loin in our highest of places? What beheld us? A virus of sorts? An aerosolised globalised lab-test? An anti-pollution revolution? Revelation of a new world order? A dislike of sports? No: restrictive social distancing.

so now to scenes of dancing in sun-printed patterns of an eternal spring lining the darkest spectral voids of emptied playgrounds and urbanised sun-pastelled facades fading fast with the last fading free light of free trades broken by the merciless-indifferent cruel-oppressive happy-ignorant fortunate-mad undignified-arrogant no-science-in-conscience-closed-circle straightjacketing melancholy of births deaths marriages all equally quietened by desensitised masses taking classes in futile binary confrontations with drones and surveillance whilst the silent forgotten majority plead for emotional death beyond emergent churches jostling for urgent face-times as children sad as cut flowers are reduced to mass-produced mechanised expressions trained to order endless order expressing anaesthetised tongues of barbaric alienation in incalculable sadness anonymising whose indifference to the political-non-political soi-disant social contract of neutralised anguish as complete as aloneness and subservience to incommunicable fears and institutionalised freedoms of a politics that reads like a sentence: from Left to Right in just a few words: looking forward to looking back again

Swifts by Tom Anderson

I look up from the garden and there they are, two swifts gliding high in the blue sky while sunlight plays on their crescent wings.

It is a spring morning here, so green and beautiful it could pass for paradise, apart from the mourners apart from the coffins.

Life goes on, death goes on. But when the smoke rises from the innocuous chimneys, who will notice anything else in those green spaces, that blue sky?

Flaming Tulips by Lisa Lopresti

Robin redbreast, flaming tulips lean towards the mellow sun their black and yellow hearts look to rosemary’s pale purple plumage on this unblemished forget me not Spring day.

The sparrows chirping and the warm, low sun’s tendrils sooth a smile to mouth corners still the black and yellow tulip hearts lightly bob their portent.

The world now tainted in isolation except for small and large, black screens creating cold blue glows other colours hint from windows at night, parish lanterns silver threads the scene.

Daylight and reality black and yellow hearts are known - unseen spring is blue, yellow and citron green hoping under clear skies, that black bags and yellowing bodies are not summers fate.

Schools are closed David Babatunde Wilson

Schools are closed! The minister said To halt the dread disease But not quite closed As I sing and dance Head, shoulders, toes and knees

Schools are closed! The parents said Except for workers key But not quite closed As I stand and sup My early morning tea

Schools are closed! The papers said Bar those with special needs But not quite closed As teachers sow The lifelong learning seed

Schools are closed! The people said As staff work on the net But not quite closed To love and care As children’s needs are met

Zoom by David Babatunde Wilson

Everyone’s on video calls With Zoom and Team and Skype Which means that I can see your face I don’t just have to type

We’re talking on the phone more The Internet is buzzin I’m catching up with old school friends And messaging my cousin

There’s WhatsApp for my family And friends who are on furlough It gets a bit frustrating When the WiFi’s on a go-slow

Let’s keep in touch by any means By phone or app or post Check in with friends and neighbours And those you love the most

The sounds of lockdown by Dee Allen

The empty silence of city streets Closed pubs that never call time Theatres missing their encores Singers cut off in their prime.

Bird calls and tweets fill the air Nature has full rein to breathe As humans hunker down at home And grounded planes no longer leave.

Joggers pound the pavements Shouting cyclists pedal by The dance to keep our distance Cursing those who just won’t try.

The constant chatter of Zoom calls Is your sound on, love? I can’t see Ooh, I like your snazzy wallpaper Is there time for the loo or some tea?

Clapping for carers on Thursdays The welcome plop of the post The beep beep beep of the bin men Key workers we now praise the most.

The hiss and sizzle of the barbecue Sunny days merge together as one The loud smash of glass being recycled We ask: “When will lockdown be gone?”

New Morning Normal by Jo Eccles

Get out of bed? What time? What for? An Amazon delivery at the door Is the only incentive I have these days To stir myself from a duvet-clad haze

You want some breakfast? Help yourself; There’s crisps and Kit-Kats on the top shelf For God’s sake, you want fruit instead? There’s half a chocolate orange by my bed.

Plait your hair? Just leave it in dreadlocks? No clean knickers? No matching socks? Yes, watch telly until midday… We’ll start the homeschooling later, ok?

one day by Judy Dinnen

One day…

One day, we’ll step out of doors, walk down the street, meet our friends, share a cup of coffee and chocolate cake.

One day we’ll play football, build a fire, roast potatoes, sing a shanty, climb a mountain. We’ll open wide church doors.

One day we’ll cry for the lost, remember the stillness and separation with due respect, carry the candle

of calm into our daily lives, watch with joy, as petals open, birds build their nests, bumble bees fly from flower to flower.

We’ll remember to stop, be still, cherish birdsong and new blossom. We’ll cook and converse with new care, study and travel with eyes open.

We’ll pray and praise with new vigour. We’ll break bread with fresh delight. We’ll message, email and zoom with new respect, with love and diligence.

Together with friend and stranger, we’ll know our deep humanity, our links across waves and mountain. We’ll hold hands and share vision.

One day we’ll remember and share, carry the candle of calm into daily life, respect the stranger, cry for the lost. One day we’ll celebrate our whole world.

Gestation by Harry Owen

Sure as babies, nine months down the line there’ll be a boom of virus poems.

No one will ask Do you remember what you were doing when…? because we’ll all know:

the wailing and teething, the semantic nappy-changing will be quite unmistakable.

Ironing in Lockdown by Nicola Harrison

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Soft Everest of laundry, avalanche of the un-pressed dispossessed dresses that once had occasions, hang like reproaches in hushed wardrobe air:

the red halter neck now hobbled by Covid and fine woollen shawls moth-doilied in drawers like old horse blankets cast aside, eclipsed by shorts and trainers, no glamour now

no skull and crossbone-jewelled earrings from Butler and Wilson, oh those hoops, such fancy bling! The shops are shut, no sign of opening.

Same old corona garb, washed every day quick on at rising, no-one to see creases In unfolded shirts, or dark roots in hair.

Fuzz on legs, bikini lines, eyebrows thicken, breasts find benign slopes in braless idleness. Gels on toes wander from cuticles in reversed half-moons lurid in neon pink. They do not pass Go, and hands are tough as hoofs from sanitiser or wrung, like grief, in water, to the Happy Birthday tune.

Even so I iron the red halter and the black frilled frock suspend them from hangers, let them breathe while I admire the person who was that person who wore that dress and the red lipstick and the plucked brows and the toenails scarlet

At the Gate by Lily Cleary

I remember the moment that I stood in the moonlight with more stars in the sky than I had seen for years And I held the bin bag, which had dripped something acrid and unlike anything we had thrown away along the hall floor - and now I stood At the gate, looking out into the yellow-lit street, even the yellow didn’t dull the stars I stood with a single, distinct, thought; “there’s nothing for me out here anymore”

We haven’t left this postcode for 13 weeks

We are less afraid now, and I try to remember the things that we used to do, when we could do things I wonder if the world is divided into those who stand at their gates with the whisper of night on their face, wishing to be free And those who lock the door until it’s over, and probably long after it’s over, because it’s safe in here.

A Stranger in the House by Victor Sarkin

A Stranger in the House A sense of disturbance

I knock firmly on the door Yet I have a key. My family rejoices but I Feel unseen. This building I spent my life to build, is not my home.

Outside this house is talk Of freedom and peace for all, But they don’t mean me.

Inside, I teach my children about rights They will not have. I may as well Have taught them of wrongs, Which will be theirs anyway.

I am afraid to turn on the light, Afraid of what I will find. Illumination does not ever highlight Anything good, you see.

I step with trepidation through the house, as I have only Learned to walk In this awkward manner.

Whenever I am asleep, I am plagued With unrest, as I need to be Presentable when the new day arrives.

Water, power, are paid up, Yet using it brings anxiety. I expect reprimand For using too much.

I don’t know how much longer I will be fit for this type of living. Yet I live. And live. And live.

Untitled by Sakshi Shinde

Being forced into isolation feels stagnating. Like flies abuzz on fruits in the market on a hot, summer day.

Random bursts of underlying emotion, All abruptly surface. Been feeling like crying the past couple of days.

It’s indescribable Yet every little thing can be described. But I am just not able.

There’s a whole blur of emotions that, right now, I simply cannot deal with. Makes me want to crawl into the fetal position and just accept defeat.

Crave human interaction that’s not the same two faces I see everyday. But technology only meets that need halfway.

Have to study, need to work But lost all my will to put in effort.

Planned to be so productive, Drew up a schedule. Can’t seem to do anything, feel like a failed work mule.

mentality of lockdown by Edward Parish

Because I could not challenge lockdown; It did kindly challenge me. Does the lockdown make you shiver? Does it?

I saw the security of my generation destroyed, How I mourn the freedom. Does the loss of freedom make you shiver? Does it?

Politician’s communicating virtually Above all others is the robotism Does this robotic nature make you shiver? Does it?

The legal instrument that’s really important Above everything is the isolating lockdown. Safety now is essential, safety is lifesaving Does this make you shiver? Does it?

Haiku: Schools Closed by Connor Parish

Schools closed; Exams cancelled! Young futures ruined?

Lockdown by Jennifer Boit

Suddenly the world is on hold Is it rearranging or disintegrating? I have shut out the world Cannot see my family Touch them or be with them. This new world is strange This new life is something I cannot understand or get used to Suddenly it’s a new way of life Only to go out to the shop Two meter apart Oh what have we come to Is this virus with us for a while Hope it goes soon I don’t like rules My mental state is not right I now fear I cannot think clear Will this virus hit me or will I survive? Everything I touch I feel out of control Is nature trying to tell us something? To leave well alone Earth is rearranging to stop it disintegrating.

Oh Corona! by Shagun Jain

Covid -19 ..was it a gimmick? Spreading from one country to another was soon graded a pandemic. Starting from a laboratory in Wuhan it became virulent in all countries, A big scare for every soul ..was initially found in people with travel history. Covering face with masks and sanitizing the hands, Became a norm for everyone but were hoping that it ends. Travel became a restriction ,no matter what was planned, It was too soon to anticipate the disaster it would shend. Quarantine and Isolation started as it spread from one individual to another, People now had become cautious as they felt it would smother. SOCIAL DISTANCING started and life came to a still , Movie halls restaurants or malls- no one could fill, Finally, came the lockdown ,as the virus had begun to spill. Panic overwhelmed the masses as they became jobless, How would they feed their families! They were just clueless. Doctors nurses and so many warriors are still working hard for us Risking their lives as they want us to live without a fuss. The Corona scare is still on and spreading, Stay home and be safe ,the world is begging. Now that Malls, Restaurants, Religious places & hotels are open, yet control your lust, For, the virus Corona is still active & still is far away from our trust.

Lockdown Parents by Sarah Smith

Lockdown parents I hope you can relate Its been a long time Since they shut the school gate

I was going to be the best teacher I had a schedule on the wall Pe with Joe wicks Then maths English and more

I was going to teach them everything While juggling the everyday tasks It would be fun and different Who was I kidding I now ask

Nearly three months later And my house is a state The schedule was ripped up By the first lockdown update

Nine o’clock start You must be kidding If they are dressed before twelve I’m totally winning

Three meals a day Breakfast lunch and tea That went out the window Times those meals by twenty three

Then there’s the guilt That they didn’t do their spellings Because they were on the playstation Building new Minecraft villages

You can try to clean up But as soon as you stop A hurricane passes through And ruins the lot

You can try to make projects Or find fun things to play But attention span is low And they just run away

As for exercise forget Joe wicks Walking to the shop to get important bits Lugging back bags filled to the brim With lots of snacks and bottles of gin

Forget about bedtime That doesn’t exist anymore Because the kids aren’t tired But they are constantly bored

At least I can say I made it, kept the kids alive I did my best with what I had Even if gin helped me to survive

We are all amazing You better believe its true So be proud of yourselves Yes be proud of you!!!

Hope by Clive Grewcock

My mood goes down but As I lie here looking at The moon, grateful I wasn’t broken by Another day, I can have hope for Tomorrow’s dawn.

Internet searches during lockdown by Emma Mason

How long is this lockdown likely to last? What are some ways to make the time go fast? Best home workouts for beginners Recipes for healthy but easy home-made dinners

What are some new skills that I can learn? Can English sun give you sun burn? How to teach yourself the guitar Chords for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Best way to stop getting such dry hands? When is the soonest I can start to make plans? Should disinfectant be injected? How and why was Trump elected?

Should I be wearing a mask for my face? Where can I buy a pretty mask with lace? How many units of alcohol should you drink in a week? What happens now we are past the peak?

Can I send back gym kit bought online? How many bottles in a case of wine? What are the best ways to be staying alert? Is it bad to be only living in sweatshirts?

Am I allowed outside more than once a day? Have I become a quarantine cliché? How many people can I see at one time? Is sitting in a park considered a crime?

Why is Ireland allowing 6 people to meet? What is 2 metres measured in feet? Best deals for six flights to Ireland for cheap Why am I having such weird dreams in my sleep?

Why has 2020 been such a bad year? Unemployed graduate, will I have a career? Are pubs set to be re-open soon? Will this lockdown be over by June?

Grieved in Absence by Ermira Mitre

How pitiable for inmates to become gravediggers, and bury thousands of dead in mass graves. How grotesque was funeral homes’ peak, “When did they serve the most and briefest wakes?” For graveyards these months were the busiest, grief echoed across the older graves. good men buried unsung from their dearest, souls ascending to heaven, from this injured earth.

Many died, thousands were buried, people trembled, the loved ones wailed and grieved, in absence.

Meditations on the Spring Lockdown by Ermira Mitre

In March and April, the Sun warms the Earth, smoothing its frozen winter layers, swelling and opening its pores to breathe, Indoors, we sense the Spring’s awakening.

We gaze at Spring’s smile in innocence, pink petals blooming on peach-tree boughs, a retinue of baffled tulips, chrysanthemums, in ambiguity, humanity ribboned with so much anguish!

We smell the dirt’s fervor fusing the air, watch the flowers’ buds blossoming outside. In the vigil of pandemic self-imprisoning, we feel drowned in novel social distancing.

Every man, child, pet, locked down in houses, the new incubators of a civilized threat, no one has a clue what caused the lewd virus, some say it bursts from blind eyes of bats.

Hence, it’s still a heavy air in deserted streets; emptied by this demonic, harmful disease. It has steamed the flow in our cities’ arteries has thwarted their life’s bloodstream.

O, Men, now you blame the Wind of the East for this pseudo-alive virus, swiping all the rest, North and South, and the farthest West. while we, inside, with a burden in our heart, unrested!

Wrapped in a heavy curtain of self-isolation, worse than the Iron Curtain of Cold War, humankind is calling for its last survival, “shelter in place, wash your hands, wear masks”, the virus has outraced human intelligence.

One Day Soon by Alison Lovett

With pots and pans and clapping hands on Thursdays we still gather To congratulate the NHS and all those that really matter Our thoughts go out to those ones lost and those that have recovered To Captain Moore who raised the bar with his fundraising efforts Rainbows of hope that children paint hang proud at many window Bright in colour, true to form though pots of gold have dwindled Cars rest idle by the kerbs, their exhausts so still and silent Shank’s pony paves the way more healthy and reliant One day soon we all will chat about the months that were We’ll hug our friends rejoice and play, the lockdown a mere blur

Lockdown Universe by Brenda Cox

Sun-filled walks extend our universe.

Newly ploughed fields - never before had I seen such beauty in the brown, velvet loam - distant green dales, moors, bumble bee charged meadows blanketed with butterflies, wild flowers, delicate spring blossom reaching to the sky, enveloping us in its fragile beauty, silence broken only by yearning birdsong and hedgerows chirping and rustling with invisible inhabitants. A lark trills above, her tireless, piccolo tune piercing the clear, blue air. A robin perches on an overhead wire, his song soaring, embracing his ownership of this new world.

A changed world.

For how long?

Viral by Rich Hammond

It came from the far east And unlike any beast It’s wanting so much more Hear it knock on your door Just don’t dare let it in It’s a game you can’t win Yes, you’ve got a clean mask Now you’ve set it a task By standing two paces ‘Did I?’ - your heart races Touch the door handle there With your fingers all bare? So your mind fails to trace That you’re touching your face A life reduced to fear No, it can’t happen here With time goes the tension And you never mention Stepping in your friend’s zone It’s hard to be alone

House Arrest by Jeanette Plumb

Numb, dumb, stalled, walled Automatic pilot Act - do - work Don’t think, feel, too deeply Floating, frothing, retching, reaching nothing, blocking Dam breaking Longing, lurching, lamenting Flaring, freeing, reeling, floating In a rut, stuck, do, do, do Hiding, comfort, stretching towards familiar Manage, smile, conquer, win Fighting, fleeing, floating, reeling, being Reach, retch, regurgitate - don’t fall, don’t call Do, do do, Control or chaos, plan or plummet, catch or crumble Fight, flight, freeze all Fumbling, fleeing, falling, floating, flailing Feeding, mask slipping No fresh manna Shape, escape, reel in Real, hit that wall, keep on running Dig deep to the store, the core Mine it well, Then drink, drink, drink Living Water

Joseph’s Hug by Elizabeth Whitaker

The joy with which you call out to me, “Grandma”, as you run into my open arms. Small hands clasp around my neck; the squeeze; the sigh; the wonderful smell of you. The gentle weight of your head on my shoulder, the moment of quiet we share. And then, the tickle brings your laughter, bright and free. For now, in “lockdown”, I must live with these memories.

ZoomDoom by Carolyn Brookes

It’s Fo Fee Fi Fum May it concern to whom. I’m upside down and back to front As soon as I press zoom. A lolly once, or lots of space While flying to the moon It’s come to mean a locking-in to an airless WiFi womb. I long to ogle legs and feet Start out upbeat, retreat, delete. I hate to see my trunkless head, So much on view to be misread. One up two down, my tiny box, T’would even piss off Goldilocks. An elbow nudge at cuckoo pace I’d steal my neighbour’s body space. Your square lights up, You’re on! SHOWTIME. A pause, a freeze, it’s PANTOTIME! So if you all will beg my pardon I’ll catch you up in an outdoor garden. Come here, meet up, let’s drink champagne But let’s make sure it doesn’t rain!

We said Goodbye by Angela Fendley

That day in May a month since you departed from one parkside residence to another. Only a handful gathered - at - a - safe - distance - No intimate hugs of comfort no holding hands for support six feet separates us all. Red Kite watchful overhead.

Nearest and dearest in shades hiding their grief shielding their eyes. The sun shone in your honour Red Kite soaring high above

No seated service just a few words at the graveside to wish you safely on your way. Birds sing in the trees at your final resting place. We said Goodbye.

A moment to reflect on our dearly departed and those sadly absent that day many friends and family safely shielding from others.

Your grandmother’s piano plays to accompany your journey. Your time to soar. Red Kite awaits.

Cummings and Goings by Sarah Miles

Life under lockdown has been crystal clear whom we can visit and whom not go near we followed the guidelines and duly obeyed a levy of harsh fines for you if you strayed onto beaches or woodlands or distant retreats we followed their bidding, deserted the streets STAY AT HOME, SAVE LIVES a message explicit it would have been hard to actually miss it but Demonic Cummings a man who knew better wouldn’t pedestrian rules let him fetter so sick with corona his family went forth and drove many miles right up to the north he was aware he should be self-isolating not cavorting about and rules violating not once, but twice perhaps even more back and forth, how many times we’re not sure trips out to castles and woods to pick bluebell but for him now perhaps this is his death knell as strategic politico and government adviser he may be clever should he have been wiser? when he decided the rules he would flout did he not think that the truth would come out? for his transgressions are hitting the Sunday papers how he ‘lied and cheated’ and all those capers The Marr Show loves to probe and goad but Schapps is defiant and in mitigate mode being half suited in the PM’s rose garden doesn’t guarantee oneself a pardon we’ve all been scared Whittyless by the pandemic not Mr Cummings for him it’s academic it’s Cummings who wants quarantine at the border that doyen and prime example or order at least an apology or he pays a huge fine with agreement from henceforth to toe the line or where is the incentive for those law abiding not to just throw in the towel and come out of hiding.

The Medic by Fatemeh Moussavi

Fear is not your friend In this life, in this world For fear will rob you and run away With your precious minutes And theirs

Fear will conflict with reason And silence your sense of self Even though they are the cargo Of the very same vessel

I tell myself these truths And yet sometimes I cannot control The ringing in my ears Or the pounding of my heart

I am told I can be trained I can learn to control I can ride above the wave Familiarity is my friend

But will familiarity overcome fear? Will it not, suppress it for another time? Until silence marks the return Of my old foe

How do I stop? How do I change? For I am afraid of life, and death And the role I am to play In their power struggle

It’s My Cage - OK by Ian Rabjohns

Get up, get going Spiders not in lockdown, Dishes stacked, no Isolation there. There’s weeds a growin’ faster than the veg’ Cake box down to just a tiny wedge.

But it can all go hang. I make the rules in My Cage. The when’s and where’s and what’s of how things happen here. This is my small world Tucked away behind the hedge.

Ten to one no one will come today to take note of how I am. I’ll not be sending up red smoke. Don’t dread the internet gone dead. Can’t even do some work in my shed- waiting for the swallows there to fledge.

It all hangs one thing on another life’s demands, not government’ s commands. If freedom came tomorrow, would I know? Would the sun glow differently somehow? My isolation day would go on as before- But maybe noise would creep in from the edge.

This Dance by Dagmar Seeland

We are still getting used to the rhythm of this new tune,

the steps we take to keep six feet apart, as marked out

on pavements and shop floors, those footprints, black on yellow,

stage directions for we extras in this worldwide drama.

We shimmy past each other in supermarket aisles, line up

for cashiers behind perspex shields twist to avoid the shop staff.

Recently we waltzed through life not caring where we trod.

Now, moving to a different beat, We struggle to find our feet

flailing in this limbo.

Perfect Storm by Ilse Pedler

The storm is a doctor in a teacup rain lashes down in sugar cubes, she tries to hold back the milk wind with a face mask made of snorkels, sees clownfish in her peripheral vision.

At the end of her shift she constructs a ladder from discarded lemon wedges climbs through a window to her bathroom showers in waves of gratitude, hopes it is enough.

The New Normal by Kelly Hunter

We hang out of windows on Thursdays, banging pans to show our support to a nation of nurses we had previously neglected.

Children learn not to hug. Instead they wave their small hands as we sidestep each other on pavements -

like dodging mines, tiny, human bombs.

The devil makes work for idle thumbs, so we find try to solace in small pleasures: rainbows, the postal service the weekly saucepan lids

And as the new normal carves its routine, and the nightly news delivers its lies,

ever so gently, we riot.

The Virus by Angela Nix

We will fight this hand in hand And hope we don’t go to the promised land We will mind one another Sister and brother

I know it’s a pain being stuck in your home But look you have your mobile phone You can send a message, have a bit of fun or go to the park and have a run

Keep yourself busy while you are at home And remember you are not alone The whole world is the same We are all in this game

We will win the battle and look forward to better days Rainbows and sunny rays So keep the rules up and play your part Jump up and down it’s good for your heart

We known it’s cruel to stick to the rule But you don’t want to be a fool So keep the good work up, it will pay off in the end And we will all be free to meet a friend

what I’ve learnt from lockdown by Michael Field

lockdown has taught me to appreciate everything big and small oh but just think of all the family time cracking up jokes and laughing all the same karaokeing through the night dreaming of going back to school and seeing friends outside clapping for the NHS and all the key workers walking through the countryside with family never stopping and going the extra mile to help other people

Shielding by Kathleen Thorpe

’m sorry dad, I can’t visit today I’m not allowed to leave home. I’m shielding you see and I have to stay safe so I’m sat sitting here on my own.

the country’s locked down from Fife down to Dover and I don’t know when it’ll be over. it might be six months dad, it might be a year but don’t worry about me, I’ll be still waiting here.

Just listen to Boris and all of his cronies, and don’t let your mind fill with fear. Just think of the days when we’ll sit and gaze while sharing a bottle of beer.

Fun by Thomas Byford

Fun on the playground, fun everywhere, Balls being thrown in the air. Snacks being crunched anywhere, Fun on the playground, fun everywhere.

Friends chatting about their day, Screaming and shouting as people run away. Children celebrating as they score a goal, Fun on the playground, fun everywhere.

Birds singing sweet songs in the raggedy trees, Kids swinging on the tree trunk and skipping on the tyres, Fun on the playground, fun everywhere.

Freshly cut grass I can smell in the air, The sound of footsteps anywhere, Fun on the playground, fun everywhere.

Home Privilege by Bryony Lewis

Is it ok to be ok? Don’t say it too loudly, you’ll look callous Don’t extol the virtues of solitude, you’ll sound insensitive

No one cares how many blue tits visited your feeder today No one needs your sourdough starter, you cold brew coffee, Your organic, home grown self satisfaction

Because we are all in this together Until we are not

Saving Grace by Margaret Healy

Today I have been brave or stupid, I’ll let you decide Twelve weeks was just too long for me to stay locked up inside It’s been so hard and something snapped, I’d had about enough Lockdown life, for me at least, had proved to be too tough Normally outgoing, I am quite a cheery soul But loneliness and solitude has taken such a toll At eighty-four, I am at risk and vulnerable to the virus I understand the Government has a duty to advise us However, and I say this, knowing some folks won’t agree Other people don’t know what it feels like being me And so today, undaunted, I took myself outside Walking in the sun felt good, it cannot be denied I sat down on a bench just to take in nature’s glory A child nearby was listening as her mother read a story She looked at me and asked if I would like to listen too?” I was already, but said “Thanks, I don’t mind if I do” “Me and mum come every day, she helps me with my reading” Human contact, kindness too, that’s just what I was needing Her mother finished reading and reminded me again See you here tomorrow then, around about half- ten I walked home feeling lighter with a smile upon my face A mother and her child might prove to be my saving grace Something to look forward to and friendships made anew With a little help, I think I’ll see this lockdown through

Lockdown Doggerel by David Winbow

Smile at us, pass us, pay us as little as you can pay. You skim off the best, we manage on less, but it’s we who will save the day.

Smile at us, pass us, avoid us- we only stack the shelves, nurse the sick, empty the bins, while others save themselves.

Smile at us, pass us, ignore us, but remember what we did- we kept the country on its feet, while others ran, and hid.

Smile at the graves as you pass them, but remember how we died- unprotected, doing our best, while others ran, to hide.

Smile at us, pass us, despise us, but what we say is true- we were the backbone of Britain, we deserved better than you.

Love Amidst The Pandemic by Medina Valzado

As I was sitting, looking to the clearing, As the first day of lockdown begin, The sky is calm and inviting, In the night I heard the ambulance crying…

Under the moonlight I can see the empty streets where I used to be, I wish this deadly thing will end, so hugs and kisses will send…

The singing of the birds can be heard in the air, Like lullabies in my lonely ears, It was the second day of lockdown as I can remember, When our crazy love happen…

We can hear the saddest melodies, as the pandemic cases rise, But you comfort me with your sweet little flying kisses, And those red petal roses,

Lying in the dark corner of my room, With these days of loom, My love for you blooms and blooms, No one can stop nor this doom…

This moment of langour is like a solitude, But I found it felicitous instead of being bored, As we exchange dulcet messages, In the middle of this predicament…

A moonlight tryst — to sneak for a call, In lonely days of quarantine, the ebullience of happy lovers, —a silhouette of happiness,

I found tranquillity amidst of this chaos, As you promise me a love to eternity, far beyond moon and back, to no limit plus more…

A Clue On What To Do by Ilham Nagi

If only I were sent a clue, Something like a sign on what to do: That would help my daily life Which at the moment is far from paradise, We’re stuck at home away from friends, Maybe it’s time to make amends, Either look for your long lost hobby, Or jump around your back garden like a little froggy. Look around and be inventive, Keep active and be attentive, All you have to think and say, Is you know what there’s plenty for me to do in a day! Go wild build your own creation Who knows you could even plan a future vacation. Your not the only one hoping for corona to go away; Let us pray that it will someday. Was this your sign your lucky clue? Just look around there’s plenty to do, You just gotta to be the best of YOU.

Granny’s little ones by Jacqui Anderson

In a fields near our house are buttercups and daisies Where the moths and the butterflies dance with the fairies

Grasshoppers and crickets sing out their song The nights shine bright and the days are long

One day very soon the little ones will say Can we go round to the field and play Where we’ll laugh with the fairy’s and play in the grass with our granny and Grandad at long long last

Under the microscope by Jacqueline Pemberton

On first sight it could have been an undiscovered planet, an exotic flower or a sea anemone, We might have puzzled at its origin, Been bewildered by its purpose.

What might have been soft rose buds to scatter on a lover’s bed are lethal blooms; stamens spiked with lipid poison to pierce our defences when we are at our weakest.

This blurred orb mutates on our screens from science lab to prime time T.V, Excreting globules like molten rock, Multiplying even as we hold our breath and close our eyes.

It is the wallpaper in our rooms, Curtains our mornings and our evenings, Embeds itself into the woodwork, Tucks into every frightened corner and steals the cushions of our dreams.

Latching onto the lining of our lungs It tears straight to the heart of us, Hijacking cells in a forced and fatal coupling, A brutal consummation: a pitiless gestation.

An Arrangement With An Orangutan by Jayne Livesay

Go mad, Orangutan Swing from the lampshade Swing from the washing line But don’t forget our arrangement, Orangutan Don’t forget what time When the shops are all closed When we’re locked down inside That’s when i’ll go ape Somewhere around 9:00

The plan is, Orangutan To crack open all the Easter eggs That were meant for posting Gobble them whole, silver paper, the lot No one can give us a roasting The weather is too hot to stay in But we’ve been told we must halt Until unleased into the world again A world we once wanted to bolt

Our arrangement, Orangutan Don’t forget our sign For its time to bring out the cheese and crackers For its time to crack open the wine Then we’ll swing from the lampshade Swing from the washing line We’ll swing with the radio on To Jazz and Ragtime You on the Saxophone, Orangutan Me on the Clari’ We’ll take ‘Take Five’ For five hours Take our time Yes, we’ll tarry

Don’t worry, Orangutan You’ll soon be swinging back in the trees With your Orangutan thumbs And Orangutan knees Catching Orangutan termites And Orangutan Flees But Oh, Mr Orangutan Please Don’t catch Covid 19 desease

After the rigors by Tony Denis

After the rigors We’ll go through our Tik Tok videos and music Grinning from ear to ear Forgetting normal life

There’ll be more reminiscence As we’ll all have stories to tell Screens will no longer interest us Since we’re obsessed and uptight with it

Jewels will be seen as vanity And survival, a priority Even atheist will thank God With genuine gratitude

Medics will be remembered For leading in the battlefield When soldiers were weak Indeed, they’re the unsung heroes of the front line

Loneliness will become a normality And we’ll learn to embrace the slightest freedom

Cherry Blossom Leaves by Jayne Livesay

Cherry Blossom leaves the trees Urging summer on

As the virus spreads Like a million petals Blowing through Japan

Leaves us clinging to our homes Once a haven now a tomb

Springtide has passed away Left empty streets Mourning littered bloom

Spring 2020 by Eileen Kane

It’s twenty twenty, and the streets are empty But the hospital wards are full with plenty When this is over, there will be spaces at the table From the elders, the ailing and the not so able

Meanwhile the sun rises in the east and sets in the west The tide still rolls in and out, Mother Earth knows best The lambs are being born and seeds still sprout Despite this, we, man, woman and child, can’t go out!

The plants and flowers continue to bloom Even with the warnings, of doom and gloom The air in the cities is getting cleaner by the day Is the hole in the ozone layer going away?

Mankind has came through this in times of the past We will come through this, but some things won’t last Air travel, foreign holidays, may become a distant memory Something that we did, when we were free

We must always live with faith and hope And keep washing our hands for twenty seconds with soap Take care of yourself, your spirit, body and mind And in the midst of it all, remember to be kind.

The unknown enemy:- by Datta Chanda

The unknown enemy of all, Is he big or is he small? Some say he is round and spikiest of them all, I also hear he is the deadliest of them all. He is here, he is there, Travelling time to time in the air. Young, old or small, He doesn’t care at all. He has made the roads clear, For now, he is our greatest fear. The birds are free, Chirping on the wonderful tree. The whales are swimming, the deer, galloping, Wondering where the humans are who tried to destroy us all. But I do believe our faith in god, Who is the mightiest of all, Will help us conquer this fear once in for all, I hope a wonderful better tomorrow is near for us all.

Open Skies by Alwyn Marriage

So huge, so blue, no white of contrails tracing distant routes, as aeroplanes are still in lock-down. Swifts and swallows have arrived to feed and procreate in safety, in return for which they’ll etch graceful graffiti on our sky.

This peaceful scene inspires hope that as more normal life returns, it might be possible to retain such clarity and calm, to begin afresh, to build and then maintain a world where humans flourish, but that’s also fit for animals and birds, insects and sea creatures, mighty trees and even tiny flowers.

Corona by Oliver Dennen

Some say its beer some say its a virus so let me tell you some tips for the coronavirus You cannot stay in bars or clubs and don’t think about going to pubs

First it was good we were kept off school but now it seems we were all fools Now I’m staying in quarantine and spent my birthday as a teen

I paced the house back to back and saw this shiny black plaque Now the trees are bright green This is life with Covid-19

Through London - - Lockdown by Louise Wilson

Our trip to london was A okay, all the traffic going the other way, no one to see but the odd jogger, Walker, bike rider or even shopper Lots of statues, parks and trees, Standout against the gentle breeze. It is lovely to find that London is standing fine, Having a big breath in this sad time,

Soon enough we will all be back, making poor London again cough and hack, With the fumes and the bustle of the motor cars, Hiding the architecture which are truly the stars,

But for now the City lives and breathes, through emerging flowers and happy trees. Despite the horrid time we are all seeing, The wildlife and flora are growing and healing. Could this virus have a thin silver lining? As the environment is veritably shining.

Love London? love life? Maybe there is an end to our strife, and we will appreciate once again, relaxing and living, not rushing, but giving our time to see our planet bloom and helping our wildlife and heritage zoom, The reward is there, for us all to share.

So keep calm and follow the rules and we will emerge with better tools, to enjoy our world as it is so very small and fragile and needs a break, A holiday from the human plague, we have Corona virus, But the world has us.

Like Me by Mairead Cartwright

The virus came and the people stayed home , And waited for better times to come And they were like me. They could no longer work or socialise, They covered their faces and shielded their eyes, And they were like me. They struggled for money , shopping and food, Gave what they could to causes for good, And they were like me. Their lives were paused, vacations on hold, They worried and waited with each cough and cold, And they were like me. On Thursdays each week on the stroke of eight, They’d clap for the carers; and waved from the gate, And they were like me. But as the weeks passed, they longed to be free, To reclaim the old normality, And they were like me. And when it’s all over, they’ll all hit un-pause, Again they will travel and revell because , They made It, their future is bright, they are well, Unlike me .

These Tough Times by Mahdi Zaman

Wake up, Eat, Stay Home, Sleep We’re trapped inside and all we can do it weep How something we can’t even see Taken so much and caged us to our homes

Normality, Freedom and even lives It takes all of these things and still it thrives But what else is there for us to do Just stay at home and see this through

It drives some mad, it drives some insane For not seeing people brings so much pain It just brings sadness and fear With all the boredom and losing people so dear

A lot of us are fine with a lotta time But is it all terrible?

Instruments, Writing and any other hobbies Lets not waste all this time acting like Zombies We should see it as a opportunity to do new things Who knows what new talents this time brings

We can sit here and complain about the world Or we could have fun with what we have Maybe its time to be grateful and stop seeing this as a curse

Because for a lot of us things could be much much worse…

Living In A Care Home by Anthony C. Edwards

I am living a care home I am not allowed out but to the back yard What do I see there but I a garden gnome Proving that even when it looks as if times are hard Bright figures can smile, to brighten up gloom In these difficult times I know I can be cheered up in the midst of doom And one day, to my place I will go.

A Walk in the Park by Anthony Edwards

Shops beyond yonder, with no end All appear to be closed down Listening to news, day by day Sad news just to make me frown In the midst of these times of grief I take a walk to the park For a little light relief Are there some people coming my way? Away from them I had better stay Social distancing is how to act To prevent a massive viral impact

Willow Pattern a lockdown walk by Alison Brackenbury

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/willow-patter-a-lockdown-walk-AB.mp3

Town’s edge. A lane. A bridge. A field marched by the battered stumps of maize, lit by hills, broad as the moon. The cracks in April clay will yield rich oyster shells to feed poor days; pipes; pigs’ skulls; best, we find soon,

smashed pottery. And most is blue, slipped from quick hands, a child’s, a maid’s, to flags. Were harsh words spoken? I brush a latticed rim while you scoop one white scrap whose two blue birds, smudged lovers, soar unbroken.

In Victorian England, oysters were a cheap food.

The ‘Willow pattern’ on china depicts the story of two lovers, one rich, one poor. After death, the lovers are re-united as birds.

Disabled by Hannah Hodgson

In Italy, our bodies were found decaying in care home beds. In China, we died of starvation. In America, our faces were obscured by a sacrifice the weak sign. In England, we’re being murdered to save the economy. Supermarkets are rationing, NHS volunteers are being called up, home sewn scrubs are replacing state sanctioned ones. Frailty scores mean I won’t get a ventilator. The Government has forced me to become one in a generation of victims.

Just One Day by Kelly Nealon Marsh

Not the most productive day for me Not moved from my desk or the PC My mind on other things Nothing in particular just a wondering

Uncertain times for all of us Feel a bit sad, down and low When will this end? we don’t know

People all around us Feel very much that same Have moments in time When we think we’ll go insane

But then you hear a voice It’s warm, it’s soft, it cares It asks you how you’re feeling Everyone stops looks and stares

You didn’t say a word But your silence shouted loud You’re present on the call But you never said a sound

Your ask how you’re doing You answer you’re ok But they know that’s not the case Your answers different today

Your team know you better Than you ever thought they did They care about you genuinely Like a mother with her kid

They offer you their friendship Their support Their Advice They wrap their arms around you It feels calm warm and nice

They ask you how you’re feeling You can’t answer you don’t know You need to take a minute wait a second take a mo

It’s hard for every one of us We are all in this together A storm that each one of us Simply has to weather

One day this will all be over This will all be done We can all return to normal And have a little fun

I’m thankful for the people Share your joy, your sadness your pain And give you reassurance it’ll be ok again!!.

Not Visiting My Aunt by Heather Cook

So often have I sat watching you kiss pot plants with your fingers on long, slow, glowing afternoons. We’d sit, knees almost touching, cups of tea forgotten, the indoor peace enhanced by voices shrieking down the cobbled way.

And now I cannot visit. At first I railed against the rules, but there have been some precious things - words that might have never formed between the cooking and the washing up; shared words that found their place in letters, cards, and now shine quietly in my life.

Gardening in Lockdown by James Ryan

Everybody is gardening in lockdown, Seems to be the only show in town. I leave the house, walk down the street, Many many people, it’s gardeners whom I meet. Everybody is gardening in lockdown.

New age gardeners with floral inspiration, After lockdown they’ll inspire the nation. People will venture into pastures new, Thinking their talents were only few! New ages gardeners with floral inspiration.

Gardening in Lockdown brings families together, The bond is beautiful, to last forever. Parents and children all get stuck in, The loving bond through thick and thin. Gardening in Lockdown brings families together.

Get in the garden and make some hay, Especially with all the trouble in the world today. Bring happiness to friends and family, Gardening in Lockdown for all to see! Get in the garden and make some hay.

Gardening in Lockdown is heavenly bliss, The flowers and trees give a loving kiss Gardening provides celestial serenity, To share with everyone in complete entirity. Gardening in Lockdown is heavenly bliss.

Boomer remover by Huw Sherlock

Here comes the Boomer remover, A geriatric hoover, come to sweep up your complacency And puncture your dismissivenes so don’t dissolve into hissy fits, Or lectures on snowflake millennials, Your snide and tested perennials, ‘End the lockdown now, Long live the new normal’ is your siren cry, but another, better world is coming, It’s no use trying to deny, The pulse of history is running, Out of your control, So be a part of the solution, you’ve got to choose your role, And reconnect with evolution, Now, tell me what’s your ‘verse? No point in trying to fake it We know nothing could be worse Than your ‘business as usual shit’, No matter how beguiling; Ecocide must consume us, the original sin that leads to the fall, Is that the legacy of the boomers? So forget the status quo, too late now for reconciling, Sit down uncle, you’re blocking my flow.

Locked Up…Not Down Richard Percy

Ar fink we’ll be togevva, Wotevva ve wevva Togevva forevva, Ar fink vat’s what we’ll be; As brothers fight with brothers And as lovers shout at lovers Can’t we go and visit Mother’s For another cup of tea?

No!

We can’t hug one another ‘Cos the governors above us Say their numbers have discovered We must never really meet,

Are you listening, Dominic?

We must stay two meeters, separate, Which makes kissing somewhat desperate, And this awful imposition Kills the concerts for musicians,

Could anyfing be worse?

Well, be-curse we’re getting older We must do as we are told, Er else the Virus will devour us And that simply will not do! We must fight by staying out of sight, Until they say it’s quite alright To go outside and sing and play Be-corz the Mighty Pause Is orl togevva well and truly Gorn forevva.

Yea!

Poem for these times by Brian Mostoller

Once again the world has knotted us up and we jolt against the yoke to drag existence onward. The fear of death always the whip. Before this, we moved fast enough and busied enough to keep death from mind. We buckled in with smartphones and earbuds and engines and airspeed. We buckled in with the biggest, the fastest, and the scariest roller coaster ever. But now we have slowed, and he walks with us, hand upon the yoke. Yesterday, the Coronavirus forced a pent-up daughter and me on a rare walk to the small college near our home. Blinded classrooms, peeling playbills, distant birds we passed in silence . . . . Blinded and hitched we are now forced to focus. Once again we are re-minded of our role. We have planted this field with viruses, with investments, with violence, with love.

Now we reap. Seed is always a part of the grain. And he has once again provided. From Pasteur, from Crashes, from Blood, from Eden we are together again under the sun’s slow rise pulling a world filled with hummingbirds perched on fountains walks with daughters and lessons from a deserted college campus.

Last Time by Clive Grewcock

This time I am on the outside of nature Looking out at the inside of the open wilderness, Watching nature sigh a breath and spread its wings. Doing what it should, with freedom at its own peace. Nature will remember This time When the pecking order has been shuffled And correctly re-aligned. Waiting on the inside for A time When I am ready to re-emerge, with Nature looking out at me from its open wilderness. Am I like a specimen peering from behind glass? Sometimes It surrounds on a curious breeze or on the forceful Wings of a weighty moth, dancing around my light, And is allowed to return inside to the whisper of the landscape Seeing more than me, as I am Looking at my reflection, waiting to be invited inside. Valuing time. Have we used up our luck, Had our last chance with the cards we were dealt, blown it for this Lifetime? It is wild inside, in there. In the open wilderness. Nature is a survivor and we might be forgiven To venture back inside one Last time.

Strange Times by Jennie Turnbull

When the streets are silent but the houses are full, and the shops are shuttered but the delivery drivers busy, when we queue quietly outside supermarket and chemist;

when the children are home but it is no holiday, and the kitchen is classroom, and the garden is gym, when screen time is so much more than idle distraction;

when the traffic is quieter and the songbirds rejoice, the air is clearer and the sky is blue, and we’re grateful for window-box garden and yard;

when there is time to sit because there is nowhere to go, and there is time to play because we’re all at home, and we fight and we shout, and we laugh and we moan;

when we sleep over lunchtime and lie awake at 4am, when we cry over kittens but listen stunned to the news and we’re thankful to be safe learning what essentials are;

when we leave a parcel at your door and walk swiftly away, when we wave to you through glass then call you later on the phone, when words of love must stand in place of the hug we’d rather share

we are novices navigating this strange new land where distance is kindness and kindness is all.

I’m Fat (my trouble with Lockdown) by Andy Walker

These scales aren’t right - they say I’m fat It must be all those biscuits I’ve had My clothes don’t fit - it’s so very sad And I can’t climb the stairs without feeling bad

I’ve had enough, I must lose weight I can’t go on in this awful state Diets are no good, they really don’t work I’ll go without treats - although it’ll hurt

So out go biscuits and chocolate bars too I’ll eat more fruit and exercise I’ll do But hold on - that seems too drastic Maybe my trousers just need more elastic

No, I really must get a grip and be strong I know being this fat is terribly wrong Right, where do I start - oh yes - some salad But that meat pie would taste better on my palette

Oh, it’s all too much for my poor old head I need to go and lay down on my bed Yes, that will help to sooth my headache But first …. just another tiny slice of cake

Until we meet again by Andy Walker

Keep well and strong each day my friend Until we meet again

You’re in my prayers each day my friend Until we meet again

For health and peace each day my friend Until we meet again

Superheroes don’t need a cape by Ayaan Singhal( 9 year)

Not flying in the sky, Not jumping from the high, Not a name or a sign, Saving lives, yours and mine.

Working day and night, To make everything alright, Without a sleep or a rest, Always doing their best.

Close encounters they have had, Fighting a battle with the bad, Doctors, Nurses and everyone else, Not worrying about themselves.

Saving lots of lives, Without an armour or a drape, YES! You are Super Heroes, Who don’t need a cape.

A Similar Lockdown by Patricia McCarthy

Draw the Curtains

Draw the curtains, light the candle. Time to sit as the Brontes did, the wind rattling its commentary

to windows and doors - as if ghosts of loved ones crave re-entry.

Time to make up once-upon-a-times, ever-afters, happy or not, and, turn by turn, to sharpen narrative skills

on the fire’s licking flames. Knights and knaves from Gondal are here still,

worlds wait to be peopled and placed from Angria, Glass Town - Diary papers and Charlotte’s Roe Head journal

to blend fiction with fact. Take out your pens and paper, fill old inkwells

and, for your own wobbly cursives, become graphologists, deciphering more about your selves than ever you knew.

Emily’s fierce faithful dog, Keeper, on guard in your psyches, will escort you

over your minds’ wildest moors. No need for heather, rocky crags - simply fall over the edges of your temperament

into each story’s special balm. The sisters - and even the brother - might experiment

with you in travelling without moving to emulate, in a villa, the writers of the Decameron who reeled off tales

to avoid epidemics of fear in a Plague far off. There, your shared travails

could compose tragedies, no soaps, around Branwell’s call-girls and drink, Charlotte’s obsession with a married man…

Fight off the invader. Emily will scribble - with yours - her secrets, fast as she can.

Morning Star by Penny Sharman

Even Venus, my morning lamplight is now just a flicker of a lighthouse’s flashlight, beacon from the window. Each morning the sunrise above Carrbrook hills appears through gauze as light hits my retina, hits the clock face that ticks history forward, leaves me with thoughts of black filling my landscapes, the dark lane, the cobbled path down to Tame valley, resistance of clog and soot. I take jackdaws for granted, their daily preening on chimney pots, how delicately they see each flea. Even Venus, my morning lamplight is only the smallest of fires.

Keep close from afar by Nina Neophitou

For 3 long months now We’ve stayed inside The whole world on lockdown Hoping to save lives

Keeping our distance Stay 2 meters apart A strange new existence Seeing loved ones from afar

Talk through the window Wave across the street Blow kisses on video For we can not meet

We clap on a thursday For our NHS heroes We’re grateful in every way For the courage they show us

The statistics are scary But they’re just numbers and facts Until it hits one of your family Then nothing can distract

From the horror and heartache The realness and pain Of not being able to hold your loved one As they slip away

It didn’t quite hit me The scale of the matter Until my Mum called me To say, “it’s your YiaYia…”

Those statistics you read Aren’t just percentages and numbers They’re like you and me They’re someone’s family members

The world’s slowly returning To a new normality Some of us mourning …There’s one less in our family

In time things will change And the virus will pass But for now, for their sake Keep close from afar

If it hasn’t affected you Or your family directly You can not know who It might hurt respectively

This virus treads quietly Please don’t show resistance Now you know it can hurt you or me Keep keeping your distance

Ease in Lockdown by Joanna Taylor

And I Am half in love with easeful life. With the stilly vibrations of a world passing through caverns that echo With the silence of the stars. Unclouded by fumes and the haze of streetlights, they gather in the sky, finally relax their distance. They party mutely, ease their lights on. A very heaven for an unspeaking upwards gazing, falling into the dark and the quiet

Solitary by Andrew Barnes

Walking silently through the world, feet barely touching the ground, my mark is tiny as a spore, grey-green lichen on a grit-grey stone.

On the third day of seeing no-one, senses reach another level of awareness, sounds in the house acute, an insect observed moves through dust.

I pass the station, could catch a train, to anywhere in the country, nobody awaits my return, but I don’t, I just stand on the platform, watching.

The sun is bright today, but cold, the earth is frozen, nothing moves but this constant movement, I look in the lake, the reflection of my shoes.

My sister called, I didn’t answer, I’m way too far out, by now beyond telephone lines, to speak would disturb the alignment of atoms.

I step to the pool edge, feel its pull, imagine one stride more, but I could never take it, too big a risk of a minimal ripple.

Lifting the Roof by Heather Stevens

Looking out at streets so empty and bare, rainbows on windows showing that we care, for an army of warriors in the NHS, neighbours clapping each Thursday with no duress, thankful to workers out in the field, whilst I’m sitting here having to shield.

This deep sense of gratitude to neighbours, family and friends, that kept me pushing towards the end, sitting silent with nothing but thoughts of unease, and sounds of rustling leaves of a gentle breeze, birds in song, breathing sweet scent of air, thankful to glimpse back and know this was there.

Testing bodies, minds some can say, time passes slowly day by day, words spoken of beautiful souls lost with this manmade thing that takes at no cost, thousands and thousands of shimmering tears fall, caught in a heavenly lake and angels take each tear for their own keepsake.

Millions of us did pull through to show who’s left what we ought to do, to fight this virus and fight we will to find a vaccine to stop the kill, and those who isolate keep to rule and many that don’t are deemed as fools.

Leaders of this world take time to think a message from nature’s brink, that me, we and all this race continue with pure land, sea, aerospace, forward on, lift the roof that clouds this world, so we can pass it on.

thankful that I knew you by Ruth Esther Gilmore

this morning i watched hope flutter by on the wings of a monarch butterfly

and per definition it landed on the window sill of my wounded bleeding heart

a never-ending blast of warmth spread itself through the curtains

of my soul deleting at will my pain i had started

to believe i would never lose the pain again where can i hide to avoid the next silent arrow?

how should i deal with loss? how can i find happiness without you? i

can only smile and remember our shared past and be thankful that i knew you

Corona Sapiens by Mandy Ross

We don’t ask to be born or made. Arrive in this host world alive and raring to survive. Plenty here to help us thrive.

Following our inborn drive we make more of ourselves, strive to ensure we (and perhaps our kind) survive.

‘But what are you for?’ asks our host, still alive, though hardly seeming now to thrive. What purpose is there, but alive and thrive?

under the signs by Ruth Esther Gilmore

where the beetles of metal meet and snooze

and the polished wood of a ranzquilla looms

under the signs of the camel carouse

the flap of the foot aligns the open tombs

agonizo decided history acorn-sapped

all fair al faro viruses reading doom

with a shudder i refrain the mine from drinking

the raw deal in the sailing of souls

leave off the lead chains of binging and co

for a free soul needs a freed head

and a free head gives a freed soul

in these uncertain times by Ruth Esther Gilmore

in these uncertain times when we traverse through the valleys of terror and tears

when salty waves of desolation crash upon us and when the weight of the universe

pulls on the strings of our hearts trying to anchor us in a wide moor of misery

we will not tarry in the sinister dark or pitch our tents between the tribulations

we will with a song and a verse conquer together our tears and difficulties thereby rising higher than the eagles

- we will cast aside all fear and doubt dear hope with love and faith now carry us over the sinister dark

Growing Around by Ruthie Nightingale

There’s sadness, sometimes anger peering from your eyes clues of empty space They’re only slight, stirred in with smiles tucked behind chuckles and sprinkles of delight You’re quite polite

Imprisoned here with every need attended to as docile Spring rolls over for a tummy rub and ever-craved-for time scooped up rolled out just so - we’ll make a pie of every rainbow dream and eat with home-made fresh ice cream

These should be days for space and peer-led thoughts for Kevin arms swatting at our tired ideas. So can you grow And reach to touch the stars sow larger reasoning and fantasies than ours?

As weeks go by - here’s you sangfroid in situ, equanimity excelled softly walking your inner goddess round - I hear your future leaping galaxies to whisper welcomes with her backflipped ‘yes’… I like that sound.

my answer to covid-19 by Ruth Esther Gilmore

i am not alone the feeling of loss

will always remain cannot be explained

but i will be carried through my lifetime ache

a rebirth of our city a remaking of our lives

comfort is found in the seams of our society

and in the enduring consoling spirit of humanity

Windflower by Sarah-Jane Crowson

Windflower Dispels malicious rumours caused by fake news Six pale, pointed petals like pincers. Solitary, separate, sharp scented like sorrel or fox. Sown in the gardens of the curious, it procureth much spitting. It sits under the dominion of Mars.

Allowable Exercise - 2nd. May 2020 by Barry Gray

I yearned to reach the city’s edge. So early and so quiet when I left that as I crossed the street I heard sewers whisper their rude secrets.

At the last business park unsleeping cameras followed my awkward zig- zag progress between dead silent factories as yard by yard my image was the baton they passed on.

At the first field spring had arrived, a bride that will not be denied her proper time, she’d frosted the grass with pignut flowers, had undersown the blossoming hawthorn hedge with stitchwort.

Dog walkers now emerge to tread their weary, same old, same old laps, some counting footsteps on their phones. Their dogs, unleashed, run eagerly ahead.

Behind me I can hear the city waking as ambulances wail their banshee song. All day they’ll weave this lurid thread into the city’s warp and weft.

last stanza of 2019 by Whit Flores

the story begins with the last lines of a poem a cheerful set of words I wrote to wrap up 2019 with a pretty bow

“we’re just along for the ride driven by the beat of time and in 2020? you’re gonna see me dancing”

I wrote this, so sure that light was coming before I knew I would need another surgery before science once again became a debate on the world stage before the world fell apart

in the fear- hidden in hordes of toilet paper and scraps of cloth sewn together on dusty machines, left untouched for years until we needed a way to help the smallest hand, the lightest remark

to honor those taking their last breaths on shared ventilators and the ones who are missing sleep to stop this- hiding in plain sight are pieces of our humanity we cannot afford to lose sight of

There was one thing I guessed correctly, though not a prediction at all; life is out of our control we can enjoy happiness as it comes we can try to help others find it and we can recognize our sadness but at the end of the day, at the end of the year, life and death are out of hands

and maybe that is the only way we can be free enough to dance

The Lockdown Lament by Aamira Challenger

Breathe In Out The drops you exhale Rain down on my skin like Ash Settling into the cracks Of my freshly washed hands Dry Dry So dry From the hand gel that was fiercely won When I knocked Several shoppers to the ground Oh what a sound

You stand too close Breath on my neck ‘Move’ I say ‘two metres away’ Yet here you are On your daily Walk of the line Trying to thrive While I try to survive The peril that is Being locked in with

The in-law He calls Mother.

Now wash your hands by Huw Sherlock

Don’t give me no Wackaboob Don’t give me no MotherSmother Telling me to isolate, Don’t make me your brother! From HMG to the H To the M to the R to the C I’m packing my P60, So you can’t audit me Ain’t filing no returns I’m not paying VAT Who you calling non Dom Cummings ain’t my cup of tea. Boris on Lockdown Rishi broke the bank Can’t get into ASDA I’m going to get a tank For my homies Too late to get away now, No planes, no trains, not playing no games Ain’t never going to back down Government’s going to pay my tent Before they start the crackdown. So…………. Don’t gimme no Wackaboob Don’t gimme no MotherSmother If we all isolate Can we still love each other?

We are the Mother’s mothers Our choice to Wackaboob, It’s time to isolate, So we don’t lose one another.

Sisters on furlough About time our truth was spoke Do we want to go back to the madness and the smoke Of pollution choking all our kids Working 3 gigs to survive And you want to call that woke? Soldiers on the corner Doing county lines Sell your sister for a ten bag But the Feds don’t want to know They’ve got the ‘rona boner Wanna check if your buying wrongbow Or sunbathing in the park Gotta be a loner, We’re all just flying solo So…. We are the Mother’s mothers Just have to Wackaboob, Corona’s here to stay So one way or another give up our dreams and say We will protect our brothers

Boomer Remover Huw Sherlock

Here comes the Boomer remover, A geriatric hoover, come to sweep up your complacency And puncture your dismissivenes so don’t dissolve into hissy fits, Or lectures on snowflake millennials, Your snide and tested perennials, ‘End the lockdown now, Long live the new normal’ is your siren cry, but another, better world is coming, It’s no use trying to deny, The pulse of history is running, Out of your control, So be a part of the solution, you’ve got to choose your role, And reconnect with evolution, Now, tell me what’s your ‘verse? No point in trying to fake it We know nothing could be worse Than your ‘business as usual shit’, No matter how beguiling; Ecocide must consume us, the original sin that leads to the fall, Is that the legacy of the boomers? So forget the status quo, too late now for reconciling, Sit down uncle, you’re blocking my flow.

Rainbows in windows Kelvin Smith

Anxiety soared in my two-up two-down Hanging around in my dressing gown, I searched for a smile but found only a frown The street was so quiet, just like a ghost town.

I sensed that depression was sinking in My heart was thumping, my head in a spin, I looked in the mirror, i couldn’t even grin I hadn’t been eating, my face was so thin.

I needed to talk but there was no one around So erie and weary, during lockdown My thoughts were deep and very profound I was too scared to get the bus into town.

Then i saw a Rainbow with colours so bright That a child had crayoned in a window of light For the Nightingales fighting this horrendous plight It made me believe it would all be alright.

Rainbows in windows made all my pain fly And lifted the spirits of all passers by Rainbows in Windows express battle cry And call to the Heavens way up in the sky.

Lockdown Life by Sue Bicknell

Pinheads of burning sparks illuminate life and death. Spots of light squint through shuttered windows. Firefly stars peep in a blue black sky.

Pinholes of space windows to a world outside the range of knowing. Lives lived beyond themselves. Deaths belonging to distant places.

Pintucks gathering memories beneath folds of dreams that congregate in hidden creases of a life story untold, lived in solitary confinement.

Pinpricks of time prompt humanity to be mindful of past transgressions. Anticipate what may be to come, igniting a spark in the eye of the universe to brighten the future.

The Corona Virus Spring by Ron Carey

The Crab-apple Tree outside my room Is in full bloom Glorious branches reaching out towards the brilliant blue sky while the Sun stands by Britain is in spring

In the forest, a new woodsman, strides Invisible, no need to hide Majestic or of humble means He does not distinguish in between Young or old, he will cut them down

You cannot see him, but you may meet When a friend you happily greet While out walking Or at a bus stop talking You will not feel the cut he’s making Until one morning with your waking You will feel his tickle in your throat, Then a dry cough you will note Your temperature goes higher and higher Now your body feels on fire His hands grasp your lungs so tight For each breath, you have to fight

So, in the forest do not roam Stay safe, stay well, Stay at home

Pandemic Poem of Lockdown Life by Chelsea Duke

First we’re told no handshakes, no kisses and no hugs. Next to go, amongst much else, was reusable coffee mugs.

It seems the nation runs on pasta, tinned toms, small bags of flour. Panic buyers stockpiling, shelves barer by the hour.

Worse than that was yet to come, with toilet paper bagging. “My God, what’s next?” I hear you cry - yep, that’s right, no shagging!

They closed the shops, they closed the pubs, denied the Brits their beer. Then u-turned on the breweries. It could only happen here!

The schools were shut, the kids at home, twixt life and work no line. Teaching, working, refereeing… Mummy’s on the wine.

Grown men are doing bunnyhops, the house is tidy and neat. Dogs have never been walked so much, we’re banging saucepans in the street.

We spend our time in meetings, checking out colleagues’ homes, Removing cats from keyboards, and surreptitiously checking our phones.

There’s no more Blue Sky Thinking. Instead it’s “You’re still on mute!” We’re adjusting to new normal: day pyjamas, not a suit.

We’re told we all must stay at home, unless for cycle, walk or run. Or our weekly socially distanced shop, what happened to all our fun?

We’ve had the Baby Boomers, Gen X and the Millenials - And what with all this staying in, next up ‘Hello Coronials’!

Some’ve started lunchtime drinking, others online activities - Quizzes, bingo, theatre, or scavenger hunts if you please.

Still more are in the kitchen, learning how to cook and bake. By the end of this year’s lockdown life, we’ll be awash with homemade cake!

The highlight of the week for some is takeaway for dinner… One thing’s for sure in this strange new life; none of us are getting any thinner!

The nation’s hair is growing longer, we’re all embracing the gray… Clippers the next shortage item, desperate for hairdressers’ opening day.

And how will we remember this pandemic life in the years to come? The year the bin went out more times than us, and we couldn’t hug our Mum.

Poem 6. by Callum Horwood

The sustainability of my self-destructive life comes into question. A pandemic, a national emergency, people dying for no reason. Does this make my behaviour selfish? Or injustified? Or perhaps more so; Save that hospital bed for someone who deserves it. Quarantine, isolation, lockdown, however you want to spin it. Strips down and lays bare our loneliness; our insecurities for everyone to see. Mental health took a back seat now it’s on the motherfucking front stage. Yet only in people’s lives and not on the news we see. All we hear is stories to induce anxiety. All we hear is death, danger and fear. Now I know I’m not alone when I say this situations hard on me. But maybe my social life masked all of my anxiety. What are we supposed to do; carry on in this new found world Of no contact, no touch, no love and motherfucking distance. Will we all adjust to this or just never get better? I’d like to think I’d be fine, but this just fucking kills me. Now we see memes online in an attempt to normalise the situation. Make light of it, share our feelings through humour and feel relation. But what kind of joke is it sitting in binge drinking every night? If that’s how I feel and that’s what’s become of my life. There’s comfort to be had in knowing I’m not alone, in this pain, this new existence, locked in our homes. But to find comfort in other’s pain as my own is not true comfort at all, I’d just love a happy world with nobody injecting lysol.

Thank you NHS by Coral Barker (aged 9)

Thank you NHS Your love care and happiness Makes safety and help for all Colourful rainbows on the wall

Red, orange, green and blue Thank you NHS for all you do Women, children and men You’ve helped people and most of them

That’s the reason why we clap On the saucepan - tap - tap - tap At eight o’clock on a Thursday In March, April and even May

They help people in need Doing everyone at least one good deed So stay at home, we must And it’s them we will trust

I know there’s a virus out there But we’ve got hope and we’ve got care So stay calm and stay at home Even if you’re in London, China or Rome

Lockdown Coral Barker (aged 9)

No one likes lockdown Quiet from the whole town Not speaking to anyone Only one exercise or run More we appreciate By clapping on Thursday at eight Saying and hearing thank you For all they do Speaking on the phone It’s okay to feel alone Right now we do need each other Like family including our sister and our brother Calling people much more Doing things we wouldn’t have time for Doing all the things you forgot Yes, quite a lot The message here is to say To thank people more in a way To appreciate the stuff That we need when times are rough

An Ode: To You by Karennina Page

As the troubled waters stirred, the ticking clock did strike and we drew a deep breath inward as the worried path did spike. The yearn of yesteryear; of joyous pastime had, was now an echo in the air (once thought of good) had now turned bad.

Behold within a week, we noticed all the blue and birds not seen before, our heads tilted upward as they flew And the deer reclaimed the land, the foxes lazy lay and pheasants strut around the streets emboldened by the day

And in amongst this glory, the people disappeared, like shadows in the nighttime you knew were there but didn’t see, As the silence fell around us, in melancholic reverie.

The weeks rolled on in earnest as springtime bursts and flouts, but in amongst the buds, weird things begin to sprout. Like flowers lit up shining, burning bright into the night, these very strange occurrences are small but in plain sight.

From the crevices of darkness, you hear a threaded sound, of music creeping slowly and from somewhere underground. It plays a song from memory, a tune that once was new; A joyful recollection. That joy was down to You.

As the siege of trouble burns deep holes into our purse, we wonder how and what we’ll eat, as cash you had apportioned, sinks into the sand beneath our feet.

When your mind is led to anguish as the hunger steals your sleep, you cannot concentrate and your limbs become a-floppy as your body becomes weak; the shops they were left empty as mad confusion grew, But an angel came from darkness, that angel was You.

In reoccurring nightmares or vivid dreams repeat conspire, the mind slips into a vast abyss and seems to disappear from sight. ‘Hold on a little longer’, the whisper echoes gently ‘there’s much that you can do’. Fear listened to that whisper; that whisper was You.

While the leaders divide nations, their words entrenched with lies are spewed And the savagery of money goes unchecked, false claims made and skewed,

Still the workers on the front lines are knee deep in the trench, As wild promises float endlessly from there to on the bench, Where heads nod in agreement and the fingers point to ‘them’ While things remain obscure, vague and complicit in contempt.

As waters muddy deeper, the words of wise men sought and the memes upon my Facebook bring laughter where once was nought. And while the chambers whisper in cunning sly manoeuvres A belly laugh of outburst; that my friend, was down to You.

Imprisoned in a vacuum, enclosed by just four walls, a beautiful rendition of a view you can recall. And while the brush strokes languish, on canvass made in blue, our soul is once again wakened. That gift of blue, was You.

Amid reflections of bereavement churn cycles of repeated loss, Bright flowers grew in wild abound shone beauty without cost. So when the trouble stirs again, remember what you knew Because those angels holding flowers are indeed of course, yes You.

New Poem (My Friend) by Jean Ann Owens

A GIFT FROM GOD

A prayer each Night A tear Cry Something Special From inside So Deep So Alive A prayer from God A dream Come true Something I had Never new I kept A gift From god A special Poem For You

New Poem (My Friend)

I wish Me, Jean Ann Sitting down In a chair In your kitchen Mrs. Nadine Hill In her home In her kitchen Drinking coffee and talking With her Mrs. Nadine Hill I’m flying to the west coast to See my angel

Newly Heard Sounds by Eleanor Rawling

The earth will remember, the earth will reclaim All that silence and quietness, we couldn’t refrain From filling with noise and shouting in vain.

Will we look back and cherish the newly heard sound Of bird song, of wind race of moments we found, When our fast life had gone and the world was all changed?

Mirrors of Anguish by Caroline Gauld

Windows are soulless eyes Invisibly condemning us to hell Within clear view of heaven Encased, enclosed, locked in a prism

A tap on the glass signals “hello” Living life in a gold fish bowl All the time my face reflected Trying to stay connected

Hot to the touch but cold as ice This pane a great divide Freedom isn’t a god given right When caged, collared and confined

In isolation behind the glazing Denied the touch of close relations Behind these transparent bars Anxiety separation leaves it’s scars

When comes the lifting of restrictions Tentatively I’ll step beyond the curtains I’ll look back at my reflective jailer And realize he was my savour

My frustration crushed into a thousand crystals Freedom is mine to embrace And I’ll move forward full of grace

The lockdown garden by Jayne Moon

The lockdown garden I kept a tidy garden But never had the time To catch the weeds as they appear and keep it in its prime

But since we stay inside To help the NHS My garden is now my empire And I. The Great Empress!

I survey my little subjects, All swaying in their beds And if nasty weeds should attack, I swiftly take off their heads

I give them food and water I tend their every need I raise them to be big and strong From just a tiny seed

My greenhouse is my castle My trees,my ramparts strong The little birds are my musicians Who sing there,all day long.

I love my lockdown garden With all my heart and soul But fear when lockdowns over I’ll let nature take back control.

Five Things to do During Lockdown by Kerry Ryan

Yours: 1. Create our own con-lang called Karnish 2. Transform the spare room into our favourite cafe 3. Join Big Kids Art Club on Youtube 4. Do yoga every day 5. Love each other

Mine: 1. Dance party 2. Drink prosecco 3. Snort that half gram of coke 4. Fight 5. Fuck to make up

Lockdown by Nehir Tencere

Lockdown, Lockdown this is so sad When we are out, I will be glad Stuck at homes nothing to do all day Some people can’t even celebrate their birthday.

The streets are empty everyone is alone Again, nothing to do, stuck at home. Washing our hands every time, We will carry on doing this for a lifetime.

Thanking the NHS every Thursday, They save lives every single day.

The New Normal by Jayne Moon

I want the old normal.

I don’t like the new normal, It just doesn’t feel normal to me That I can only see a friend,six foot away from me. I hate to wear the PPE To push my trolley round While the enemy we cannot see Attacks,without a sound. I don’t like being told,when out I can only meet one other How do I choose,without a doubt A friend,a daughter,a mother? Don’t touch,don’t hug,don’t breathe in air Wash hands,don’t touch your face Just stay at home,say a prayer And sanitise your space

I don’t want to stay alert Sometimes I like to dream That we are all glamping in a yurt, And bathing in a stream

All these rules,are just too much Now I am longing for the day We are free to see and touch And watch the grandkids play. The world has changed,and so have we It’s like a message from above When this is over,we will see That…All we need is LOVE

Locksdown by Karen Newsome

The wildness of my hair! It grows without fear, Making me more fearful, By the day.

I sense the liberation, No trim or grand style, It’s freed itself, Banging on the fringe!

My hair bounces, it moves! Layering with joy, Taking over, ceasing control With razor sharp precision.

A new found spring, A willingness to disobey, Colouring my darkened heart, I’m just reconditioning !

Diffusing all my misery, My tonged locks, now Untethered, run wild Truly highlighting my life!

Covid by Laura Davies

Covid-19, You’re like the worst dream, One which we all want to wake from.

You came uninvited, By eye you’re not sighted, Your presence here is not welcome.

An invisible enemy, You have taken too many, It is time that you were shown the door.

By flattening the curve, Social distancing, we observe, Your reign will be short, we’ll ensure.

For the lives you have taken, Be not mistaken, Not one shall be forgotten.

You are an enemy to fear, One not to go near, Covid-19, you are rotten.

A battle we wage, It’ll make the front page, When Scientists declare you’ve expired.

We are thankful for many, Who have carried our Country, They have worked non-stop, they are tired.

For them we’ve stayed home, Only seeing family on Zoom, You have robbed us of special occasions.

Birthdays missed, New babies not kissed, This is covid-isolation.

But what community spirit, The virtual support you can feel it, Covid’s stage show is approaching its curtains.

So Covid-19, Put down your sceptre, You Crown-shaped invisible foe.

You’re done, You’re dusted, Covid-19, It really is time that you go!!

Infinite Karmas by Nishi Chawla

At the beginning was the outbreak, Blobs of swarming virus caught red handed, Fasten themselves on human lungs, above those Karmic laws that got bled out; the stars rip, the Effects of human intention, strayed, swelled. How one lives, front lined with gloves and masks, Mock at causality, casually proliferate in Invisible tweets, with red mountain clouds, Dismantle the short supply of legends that Look us in the eye, comfort us for no reason. Does it clink a glass or two, now that the karmic Wheel got broken? Does it dodge bullets, whittled By the dark scraping, bend its shapes, inside the Deep flesh in cruel thumps, knowing no clear Patterns of reactionary consequences? Pacing Oneself to match an invisible fugue like, enemy That rings in waves of new energy, in unison With the crevices the virus revisits; Wild affliction, dead to the pangs of love, of Lust, reaping the aroused days of its own self. Karma-scapic bounds, where is the blind eye Of fate here, discriminate between willing it Nor etched, nor accrued, in discrete scoops, shields Of our own actions, generating, flourishing, Between the responsible and not so? They try to smother us, hidden deep within our permissive Spaces; now an invisible virus makes it an armor, a shaft of Light permeates, functions as a shelter or its lack, both. Hidden, hiding, in hiding, secrets, the sorrow contained, Protect us within a mask, humbled with unusual Speed; everything forgotten in that post fragile phase. Look beyond doubt, as the progressives carry the lantern. Rebel or reformer, the obligation to mask oneself persists, Spilling fire in absurd stretches, a fringe space of N 95s? Cloth face masks, surgical masks, protect, cover the face and The sides, the virus attacks, bandanas, scarves, empower, Uncomfortable particles, fashion your own face covering. Self-construct, cut out the rags, blast out the horror, A subtle sense of resistance to put it on, transform oneself, Or to disguise? Would a burqa not be the best defense? Effective, as an artisanal smile disguises the pain Fragile smiles wear thin, transmit the disease, in profound And simple airborne respiratory droplets, life and the afterlife Marginalized in brothel like respirators, rage anew To strike the thing off, in chronic conditions, breathless, adept Artisans. How does one make love and wage peace with a virus? The virus licks my torn soul, guilt tripping me, I sing a love song to it, tempting the faint thump, Causing my heart to fissure its fatty lumps; pretend I live on a moon of my own landing, turn my flesh Inside out, listen to the chirping of birds, amazed. That so much beauty could still exist, amid club like Spikes that crush the breathing soul, lavender storms That hit, unfounded hopes cluster phylogenetically; A pestilence that asks for enormous surcharges, lethal As the protean cry of daggers, stabbing me yet again. Quietly slithering out, a war like stratagem, as Birds orchestrate their cheerful songs to each other, Embraced in positive sense RNA, the hard truths that No flowers on our window sills would relive. Proteins That slice human voices, sliced lungs pause, then breathe. When I follow its replication pattern, somewhere A flood of tears ensue, attached to a host receptor, slyly Pursuing a purpose driven path, winter turns into stunned Spring, and yet the stalk of the spike molecules sticks, Digs deep within, encodes hollow dreams, hollowed out. In the open fields, the birds shriek with intense, Tormented sounds, adopt a transmembrane like structure, And more and more are rendered mute, transfixed fear, Packaging signals of sliding down, motionless companions That express a fear; triggering viral particles, spreading out. Binding domains of dazed displeasure, disbelief, A tissue culture, receptors and protein that inject so much, A solar vision that gives me a new calm, a prayer that Sparks nucleocapsids of refined pleasure, Gone, I struggle with myself again, umpteen times more. At the turn of a metaphor, an old Smell returns. Doorknobs, food parcels, Cardboard boxes violate its safety. Coffins run amuck, unwilling to settle Into the ground of unequal notes, broken up Handshaking that combines data distancing. By sunrise singing, widows cut open fear, From the clinging smell of soaps, to peacetime Talk of floating civil liberties, affixed, then ripped. Destroy the game of winners and losers, write Love poems to battles fought, tactile as panic, Controlled eyes lifting, glisten with godhead. Its rhetoric is framed, unstable as molecules, Moving, evolving, thinking unto oneself, deadly And pent up, galvanized into action, fight, fleeing. Quiver with soft gestures, smoothed out as dream Filaments, the labored action of digital steps, quiet Lingering gestures, sinking deep, as surveillance. As a door shuts tight, breathing encircled, then intervene with the arc of biometrics, move freely Between borders, strike back torrents of smart bombs. Creep into bunker busters, masked under submarines, Guns that maneuver through host cells, a blood flow Bereft of motion, would there be a mutating stir?

Elastic Time by Brogan King

What are days, weeks & months without plans? Time is both rapid and lesiurely Old school nothing and contemplating the navel

Elastic time

Agonising ephemeral existence, The fullness of accelerated change The world is re-orienting

As must we As must I

Arising from the ashes & blue light

A Phoenix

Bus in the Time of Coronavirus by Deborah Collins

This is our new life. Spring, cold, sunny. All is cut off - our friends, our food, our money. In the lane by the park, I feed the stray cats and imbibe the urban silence that’s the new sound of our time; pull up my mask, avoid all others, bow down to my task, while glancing nervously, holding my breath, at passers-by who harbour death.

Spaces hollow out where the sun’s rays shone. Our connections and our certainties are gone - our liberty to love, to move, suspended for fears that months or years may prove. Our working world is frozen - who’ll hire us? Fire us? This is the time of coronavirus.

At the end of the lane a bus goes by: driver, no passengers, emblazoned high on its side, part-obscured by trees, an ad for a movie none now sees, The Invisible Man. That’s what we are. This bus is not empty after all - far from it: full of invisible men and women. We’re not gone, we’ll come like salmon, swimming against the tide to get back where we started, bruised, bereaved, but not yet broken-hearted.

Lunch Hour by Nicholas Starkey

It was lunch hour And the shop was as empty as concrete. They were only letting fifty people In the store at a time Due to the recent lockdown Amid the coronavirus outbreak. What worried people most Was not the virus itself But the outlook it had on humanity.

Outside, Gary, Whose wife killed herself After being raped by her dad, Was sitting down and being harassed by security For holding a cup.

My Fear or Dying After Quarantine and my Selfish Scramble for Self-Proclaimed Immunity by Lucy French

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/my-fear-of-dying-etc-LF.mp3

I do not fear too much, For I am fortunate as ruined clovers in the summer sunshine, For my lungs are pink and bloodlessly rosy. No fidget of a frog clawing at my steel throat, Or twist of baited breath.

Yet really, When I leave the insulated hygiene of my house, I am sure that I will suck a virus to the pits of my stomach. And let it chew there, Like a yellowed dragon with the dark bones Of an ill-fated heroine. Though, I am sorry, That I pray for my own desperate immunity When there are those not so favoured by the Biological reckoning, When there are those who wait in paper-doll beds In the deep cavern of a hospital bed. To be told whether life favours the few, Or if death licks at their heels.

So a second dragon, This one with guilt-speckled scales gnaws at the other’s worried tail, Until it remains nothing but a bloodied stump, Licks the wound until it forgets such culpability.

Still once we are released from our kennels again, I shall cower with a chain to my neck. This illness is once of fiction, And I know it cannot be worse than one reasoned by fact. But no amount of antibiotic intervention, Or forced ventilation, No quantity of crisp hand-gel Will heal such imagination. My wandering conscious has concocted A different virus, that blossoms not into a pandemic, But a mental affliction, and one that I am unlikely to ever outgrow.

Memorizing the art of survival in the wind by JeJe Oluwasola

To say colours thaws, expression rips and the sky shies with a flawed rainbow,

To say rhythms radiate in the lungs of Italy, songs go sour and the earth feels good of remains, Like flowers shivering of quivers that rages from the corona,

I am saying a difficult place in the sun, sets on the boulevard of Lagos and the day cum too soon to dusk of things that stains the breath,

Our soul wraths silence and the earth holds grief of relief

Although our bodies are parted in social divorce by a wild sauce lurking in the air,

And we have become photographs adopted by the heart of one another lingering on the hope that dangles on the biceps of science,

This too shall wade like flames riding the wind and bragging the ambience,

This too shall also end like echoes seeking asylum in a room unpeopled,

And every night I bury my face into the sky like my grandfather would peep a smile

I’d puff some solace at the verge of voidness where my body quits,

I’d say to my shadow, say what I say after I say what I say,

Hakuna Matata! Darkness does not exist, it is light trekking back to a place we won’t know,

Cos end has no name and we shall float beyond tides and gravy rumours.

To live is of the mind,

And this mind is beyond the illusions of how we shall hoist a flag of victory.

You. by Nicola Whitfield

You, proud in your primary colours parading our screens with your pretence as if a child’s bouncy ball that could stick to a wall suckers even.

You, sticking and sucking the life out of liquid lungs drowning our dearests daring a pandemic, your microscopic purpose simply to reproduce and multiply. No evil intent.

You, stopping us dead.

To Learn or not to learn by James Brookes

Stop all the clocks and the fluidity around the globe, The grim spectre of pollution on our cities is starting to disrobe, Who’d have thought that for our planet to breathe and to clear, That a virus with deadly consequences might allow us to regear, Halting the journeys and our daily burning of fossil fuel, Showing our lack of respect for the planet is simply not cool, How long will social isolation and lock down provide a break, Is this our chance for a better world us to now make, But the cyclical nature of humans doesn’t bode well, Will we learn from this brief respite only time will tell, How much we value the health of our environment now, Will be seen in the field that our short term future will plough, There’s hope for us yet as social creativity is on the hunt, To bring the issue of climate change back firmly to the forefront.

Right here at home by Dave Holmes

Grey won’t lift Lockdown came so swift Switch on a film just to get in Cancel your cheques use an umbrella in a force ten Hide undercover at home Oh yes when the breakout comes That’s the day my family arrives Oh yes we can cuddle up soon Boris Johnson and his ally Don Couldn’t keep doing wrong We’ll let them know when it’s time to vote They aren’t going anywhere Oh yes when the breakout comes That’s when the time the party starts When tomorrow comes I’ll buy some things Unnecessary to me Like a Chambord glass and a square of grass A telescope lens, pictures of unknown friends A swimming pool and a Premium froe Oh yes when the breakout comes Go to shows and spectacular sights But until that time will come I’m staying at home Where my heart is Right here at home

Morning Light by Ev Welsh

Morning light as sharp as lemons. Palm and fingertips pressed to the window, wistful gaze.

The War Dead by Michael Thomas Hill

‘The War Dead’ ‘Mack knelt beside the dead. From the soldier’s eye, A tear fell.

The Sergeant asked him, “Tell me why you’re crying?” “I’ve no one to cry For me, or mourn for me.”

The young soldier smiled, “Give me your letter old friend I shall read it to you,”

The old soldier handed over the Letter in a torn, tattered Envelope

He opened it and read it “I write this letter with sadness ‘To tell you, your home was blown up, Your wife and family too,”

The elderly soldier turned to the young Boy, Hugged him,’ “We who are about to die to salute thee.”

Mack looked over the trenches. His gun went bang the german hit the ground. ‘Without making a sound.’

As the young soldier looked around Like a mosquito bite; death shook Hands with the dead

In bitter cold ground sleeping soldiers’ Found. ‘In fields of red sleep, the dead….. ‘Their graves were decked with poppies’

On the Cusp of Transformation by Robert Best

From globally interconnected to social isolation - It was a big leap to make, and very fast! This pandemic touches every soul, in every nation, And we’ve no real idea how long it’ll last, And some of us are wondering - what is this creation? Could it have something to do with those new masts?

On the cusp of Transformation, high vibration, celebration!

Grim statistics pour constantly into homes around the world While we’re stuck indoors, can’t go out, and running out of cash. The global levels of mental stress have people wound up and curled As bank accounts, careers and plans, all quickly turn to ash. We can’t let off steam on a football pitch, or even down the pub; Holidays and day trips banned, on pain of fines or jail. Every type of gathering’s off, every society, every club, Businesses going down the tubes as economies flounder and fail.

On the cusp of Transformation, high vibration, celebration!

There’s opportunity in this chaos, opportunity for growth. Redesign society, recreate ourselves - or both! Choose a higher vibration, be grounded, centred, calm; Choose to be the light of the world; choose to be its balm. Choose to manifest a better You, through which, a better Us, And thereby moving humanity from B-minus to A-plus.

The Supply Chain by Charlie McCartan

You phone and ask if I can do you a favour Because of those days in May, I can always try

All the tins I’m allowed to buy but no corned beef (those days in May!) And I leave at the door, pay me on the other side of this and I wave from across the street, smiling the best I can

And those tins I bought that were delivered from a depot in Macclesfield and put on the shelf by a local guy and picked up by me and swiped by the friendly woman working six days a week at the moment

and somewhere lurked the thing that killed you despite the A to Z of precautions and was it me or was it anyone in the supply chain?

never knowing, I remember the days of May last year long before time stood still

Empty and Silent by Brian Ball

Trains running empty, cities no people, shops closed and vacant, silent, still and bleak, flamboyantly eerie and scary. Painted restaurant smelling, feeling robustly miserable, cookers lonely and gloomy, ghosts the only customers, money they have none. Cars static, batteries powerless, breakdown service waiting, trees tingling their bonnets, hoping for seduction. locals walking and exercising, nervously keeping a distance, carrying tapes, two metres long, lovers blowing kisses, waiting to cuddle again.

This year’s planner by Kay Fletcher

Rediscovering each other Grieving the loss of my mother Dealing with teenage angst Telling the NHS ‘thanks’…

Selfish acts Stark facts Inspiring deeds ‘Colonel Tom’ Leads

Walking, baking Writing, waiting…

Unavailable PPE Political incapacity 2020’s epitaph? Boris’s autograph…

I have been hand clapping, pan slapping…. by Kay Fletcher

Everything stopped. Except HS2 - still the trees got lopped…

I have seen the school doors shut, the whole thing close, Now I’m doing home cookery lessons and English prose…

I have hunted for elusive delivery slots, Am still trying to join up the political dots…

I have seen the best in the people I love, And the worst in those that litter with mask and glove…

I want to protect the NHS, And have a new normal where we destroy less… (Foxes, badgers, trees included And I’d like to think I’m not deluded…)

I have seen loo rolls and soap totally disappear, The bare shelves a shock and I’ve felt real fear…

I’ve gone on one daily outdoor exercise, Then eaten too many biscuits and increased my waist size…

True to my word I have socially isolated, And celebrated a wedding anniversary, 18 years since we first dated…

While I feel sure our government has lied, People have become sick and many have died…

Saving lives, I’ve stayed in, Now I appreciate those who empty my bin…

As I’m living through this pandemic, I’m learning, ‘I didn’t know selfishness was so endemic…’

I remember it started with herd immunity, Now it ends with the ‘R’ number and ‘be alert’ lunacy…

On a one walk day by Simon Tindale

On a one walk day she knelt two metres away and asked for his hand.

He buried his head in the crook of his elbow and blew her a kiss.

She coughed up champagne, which cooled his brow, while choosing their favourite songs.

The iPod broke down at a service attended by virtual friends.

Message from Gaia following the Petition by Phil Madden

To the Unholy Alliance of Armageddonists who wanted the collapse of capitalism/democracy/fill in the blanks , who would rather be dead than wrong. And to the Rapturists who have yet again suffered from premature exhaltation. You will see that, for now, I have turned down your request. But do not be too disappointed. I have also received petitions from the fish in the Venice canals, who for the first time in years have been able to see the sun. And from many other creatures. They are tired of you all. If as I expect there is no sign of the improvement expected, I shall return.

Lockdown by Jehane Markham

April with her floral apron on Singing her haunting birdsong

Buds bursting with points Of colour like Seurat’s spotty

Flesh while we wait behind glass With widening eyes

The bright light on the empty street The lack of footfall, the empty hands

The aching heart, its feral beat Salt gargle and cold wet bleach

The empty hall, the loud T.V. Dreams, butterflies balancing on a bloom

Voices on the radio are company When you have your own room

The ancient fear of death Slipping through the letter box

Clinging to your dress The modern day plague

Has come to town Because we were greedy with our own

Plundered the soil, polluted the air Used up resources with a devil-may-care

But the earth is so forgiving Spring is still here.

Up The Lane by Bernard Pearson

There are little streams Black as the ribbons On an undertaker’s hat And a welsh pony Standing in the buttercup Embroidered field And a jogger ,unaware That they had stepped Into heaven looking At his watch.

The Empty Land by Dean Brindley

The empty land Where huddled homes are some protection from a waiting death

Like mice, they scuttle out Unknowing when the hawk will strike

Or make amusement for themselves to pass a lengthless time

in cleaning and arranging then to re-arrange and always waiting

Waiting for this time to pass

Neologisms by Emma Williams

It’s funny how A word A phrase A term Comes from nowhere. Six weeks ago Many of us Had been ‘Locked out’ A door slam A forgotten key Some of us With old doors Rusty locks Rotten wood Had even been Locked in None of us Had been Locked down The irony Of course Is we’re Only locked in “Locked down” For 23 Hours With 65 inch televisions 83 rolls of toilet paper 1 or 2 people we love We call it “Locked down” But shouldn’t it be “Locked up” For this is far more Freedom than some.

Pandemonium by Martha Westwood

La La La.La La La dance me to the end of time Baby boomers beware There’s something sinister in the air On the loose everywhere fairy lights like a child’s drawing will take your breath away but not in a nice way Chris Whitty your my man Get us out of this jam Came on a fast boat all the way from China along the beautiful shoes of Milan before spiking Berlin and the rest of the West. And then TicTok the world, stopped the shares dropped Nuked into lockdown Heaven or hell! No school no church Left in the lurch God help us People lost in their homes Or supermarket queues At this strange new world care homes full of victims abandoned, dying alone away from home Dishy splashes the cash left right and centre Hoping for a peak from this monstrous tormentor Ground control to Colonel Tom. The NHS is number one Coffins lining up filling everybody with terror. And we could be in a mess If it wasn’t for the NHS

His Ending by Owen Williams

His resistance ended with a whimper in ventilated sheets suffocating quietly to spite the machine he had thought perhaps a boiling mushroom cloud mimicking the sun’s heat

or the angry ocean raging across the land towering unstoppable drowning all in the sea’s fury or a fiery tumult descending from the heavens arcing extinction across the horizon

but this such a tiny thing piecing the breath from a friend unwantedly secretly incubating waiting to seize the fragility of life but for what purpose except death?

The Human Touch by Linda Michel

Who knew one could miss so much the human touch The reassuring pat on the arm The soft sweet feel of a baby’s downy crown. The chubby little hand that grasps yours so tight, The masculine hug of a team mate that bonds The kiss on the lips which leads to much more, The clasp of the hand that says, in you I trust The brush on the cheek that says au revoir, The blow of a kiss and a promise to meet. So know we must wait for a suitable time When its safe to embrace and we can forget When a touch could be toxic, Too close might be deadly, And time it stood still. While we wait for a cure all From the scientists skills The days of confinement Weigh heavy with dread, Of the plight of our loved ones We miss them so much. Now we know why we cherish The memories we hold It gets us through dark days And gives us the hope That soon we can go back To what was before, And appreciate the human touch Like never before..

Plagueground by Steve Day

Today is not quite like any other they are running a long haul fever flight to recover their senses left at the only address identified as home.

Blue sky morning’s weather reporting broadcast through a bright light of stripes flagged in slate and shadow; back where they believe they belong, dropped into a spring of locked down potency; no children’s games in the playground, bolted chains at the gate, this landed land is now their plagueground; re-entry arrival running late.

Already the white wood anemones are open, scattered across the rosary moss and beech cutting below a dry stone gully, blackthorn hedging the edge of hillside into seclusion.

Walking this path because this path is not usually used at such a partisan hour. This path is only known to those in the know and those in the know will either have visited earlier or at dusk, after their animals have been fed, watered and put away behind bars.

For the moment this path is the escape route out of the house for the once-a-day-act-of-exercise with no encounters with neighbours, or worse, strangers. Where did these masked people come from? Possibly a long haul fever flight to recover their senses close to where they imagine someone else’s handiwork might help them find their own.

Spring 2020 by Rachel Irven

These moonlight nights I lie and cannot sleep, A fox, in sunlight down our lane, a thief, While spring days lengthen, wildness closer creeps.

Strength in fragility, earth’s force runs deep Ghost veins all that remains of this skeleton leaf These moonlight nights I wake and cannot sleep.

Our sanity in lockdown, we must keep Ourselves from illness, share in others grief, As spring days lengthen, wildness closer creeps.

This world grown strange to us, although we reap The benefits of modern life, beneath Long moonlight nights I lie and cannot sleep.

Dawn breaks as fire, and yet I do not weep, In Nature’s healing power I have belief. As spring days lengthen, wildness closer creeps.

In modern times it seems our Faith’s skindeep So still I cannot change my disbelief. These moonlight nights I lie and cannot sleep Spring days grow longer, wildness closer creeps

Off! by Vickie Johnstone

The world stopped, but I didn’t want to get off. It stopped turning. But I still had things to say.

“Don’t loiter in the throughway.”

My fingers caught the rail tighter lest it disintegrate To nought, like the globe around me and below Where the cities stood silent, emitting solitude While the cherry tree blossoms wilt to grey.

This window contracts, ever-decreasing my view Of the things I used to do, the faces I used to Know. Where are you? I spoke to you yesterday, Yet I can’t see you in my memory of the crowd.

Are you down there, sitting mute behind your view, Keeping your fortress closed, breathing stale air?

I remember moments sewn in a patterned quilt, And you, you providing the voiceover to each Scene. I recall some, but I know some are gone now.

“Don’t loiter in the throughway!”

It’s my turn. Someone is urging me, pressing soft, Steadily insistent. I know I have to take the step, This leap into the unknown, the gap between Here and the below, embrace the nothingness.

I wonder where you all are, every one of you. It’s been two months, but it seems like years. I feel time ticking, even though it stopped dead. The conductor nods his head and I know now: I have to get off.

Boss of the World by Wilf Keeley

Tackle it head-on? Call it like some punk who propositioned your girl in a bar into the alley and kick out of it several shades of shite!

Mosey up behind it? Take an umbrella cane tipped with something radioactive and stick it up its big fat arse!

Tap it on the shoulder Then, as it turns, crack it squarely (so what If unfairly?) across its smirking mouth!

Challenge it to meet in the dusty road at high noon? Beat it to the draw and drill six slugs of lead into its hollow heart!

Slip a dose of strychnine in its tea? Or grind some glass super finely in its pie and mash?

Empty its bank account! Cheat it out of a pension! Send it to a pauper’s grave!

Drag it into the dock. Sentence it for crimes against humanity to hang by the neck Until dead. Or slip it a stiletto, to do the honourable thing.

Ha!

This mass assassin can ride a punch, work a trigger faster than you can blink. Is wise to all the dirty tricks. Laps up toxins like a cat. Its language, devoid of words, badmouths humankind ties the prosecution up in knots.

Reflected from screens in glassy eyes of politicians. Looked for past twitching curtains, it snakes invisible like gas, down stark deserted streets to dance naked. The boss of the world!

Coronovirus…a collection in Haiku form by Tina Negus

Search the bird webcams kittiwakes, ospreys, falcons: nature in lock-down

Spring in the garden: cowslips, bluebells, foxgloves bloom: in the wild…who knows?

It is so quiet… no airplanes, little traffic blackbird loudly sings

While we skulk indoors the earth takes a break from us from our metalled ways

Temporal by Veronica Husband

As the surfer rides the peeling wave or the singer holds breath for the lasting note so I draw on my lifetime allowance of colour enlightening the eye, of birdsong brimming the day, of kneading words into poems, of witnessing moon before sun and the plumaged spectre of the corona.

Pandemic by Anthony Brady

April 2020 will be remembered as truly the cruellest month. Deep in careless slumber, we woke up in dismay. A corona virus rampant. What’s to blame? A rat? A cat? A bat? Centre Parcs no longer magical. Paris no longer romantic. The Big Apple confounded. China’s Great Wall breached, Mecca’s pilgrims bereft. We dig deep into layers of politician’s lies… no hope of finding the truth. Disposable, the vulnerable elderly are locked-in social-distance lepers: all acts of familial affection in farewells to them denied. Winnowed in cruel winds they will be: our mature corn blown away as chaff, while good and bad find no partition.

Corona by Lucy Calcott

I am trying to accept this pause, This empty space, This open time As time, for the earth to begin it’s healing, For reflection, for deepening, To become all that we are, in the ground of being.

For humanity to be stopped, mid track Is humbling, We were, there is no doubt, hurtling towards destruction.

We have been blind, taken so much as given: Our simple freedoms. I understand But I am also scared For those sick and dying, For those caring, For those bereaved, Those that cannot be at the sides Of those they love And for those who live alone and sinking.

The house of money is falling. The sands are shifting. The tides are turning.

It is hard to stare into emptiness. Stay calm, Find peace in wide unknowing.

There is burning hope For a better world, For great compassion.

Be still my soul. Take refuge In this unlikely pause, This emptiness, unexplored,

Be still. My breath enlarge, My eyes open, my trust deepen.

The Spring is singing The primroses, laughing.

A Winter Bird by Michael Thomas Hill

John sat alone in his bedroom, ‘Saw a birdman outside his window.

John sat in his bedroom with his friend Barry who looked through John’s window Looked up at the blue sky

Saw a robin passed the window, Barry felt like telling everyone about it. John told his friend the tale of the robin That sat on his window.

The robin came to his window and sat Down on the ‘cill; sat there on John’s window

The next day, John went to school And told Mrs Goodwin the tale; Who Spoke to John “Don’t tell porkies? Animals don’t turn into people.

It’s someone playing a game with you. It’s tales of children making things Up to keep their dads.”

“I saw the bird turned into a man and He flew in through my bedroom window after dark He had wings and hands like you, And I do miss it.”

The Birdman from Bilston looked like superman Came in through the window and crept about The streets after dark

The other children laughed at him. The teacher said, “Children should be in their beds Not telling tales of animals turning into people.”

Lockdown by Sonnet Mondal

Where roads do not unfurl the need for limits breathes through dry tears.

Where Solitude takes wing for the falling Sun amnesia shrouds a generation.

Caged, wingless, a bird waits for the last dusk

as a forsaken boatman rows for food in the twilight.

Daily exercise by Heather Wastie

Dad on bench, looking at his phone Son on bank, sitting on his own Little daughter riding her bike up and down up and down up and down

Hope in Lockdown by Heather Wastie

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There is hope tonight. There is steak, there are chips, there are peas tonight. There are sofas, carpets and doors tonight. There are walls

and holes in walls where birds make their nests, not the best kind of hope but there’s hope.

There is wine tonight and a screen to distract from the lack and we hope tonight that the steak will be tender, the chips fat and crisp, the peas sweet and green, the sofas supportive, the wine soporific, the carpets expansive, the doors locked and bolted, the screen sugar-coated, the nests all deserted

for there is the hope - in the song, on the branch, on the lawn, on the fence, in the hatchling I saw in the eaves, too scared to move as a magpie swooped and beat its black wings, where later I cried at spatters of red on the white window frame

Missing You by Bronia Sawyer

I wish I could sit on your sofa and half chat while we watched the tv I wish we could sit and play scrabble or have cake and a nice cup of tea I wish we could sit in your garden and talk about the plants and the weeds watching the flowers all blooming visited by sweet honey bee’s I wish I could come for a visit and hug when we met at the door I wish we could sit on your sofa the way that we used to before.

… and here’s the thing… by Elizabeth Jardine Goodwin

and here’s the thing…

my skin recovers from your hands a drowned world of myths, maps and tides that have turned floating wefts of silk and coloured books read after dark a flourish of birds flowers frozen in silent ponds summer in a winter’s night

touch

and after touching’s glance,

a further tilt in the heart’s happenstance

May-ditations by Jessica Clark

Take a deep breath - relax - run around imaginary green-field tracks and download another mindfulness app to ease the sting of the slap of modern reality. I need the internet now, to tell me how to feel, and the air that I breathe is becoming less real and the things I believe are shifting soundbytes only but buck up, sit back down, don’t let on that you’re lonely - we’re too tired to fight.

All that glitters is not gold. Screens beaming light give me jitters and at night I feel cold so I reach for another soul through a dark square of metal and pixels, but they’ve also been developed in the same vice-like hold of disintegrated normality - all these human light-beams have also been sold and impelled to hop onto some sinister beast’s dreams so the succour they offer is proffered from a tainted cup. And none of us can get off it: the treadmill we’re born on of sex, death and profit.

Well, beautiful photographs are formed in dark rooms, flowers grow inside us while dystopia looms and somewhere, dust falls around images muffled yet set to grow clear between shadowed walls - one of love, one of fear.

Just don’t make the mistake of making me take another few months trapped on video-calls where the humans are fake… with soul-truth lodged nowhere - in the technological sphere.

Aye Corona! by Sarah Miles

We battle on daily with Hancock’s half hour We wash and we scrub and everything scour We only emerge to clap the front line Otherwise quaffing on copious wine We’re busier than ever with meetings on Zoom When not doing that we’re wielding a broom Or injecting our bodies with flagons of Pine Watching our hair grow an inch at a time And growing long whiskers strangely now grey We’re beginning to feel we are losing our way When we wake in the morning to face each day With less to do and even much less to say Our soft toys stare out from our window sills We’ve run out of loo roll and yeast and pills The dentists are closed and that back tooth is throbbing People in high rises are quietly sobbing The golf course is thronging with picnics and poodles Our diaries are empty save one or two doodles Rainbows abound but with no pots of gold The weather was lovely but now arctic cold New Zealand’s normal they’ve weathered all peaks Whilst we lag behind dangerously by several weeks Suddenly GB has become the Four Nations But only the one will allow for vacations Steer clear of your loved ones whatever you do Though cramming on tube trains is no longer taboo Wear a mask, don’t wear a mask, no wear one - it’s official Even though the benefits, they say, are quite superficial

The Importance of Distance by Susan Avril Adamson

Fibrous strands maintaining our bodies Silken filaments hard wiring our brains Fabric supporting our precarious lives Precious underlying mesh linking us together Are become patchy threadbare unravelling

Invisible connections stretched str - etch - ed - to - cap - a - city Transparency trending downward towards opacity Senses dulled as culture and society held at bay Existing on slithers of previous experience

Fractured in isolation split separate apart but United by anxiety and incessant waiting…… waiting…….waiting Watching daily charts and graphs undulating Hearing but no longer listening to the repetition of interminable questions without answers Conflicting information Confused advice

World in lockdown grounded confined to barracks for the common good to be understood by entire populations

Survival feels as surreal as Salvador’s melting clocks Times as strange as sci-fi and still so many dying……..dying……..dying……..

Dürer’s Four Horsemen: a 2020 Vision by Peter Sutton

Four steely, hard-edged assassins are squatting in the fretwork sun by the scrimshaw sea, swapping stories of shipwrecked sailors, Odysseus, Aeneas, Canute and Noah.

They are playing a permanent game of poker, holding their hands close in to their chests, deciding which card to slap on the sand, how they will harry bank holiday crowds.

The gloater in grey says he’ll burn them to the ground. He’ll toss an old stub in the scrub and he’ll smile as the sparks fly spinning to the caravan sites, watching as the wind turns the demon wild.

The sea dog in blue says he’ll sweep them off their socks. He’ll drag them from their sunbeds and drown them in the deep, leaving a legacy of pestilential land, of sinking foundations and sewage and slime.

The greasy chap in green says he’ll give the sods a snorter. He’ll snuffle and slobber and gob his spittle at the jostling, joking, jaunty invaders jogging on the gimcrack, jerry-built prom.

The brigadier in black says he’ll arm the wretched blighters. He’ll laugh as they fight local folk over food and lay waste their homesteads, hovels and harbours, despoiling their fishing smacks, forges and farms.

The wreckers are restless and ready to roister. They leap on their four-by-fours, level their lances and surge through the woodcut spreading disaster, fire storms and flood tides, infections and wars.

I’m not a hero… I’m me by Alan Wynne Davies

I’m not a hero who saves lives, Like a doctor or nurse. I’m not a soldier or in the police, Quite the reverse, I don’t fight for world peace. I don’t do good things Like emptying bins. I’ve never been in a fight. I’m not a teacher Who is clever and bright. I don’t lead the blind, giving them sight, Acting as their eyes. I don’t work late at night. I’m not rich or wise. I haven’t discovered a vaccine To win a Nobel Prize. I can’t sing or cook. I’ve never written a book. I don’t get paid lots of money For the way that I look.

I’m not a champion, like a boxer. I’m not a sailor or tailor. I didn’t paint the Mona Lisa. I’ve never been to China. I don’t deliver letters. I’m not a farmer who grows food, Or a brewer who has brewed Things to drink. I don’t think Like a politician or musician. I don’t work with my hands Like an electrician or magician. I’ve never watched the Simpsons. I’ve never seen the Giant’s Causeway, Or climbed the Eiffel Tower. I’ve never met the Queen, And never grown a flower. I don’t make the news. I’m not famous for being famous, Like people you see on TV. I’m an ordinary person - I’m me.

On Yer Bike by Ian Rabjohns

I’m one of those old ones, Those, folded in the pen of over seventy with an underlying……wish that when, When I get out of this jail then I’ll jump up on that bike like a youngster wearing Lycra. I’ll ride those big fat knobblies up the hills and bugger any spills along the way. A dicky wrist is nothing that need bother A or E. But just right now it’s the big C that wears the crown, me that has a frown, a clock that’s lost the time and lost the day, and I have lost the way I used to be.

All those unprecedented suits are navigating routes and claiming feet upon the pedals. Promising to give out medals. Aiming for a slow release Not climbing second peaks. with numbers dropping week by week While I am pumping tyres. Tweaking wires, and oiling chain. Wrapping up the spares and pliers. They are all in for some shocks When MY feet leave the blocks. It will be peak on peak on peak My back already feels the creak The pain will come I’m sure because I’m over seventy with no apparent cure.

The Goat God Dances by Adrienne Keller

The goat god of mischief rules

The cozy comfort of home wears

The soothing softness of touch retreats

The steady stream of news frightens

And yet, and yet

The eager earth of spring abides

The persistent promise of tomorrow beckons

And the lasting legacy of love endures

Though the greatest of these be love

Our time now calls for faith demands hope requires patience

While the goat god dances on too many graves

One More Body Sue Wallace-Shaddad

I talk to myself, more often than not alone in my solitary nest. I give the neighbour an update as we meet 2m apart by the fence. Nothing exciting to report each day meshes into the next.

Suddenly I have news to share— a pigeon has crash-landed down the chimney, lies draped in the grate in a swoon. How it got into this pickle is hard to work out.

Now I love all living creatures especially in lockdown mode— the sight of a bee or butterfly, the scamper of squirrels, tap-tap of a woodpecker. They stir the silence of my shut-in days.

This pigeon however is dead as if I need any more bad news. I scoop up the feathered body and bag it twice in blue plastic before solemn dispatch to the bin— one more for the daily toll.

Introspection by Alice Lenkiewicz

Sacred light Uncertain colour Walk within the Healing power of Courtly sun and Female moon

Connecting with earth Nurturing truth Defying inner fear and Anxiety - a time to Restore and Revolutionise

As you exculpate the past Embracing Neptune’s healing To become one with others Towards altered states of being Sublime mentor Cleansing the world of this Miasma

Unearth yourself in fine Purification Consuming sublunary Light as you Ascend the Violet Spectrum in Admiration of this remarkable Happening This atonement Rebirth of life Purge and Inner reflection

Copper Beeches after Daniel Defoe by Jane Salmons

When the dead-cart rattles past the red-crossed houses doors daubed Lord, have mercy upon us the bellman calls bring out your dead! and the raker carries off the sweeping filth of the gap-mouthed infected, half a mile beyond the screaming pest house a copse of copper beeches shimmers and stirs in a haze of light.

Watching by Lesley Ingram

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I sleep, now, with the curtains open like I did as a child watching Orion on those breath-tight sleep-lost nights, watching the belt, the sword, the body-sized shield advancing, pushing, pushing the sky past my window’s frame forever holding the scorpion at bay.

Nights are now breath-tight and sleep-lost. The stars are missing, only the moon blurs by. Age has become a blindfold.

We are sleeping in separate rooms. But I can still feel your breath on the nape of my neck, your hand warm on my hip, your absence my shield.

Week Six by Hannah Connolly

I suppose it took a global pandemic for me to realise just how much I have always loved the smell of wisteria. Watching clouds drift from windows, rooftop bus rides to nowhere and sipping rosé in beer gardens, playing at sophistication and world-weariness.

I suppose it took a global pandemic for me to notice just how much I have always hated the sound of early morning alarms. Chaotic nights out with people I hardly know, fuelled by fomo and fear. Sitting frustrated in smoky traffic jams, long train rides home without a buffet cart.

It seems it only took the whole world to stop whirring for me to feel the wild warmth of wasting time with people who make you feel safe. Even if it is on Zoom.

Gratitude by Alice Lenkiewicz

Aware of this world Closing inwards Forcing me to Panic Imposing limitations Although I realise I should be Grateful as I wander Through this green Haven of beautiful Luminous Daisies.

Perhaps there is Some underlying force Guiding us Leading us To something more Meaningful A higher plane Uniting us Helping others Respect for those Who care - The NHS - the homeless The elderly and vulnerable The invisible now Visible

Opening our eyes to Hope and love Resonates like A folk song Passing from one Generation to another A time for peace and reflection Giving back to the earth As we seek the truth like Huckleberry nomads With rucksacks and poems Free at last On a wild freight train

Incoming by Vanessa Pimbert

It began as a rumble, a small, but clear Ripple of thunder in the distance. Then came the noises of voices, Newsreaders, politicians, Lastly, of course, those in pain.

It continued with pictures, rushing,. Oxygen tanks, faces crushed, airless, Preparing for breath, or no breath.

Captive in graphs, People were numbers, flattened by The language of science, Foreign and strange.

Then like the great swell of a monstrous sea, It surged. Consuming. Expanding. Connecting, crowding in, multiplying,

Standing, waiting, We paused…drew breath. Held it. Then crushing, crawling, waves crashed Coughing to the ground. Leaving the caught, suffocated souls, Drowning.

And we shut our doors. Our mouths, our faces, our lives. Hid in airless, stuffy rooms, Prison safety, To watch masks, on television, All around us, shielding.

Now, friends are strangers, Eerie, cloistered lives Lived in away, Rhythmic, distant, alone. Like priests, or miners, Enclosed by the familiar. Exposed to unknown fates

As days becomes months, Months became seasons. We wait. We watch. We pray. Not breathing, But surviving

You are not just a number Peri Z. Cagirici

You all had faces, you all had names and a story that you left behind. You turned into numbers, some not even counted, just registered as figures on bar charts, line graphs and statistics. You all left friends and relatives who never got the chance to say farewell. Or even to see you before you closed your eyes on this world.

Many of you died prematurely but we were told, ‘They were going to die anyway!’ Many of you died not even being aware of the deadly disease called covid-19. Many of you died because of insufficient and inadequate health care, relentlessly attacked year on year by governments dealing in private care, with ten years of cuts here, cuts there and cuts everywhere.

Many of you died because you were told everything was under control and you would be safe if you stayed at home. Many of you died because you were made to believe the virus wouldn’t kill you unless you were old with ‘underlying health issues’. Many of you died because those you elected thought your life wasn’t worth saving.

Some of you died heroically as you put others’ lives before yours. Some of you died because you were denied the right to be tested and the right to be protected. Some of you died without being reported or even recognised as patients of covid19 but you will be recorded as dead from other ‘underlying health problems’. Some of you died because you were denied basic nourishment since you were born.

You all had faces, you all had names that will be turned into numbers in time. Before then, here’s hoping that we all learn lessons to pass on to the generations to come. May all of you rest in peace, whatever your colour, religion, ethnicity and gender and deep condolences to all your loved ones you left behind!

Dog by Virginia Griem

He’s back - says he’s tired of being dead, has come to keep me company these weeks of lockdown. I wasn’t expecting him or anyone else for that matter, so sitting by the river, remembering what home was like when there was husband, child, dog - well family - and how different the last few years have been without them, I didn’t expect to feel that wet nose creep into the palm of my hand. Of course there’s nothing there but damp grass, yet somehow as I walk back along the path there is a presence at my heel, and this time it stays, doesn’t need a lead, doesn’t go chasing after rabbits, or bark at other dogs. And I can take it home and let it lie on my feet as I type, feel the snuggle by my side as I read on the sofa, hear the thud of soft paws on the stairs. You’ve been away too long - I tell him. I did come - he replies - but you were always too busy to see me.

Through the glass by Ali Webb

As the sun rises on another day, The walls feel as if they are closing in, Ten weeks alone, Silence, broken, by the clock. Tick tock.

Through dusty glass, I see a world frozen fast. Paralysed in time, children’s laughter; A memory frozen in Amber.

The old man across the street, Oh how he weeps, Alzheimer’s took his wife of 60 years To a nursing home Now hes alone.

He stands proudly upon his step Solitude broken; for a fleeting moment Hands raised to the heavens And he begins to clap, clap for the nurses, the carers and the other key workers.

He claps for those risking all for his wife, The cancer ward who are saving his life. He claps for the heros to many to name. He claps for the noise, hoping to stay sane. For the virus is deadly, Its already taken so much from so many.

Stay At Home (Thank You) by India Kim

I count down the days, While the numbers rise. The world cries blood, And the fever is high. Sunny days not felt. Don’t look at the sky, But instead at my hands, That tremble under faucet. Song hummed for 20 seconds, A melody without meaning. It’s not my birthday, But still I sing. Anything to block out the terror. The media runs wild, The internet, a zoo. We’re all trapped indoors, Complaining there’s nothing to do. Confined to my bed, Chest laden with lead, I can’t breathe! Hugs are a drug, A junkie without a fix. I smile for the camera, Spread a message of calm. That’s all I can do, There’s nowhere to run. The future is unknown, An inevitable to follow, All we can do now, Is wish for a better tomorrow.

Night walk by Ann Worrall

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We took a walk around the garden. Black night. You had a torch and Held my arm. “We might see Hedgehogs,” you said, sounding as Young as when we married, those Forty seven years ago.

The air was full of drowsy scent- Apple blossom we deduced. The Trees are smothered in it. A dog barked once or twice in the distance The only noise that disturbed Our silence.

You showed me the shrunken stream, And where it had Winter-eroded the bank. Wild garlic and chives surrounded the tree With the blue tit box - you Were sure they were nesting- and petals Covered the grass like flakes of snow.

The hedgehogs were hiding. Even Your torch could not find where. But Solar lanterns lit the greenhouse. You had placed glass pieces Inside the one you had mended to Reflect an eerie green.

And all the while, your hand, Familiar, safe, moved me away From where the orchids Were beginning to show so we Wouldn’t crush them.

What a sight we made, me In my too short pyjamas and You with your worn trousers. Old now. And yet I felt so Young in wonder.

Sometimes by Clive Grewcock

Sometimes I like to take a step to the side Sometimes I will let life move past me Sometimes I like to lean my head back Sometimes I will close my eyes Sometimes I like to breathe slowly Sometimes I will also breathe deeply Sometimes I like to enter a space called Sometimes

Evening Walk During Covid 19 Lockdown. by Melinda Walker

No ale at the creek now. Black barns brood hulk Walkers exercise their rights giving wide berth.

Meeting friends by accident, obeying two metre rule is contactless and bitter sweet. Boats bob listlessly, going nowhere Custom house windows gaze vacant with no custom.

On the way home a cinema poster says Time Runs Out July 2020 but Peter Rabbit is coming Soon.

The Guildhall Union Jack flaps from its mast, forlorn without a breath in it today. And then I’m home in time to clap in my front garden for the nhs

There aren’t many of us tonight. So I clap longer, louder, Bless you, bless you.

Confetti mourning by Greg Freeman

The children on their daily exercise paused to admire the pink explosion; the cherry blossom turned heads, gave pleasure, stopped people in their tracks.

One morning workmen arrived early with chainsaws that screamed with rage; within minutes only a stump, small hole in the middle, remained. They pointed to the hole,

said the tree had been on its way out. My wife grieved for the rest of the day. The workmen hurriedly swept away the petals, embarrassed by unwanted confetti, an unexpected funeral.

The Bigger C by Glyn Bagnall

The power of a planetary pandemic, To mutate from a mere epidemic. Social beings in isolation, Tv, Zoom and Playstation. Home delivery feeds the nation, Foodbanks spread like contagion.

Package holidays disappear, ‘Mortgage holidays’ stratosphere. Homeless guesting in hotel rooms, Sales of beer bleeding well booms.

Burglars and shoplifters with nowhere to steal, Domestic violence before and after a meal. People dodging bullets to avoid you in the park, 6 feet under if not 6 feet apart!

Trump’s “gone by Easter”, if only it was him! Authoritarian Xi keeps all Chinese in. Bolsonaro self- violates Brazil, Poor old Boris gets very ill.

Empty roads, rail, and in the air, Pollution reduced, no masks to wear!? Bird song abundant, spring trees in bloom, Nature unaware of impending doom.

The Big C vanquished by a MONSTER one, NHS Worldwide savagely overrun, PPE and masks in short supply Inaction means 1000’s more die.

Sunday services given online, God to save us from dying? It’s the World at war with covid-19, How long we pray, for a vaccine?

The Prisoners by Karen Glen

the prisoners are told how to organise their day have breakfast at the same time every day have lunch at the same time everyday have dinner at the same time every day the prisoners have their work time everyday have their recreation time everyday have their exercise everyday have their visitors everyday the prisoners have their lockdown everyday have the TV to watch everyday have their work training everyday have their psychotherapy every day the people can’t cope with organising their day yet they are in lockdown too

How learning by Sarah Miney

Wern you at home you have nothing to do But gess what the evli teacher give is a lot of work to teach us but it is bringing feelings You have no one to help you your die to get help

Before the clapping starts by Patrick Williamson

There they are again, the walkers under the trees at twilight, when the day is done, and the runners pounding down silent roads, and dogs padding along, straining at the leash, and the clouds are gathering, it’s been another cold day today as if autumn is upon us as the sky is so dark, the weather is turning, the tide is turning, one of which is true, but there is a long way to go and, like me, the trees are immobile as if afraid to be shaken by the winds, come out, step out, reopen, move, but is it time you say, be careful, or earth shall rest lightly upon us

Self-isolation by Lea Hojnosova

The whole world went silent, the whole world went numb, but the pandemic is not the reason why we are locked down. We isolate from our feelings not to be harmed, we isolate from people not to be let down. We isolate from our desires in order not to sin, and we isolate from living in order to live.

Rewind on Lockdown by Bridie Breen

Time, is ours to share Be it on this Earthly sphere or among the stars. Separation is a temporary kind Indelibly inked by connected minds. Forged by wind, rain, joy and pain A tapestry of life unfolds Love, has its own infinity Creates its own heaven We are all part of the whole A human bond remains strong Steadfast through times of challenge or sorrow We hope for better days to shape our tomorrows Invest our care in the here and now Remind ourselves, constant presence in heart, possesses soul Knowing deep inside, though apart, we are never alone. Think beyond constraints Lockdown is what it is, so no complaints.

April 5th 2020 by Kathleen Carroll

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1 Yesterday I wrote a list / I made a routine / I woke up and set about to interrupt and disrupt it / I walked to a seat / sat with my back to the view / all aloof to a silence that would sing / if a muffled ear was tuned / a friend wrote this inside flat screen life is shite / she was right.

2 Today I peaked too soon / went out early & too fast / my body wound like clockwork waddled in a wood / where trees were felled / long lithe trunks in bits / roguish bark / some landed upright / alert totems / tribal strangers / people passed mostly at 2 metres.

3 Tomorrow I’ll try some of today / and more of yesterday / to make tomorrow a different day / I’ll be better at this by then / this staying in and daren’t go out / this shapeless shifting inside / unpeopled house / I’ll be all present tense / stay in the ‘now’ / start close in / stare down the ‘how’

note to self by Colleen Keating

laughter of friends on zoom is no more than a polished reflection of its cosy aura in real life

top priorities when this isolation is over warm greetings hugs family to touch to touch again

stay closer than 1.5 metres smell the vibrance of youth milky scent of a grandchild

crowd in as many concerts art galleries, picnics in parks walks by the sea

note to self never take your freedoms for granted ever again

We Always Go Back by Ellie Parnham

Mornings brisk brightly in solitude when Silenced bodies are squeezed inside; The trees make noise, Scatter light that rocks the swing. A drowsy council harbours empty litany, lets The slick allotments overgrow another day.

Wetness spurs a change in the neat allotments and A blackbird halts its song of solitude without assembly or council. Fresh bodies peep the soil. Arms return, wielding, swinging Close enough to hit the trees.

Swollen fruit drops from the trees and Relishes it’s liberty. The allotments bloom, Untethered, flaccid leaves swing low. Wizened men scratch in idle solitude amongst the leaves Together, their feathered bodies touching. The shirts and ties go back to council.

The rich are treated by the council. Children climb the trees. Bodies sweat together, blend, simmer, Warmly bloated in the allotments, partitions broken in impatient solitude. The leaves stop swinging; erect, they stand ascending.

A pendulum swings; the scales tip. The council hide their skin and Children resist the solitude. The trees, green, alert and standing, abscond the Allotments hiding Bodies underneath.

The alighted bodies kill the shirts, Fists swing gut punches at the fore. Detritus fever descends on damp allotments; Divides the naked council wing from wing. The giant trees shrug and move As England returns to solitude.

Nothing grows in parched allotments where festered bodies spoil. Instead in light of solitude they gather to beat the swing of lethargy; Send council out to pasture beneath the swaying trees.

Gently Easing Lock-down; Decisions by Amanda Lewis

Boris says we can go to the Park, for a lark, for sitting, for picnicking. More, we can meet a friend Just one. For fun. I want to make it count After eight long weeks waiting. Which park? Which friend? And who shall I offend in choosing?

I’m thinking, deliberating soon it will be raining. I want to choose the perfect park, for my bestest friend a memory to sustain us, should the great scientific experiment fail and we all get locked in again. Forever? Who, where and when? And then, what if on the day I choose, they say they are busy meeting with their bestest friend too?

A moment for reflection by Amy Cornock

The word lockdown may sound like oppression Or some may say a deep depression But for me, I feel a deep connection With nature, friends, family and my own mind It’s shown me the fragility and warmth of mankind.

Teachers, nurses and all key workers we salute you Your valued part in history will see us through Showing bravery and determination You are all truly an inspiration.

Being told to follow herd immunity Flouting the rules with total impunity Fears of catching this deadly illness Keep calm, carry on, enjoy the stillness.

Missed weddings, birthdays, holidays with friends How can we recreate them? Can’t we just pretend? None of this matters, in the grand scheme of things Your health and wellbeing come before that big ring.

PE with Joe Wicks, Zoom chats, online speed dating With all of that, who’s got time left for home baking? Continuously trying to learn new skills When some days you just want to run for the hills.

No pubs, shops nor holidays to Gran Canaria For some that’s Utopia, for others Dystopia! But all of this is merely an insignificance When we look at Mother Earth and her powerful dominance.

Clapping for key workers at 8 ‘o’ clock each Thursday Neighbours cheering and pots and pans banging away Sprinting down the road full speed like Sally Gunnell Hoping to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

So what have we learned from this global pandemic? Fighting British spirit or empty rhetoric? When historians look back on this what may they find? Tales of survival, friendship and how life was a bind.

So let’s take a final moment for reflection Be kind, respect the planet, look after others When all’s said and done we’re just sisters and brothers! We’ll become more humble and full of sorrow As we now realise there may be no tomorrow In years to come when we’re all grey and old Never forget these stories we once told.

The Selfish Isolator by Simon Tindale

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Week one I bought all the bog roll in town. There’s not quite enough to go round. Perhaps I should issue You all with one tissue To use when the shit’s going down.

Week two They cancelled my spring holiday. The football’s postponed until May. The pubs are all shut I’ve a pain in my butt But the doctor says ‘please stay away’.

Week three Someone is murdering The Bangles Now ‘Angels’ is going through the mangle. ‘Stayin Alive’ follows ‘I Will Survive’ I’d rather hear ‘Cats’ being strangled.

Week four The neighbour’s no good at home schooling. It’s only himself that he’s fooling. Those ignorant brats Won’t learn English or maths. Their bad language needs overruling.

Week five Our leaders are out of their depth. Their vision lacks clarity and breadth Is it worth jumping in when you’re struggling to swim? Are you better off saving your breath?

Week six You may be surprised that this loner signed up to become a blood donor. A gallon of ale’s been instilled in these veins. I do hope it chokes the Corona.

Life As We Know It by Maisy Ashall

Life as we know it is tortured with isolation, Each of us trapped inside a bubble, We have become a separated nation, Whilst the streets sit free of trouble.

Life as we knew it was filled with joy, Carried over the void of emptiness with rainbows, The virus appeared so it could destroy, Watching from the sky as we suffer below.

Hope is lingering far in the distance, Just waiting for us to arrive, We must break free of the nagging persistence, Of the virus that we will survive.

Day 21 by Brian Lewis

A two-tone hopscotch on the pavement of my street — twenty-one scuffed squares.

Think of a number, remember all this colour — pathways after rain.

Not So Alone by Clive Grewcock

How old do you think she is Taking root in her rigid chair? Flaking bark, twisted branches Thinning hair.

Don’t judge before knowing her name Don’t reduce her life To a simple guessing game. Sitting in a skin barely asleep Folded round memories good And those still running deep. Count the bands of the years It doesn’t matter how old but, for how long Hollow cheeks cut with tears, The wind blowing things unsaid Remembering days not so alone Swaying softly with blossom to spread.

Whisht Whisht by Katya D’Oray

Whisht! Whisht! Don’t be so fast to scramble over the deeper unfolding of this new story. Each erudite quote; considered phrase acting as another handhold, foothold as you strive to reach the pinnacle and plant your flag at the summit!

Ah, the relief! Now you understand. You’ve got this covered, under control. It is This. It is That. It is the Other. Named and categorised. Fold it all up and put it neatly into your clean linen drawer. Now you can tell everyone else what all this means. Bravo! You, who are still unravelling the traumas of your childhood from twenty, thirty, forty years ago!

What if we stay with the tension? Sit on the edge of an unknowing that scares the hell out of us. It hurts and it’s so uncomfortable. What if we carry our ignorance to the foot of an ancient tree, to the banks of a wild river to a place on an open hill. Cover our naked selves with ashes and as we keen, lean in, lean in, lean in to the fear, the grief and the longing.

We don’t have to know what to do. We don’t have to know how to do it. Not yet. Listen to the symphony of this change; the last movement hasn’t even been written yet. The creative act is messy, convoluted, often lengthy. Not tied up with a piece of string and done! Maybe give it all some loving attention before you wrap it up.

Listen attentively in this new quiet that is circling our ears. We each have our own insights, inspiration and wisdom. Let’s settle in for the time being. Time that we have been gifted. Allow ourselves to be broken; sometimes surprised, occasionally delighted by what reveals itself from the remains of what once was. Whisht. Whisht.

Whisht - a Scottish and Irish word meaning hush, be quiet! Often used to soothe livestock.

Lockdown by AKM Abdullah

And— when the terrifies sticked on the designed handkerchief ; the walls of the quarantines trembled.Our heartbeats increased. Our breath became smaller. The latest projector became on automatically. And three colours scene displayed on the screen ; where,waved our inner symptoms.

And then the strange siren break the lockdown walls and come down ; we tie the survival yearns up with the head and jump in the Android-lake— but the radiation- palui break the glassprotector and captive us. And when we hear the Embroidery announcement— the Richmond park,Sayedabad bus terminal or Komla Pur rail station fell from our clapping gap’s. Our lamentations become divided and lost in the crowd.

Oh ! If ever come drunken sigh grain from the corked bottle ; I will also be a story on the screen of survival time.

I don’t know what I’m doing by Julia Smith

Have you seen the world recently

Still and serene

From your secluded spot?

Packed, pressured, panicked

Cramped, crumbling, cracking

Cracked!!!

Crying over all the nothings

You have collected

In this abundance

Of silence

Monsters making merry

With your short memory

Monuments

Made on other people’s mayhem

JUST STOP!!!

We weren’t meant for this

And it’s okay

To stand on rooftops

While others clap

And shout LOUDLY!

BECAUSE YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING!!!

But you’re doing your best

Even if it’s just for now

Even if it’ll be for later

Even if you’re loud and angry and ridiculous

Even if you’re like me

Who doesn’t know what she’s doing

But is doing it

All the same

Lockdown: noli me tangere by Simon Stacey

The strangeness of it, too, is intangible, As if distance measured a quite other world. Out of touch by email or by suddenly-familiar Zoom, We cross the road to pass by in charity, avoiding people.

“Wash your hands” now no mere matronly mantra, Graphs shout, but the Samaritans take their usual calls. It can never just be someone else’s problem; In the hospitals, they are about it: saving lives.

Concentrate on them: a nightmare of space-suits (or their absence); The marker-pen on the whiteboards scribbling “COVID-19” Endlessly; exhaustion and its conquering; Sheer precision under pressure; and courage, like a gift of air.

A vicious thing, for sure, and me furloughed with my inadequate literary parallels: Stephen Kumalo, ostensibly plagueless, crying for his beloved country In the city or on the veldt; Friar John with his message, sealed by the public health inspectors in an Italian town, Ensuring Romeo and Juliet will never speak again, not face to face. The pain today is pageless: loved ones in their thousands who can’t get near enough To say goodbye.

Outside, Spring seems to know nothing of dying, May-blossom worn like a pristine white mask. But dark love draws us close, under even a full-face visor: In small acts of kindness, in the clapping of the steps of every hero.

“Do not touch me,” he told her, risen: Soon to go elsewhere, for now to stay awhile. Many are taken before their time, we sense, We know. “Go well, stay well”, they say in Zulu.

And we cannot wash our hands of any of this.

Where’s My Normal Gone? by Helen Long

Fragile, headache, feel unwell and battered, Hot then cold, equilibrium tattered. No one’s at the tiller, no one’s at the helm, Yet I’m transported to another realm. This oblique world looks the same, but it’s all wrong, The days and hours so interminably long. To a parallel universe I have travelled, And now I seem quite unravelled. I’ve gone through a portal, I know not how, But onward I must weakly plough. I can’t find myself, I’ve disappeared, It’s miserable, sweaty and horribly weird. Whilst my happy memories have left and gone, I battle a fever that goes on and on. No restful sleep can be reached, All my defences have been breached. This oxygen deficient state in which I’m hurled, Is a never ending and wretched world. A blackout, an ambulance, a hospital ward, It’s Covid virus and pneumonia I’ve scored. ‘Til the antibiotics have been completed, All I can do is lie and be treated. Ebbed away are my energy and vitality, Surreal dreams make me question reality. Beep-bleep, beep-bleep, beep-bleep, beep-bleep, The constant soundtrack preventing sleep! This viral illness has left me so tired, Where’s my ‘normal?’ it’s all that’s desired. To breath with no effort, no cough, no aid, Is my goal, my aim, my slow crusade. Perseverance, rest, remedies, supplements, The N.H.S angels have my grateful compliments.

Home again, exhausted; the miasma lifts, The matrix of misery, it slowly shifts. It inches and slides back under its rock, While my recovery continues around the clock. ‘It’ retreats back to its dark netherworld, Where stolen vitalities lay tightly curled. The unhappy descent of unwilling donors, Left them sucked of life and sorry loaners.

So, eventually I can say I’m well again, My health is my focus, my latest campaign. My life was on hold, the pause button pressed, Now I’m thankful to be better and feeling much blessed. Everyday minutiae is a glorious thing, My perspective’s adjusted, my step has a spring. The memory is fading day by day, As new events push it further away.

Covid-19 / Lockdown In The Suburbs by Cosmo Goldsmith

No stirrings of breeze no fidget of traffic just the garden birds revelling in these weighted silences these new found lands of suburban lawns and small town streets

And this world of old familiarities has shrunk before me into this pale limbo land this grey indoors of rooms and chambers, this lockdown, this house-arrest this strange transit-zone of gentle confinement, this muffled waiting-room hush these stacked shelves and drawers of suppressed anxieties, this micro-climate with its heavy atom spheres pressing down upon us in tensions of guilt and helplessnes.

And yet there are the strange cruel gains the deep solitudes of sky that have formed, creation glowing and rippling into brighter notes of birdsong than ever before, into the music of the trophospheres of flowing blue realms above us which the geese have reclaimed haunting the heavens with their cries of elation and lament unwavering in their flightpaths their seamless interchange of positions, the gloved swish and creaking of their hinged wings.

There is a healing here. no ranks, no hierarchies, anarchists of the heavens offering up vistas of a parallel world of new found lands and skies.

No stirrings of breeze no fidget of traffic just the garden birds revelling in these weighted silences these new found lands of suburban lawns and small town streets

And this world of old familiarities has shrunk before me into this pale limbo land this grey indoors of rooms and chambers, this lockdown, this house-arrest this strange transit-zone of gentle confinement, this muffled waiting-room hush these stacked shelves and drawers of suppressed anxieties, this micro-climate with its heavy atom spheres pressing down upon us in tensions of guilt and helplessnes.

And yet there are the strange cruel gains the deep solitudes of sky that have formed, creation glowing and rippling into brighter notes of birdsong than ever before, into the music of the trophospheres of flowing blue realms above us which the geese have reclaimed haunting the heavens with their cries of elation and lament unwavering in their flightpaths their seamless interchange of positions, the gloved swish and creaking of their hinged wings.

There is a healing here. no ranks, no hierarchies, anarchists of the heavens offering up vistas of a parallel world of new found lands and skies.

When will the WiFi Die? by Charlotte Ansell

A throbbing knee from too much exercise with crumbling bones

Sudden waves of heat, panic, wine give way to pleasant joy of freedom

A busy head of plans, courses, routes to new life without getting on a plane

Burying the debt calls and letters for surely now they will leave me alone

A Victorian day, build a circuit, apps and more apps, times tables, but PE or walk, run, Fortnite, panic comes again, the hateful battles

When will the WiFi die?

Essential Freedom by Christopher Sedgwick

“ Make sure you do not leave your home Unless it is essential ”

I think we now can all agree Our need for freedom is most evidential

Comparing ourselves to caged animals in zoos Now sympathetically going mental

But think of those who didn’t have freedom Before this event became so consequential

Like those locked indoors by abusive partners So mentally influential

Children locked away in their minds by unfit parents Stifling their full potential

Those locked behind the bars of their eyes With depression and anxiety, torrential

Or those who would love nothing more than the safety Of four small walls, the feeling so presidential

So although the suffering we feel in lockdown May be far from preferential

Let’s just take a moment before we complain To consider those going through Something truly existential

The calm by Brenda Read-Brown

It’s been quiet here today. The silver birch shivered but didn’t moan or cry; the slow worms slithered but didn’t gasp for air. The odd dog on a lead didn’t bark, and its owners failed to cough. No children shouted or laughed. No machinery whirred - lawns remained unmowed, and even my secateurs were well-oiled. The wind chimes ran out of fuel, and didn’t ring for help. It was as if someone had died, but nobody has. Not here. Not yet.

Cats and dogs by Brenda Read-Brown

We are all puppies now, on pause until we get our leads and take ourselves for a walk - every step a scent of freedom, every leaf a new page of delight, every path an escape.

And then we’re kittens, playing games we haven’t thought of for a lifetime, eating whatever we’re given by the freezer, curling on our rugs in a doze of daytime TV.

One day we’ll be human again, but we won’t forget this, this time when we remembered ourselves and became puppies and kittens; this time when grass grew under our feet in clean, unexpected air; this time when life and death went on elsewhere.

Sorry by Brenda Read-Brown

I broke the rules today and went out twice. I’m the poet who declares payments in cash, but today I broke the rules and went out twice.

And the second time gave bare branches sketched on a toothpaste sky, the up-yours scut of a rabbit, the stars of a grateful rocket at 8 p.m.; a Thursday.

I was solitary in twilight, guilty of staring at the half-moon that reflected my sin. I broke the rules today and went out twice. I’m sorry.

Lamentation by Kate Gold

Stranger, I do not know you. You died alone Isolated from family or friend. Away from those who may have held your hand; shared that final breath with you; whispered words of comfort and love as you fought to let air sustain you. You died alone.

Stranger, I do not know you. I lit this candle in the glow of dusk. I let my tears fall onto the quiet earth. I sang the thousand names of sorrow at your leaving. Called out in lamentation to the stars as they appeared. And prayed that your Beloveds came to meet you in joy and celebration as they brought you Home.

Blue Plastic Gloves by Gilly Hare

It came with lightning speed-the change. The shift. The armies of unnoticed rallying. The key workers.

An invisible spectre Haunting the streets

Blue-clad warriors reporting for duty Wearing masks fashioned on 3D printers. The special ones. Gripped by terror; the claps do not reach far enough. But they will Never let us see.

An invisible spectre Putting hands on the unfortunate few.

Children and parents at kitchen tables. Sat in bedrooms. Some sat nowhere at all. The sudden weight of it. Sustaining interest. Juggling. Managing. The gradual realisation that school is more than a building. Its heart reduced to daily e mails.

An invisible spectre Kept at the door with disinfectant and soap.

Drivers darting on the roads Delivering, delivering. Groceries in plastic trays. Getting the this and that of daily life To its destination. Faces covered. Gloved like Nurses Enjoying new status Recipients shouting thanks across the two metre divide. But it doesn’t feel like that. 15 hour days. Just a living wage.

An invisible spectre Clawing at the door of the van

On the networks of the land. They propel buses and trains From here to there. Perpetuating the myth That you can socially distance on the number 9. Carrying the newly identified heroes in and out of town. Trying not to breathe too deeply.

An invisible spectre Travelling through tunnels and rising onto the streets.

On the daily news A shift from podium to spare room broadcasts. National reassurance We will fund. We will provide. But the systems are broken or slow And the spare room cupboard is verging on empty. The messages morph and change with no hint of apology.

An invisible spectre Keeps us at home

We make pastry and make bread. Our front doors shield us We stay at indoors or in quiet gardens. Protect the nhs. Protect ourselves from the reality that the blue gloved army see. Key workers. Shielding the nation from reality.

The invisible spectre Winds its fingers Around blue gloved hands And takes for its own The unlucky few. Those unlucky few deemed essential. Vital. Disposable. A few given for the many.

Their sacrifice documented on breakfast television. Marked with a social media portrait. Clap for the nhs. Clap for the key workers.

The spectre slips on a pair of plastic gloves. And resumes his work.

Wide Landscapes by Pip Heywood

We are each on the back foot Thrown back on our devices With no way of rushing off To occupy the time

As though we are all in detention With lines to write and pens Well poised, we have to write To say those things

Which there is never quite The right time to set down ‘Til now, to write or even say Out loud to those locked in with you

Or say inside to you Yourself, it may be hard but If you do you’ll see and say And hear with a new prospect

To see beyond the brick wall New spuds and spinach Nudging through, new head In this clasped space

To know head space and Time are in our hands, and wide Landscapes are just beyond the Frame if we but peep and see

“Lockdown isn’t so bad if you only… “ by Graeme Sandford

… write prose, but, you really need to get out and stop counting your toes; you have to see the world for your poetry fix, let your mind be uncurled, and do a ‘three-Weetabicks’ the skies and the birds, the fields, vales, and trees, as Little Miss needed Curds, We need to feel Breeze.

So, when all is safe, and freedom returns, our minds can unchafe and Nature relearns, writing will flourish, our thoughts fly from prose, and counting the fingers we stuck up our nose.”

Easter Day 2020 by Laura Jerram

Ten thousand souls have said goodbye Ten thousand more perhaps waiting to die Ten thousand doctors called time of death Ten thousand nurses witnessed someone’s last breath Ten thousand partners and ten thousand mothers Ten thousand sisters and ten thousand brothers Ten thousand families all grieving alone Ten thousand reasons to stay at home

Mutation by JP Seabright

It passed across the species barrier and then along the food chain gifted through the shaking of hands perfunctory pleasantries in business meetings received in the reassuring hugs between parent and child in the open-mouthed kisses of lovers in the sharing of teacups the flying sweat of the dance floor the choosing of fruit at the supermarket trips to the pub and the post office from my face to yours from being to being through touching through breathing

Covid by Ian Jones

Mortal realisation ascends today, Whilst compulsive cleanliness slides inside every decision made. What have I touched Who have I held Unseen enemies stain the affection I share. Loneliness resides along the safe road home.

Lockdown Love Letter to Ledbury Poetry Festival by Susan Evans

Dear Ledbury Poetry Festival,

Since you kindly asked: I am loving loved ones like never before. I hug myself. Home is refuge & prison; a heavy closed door. Behind, perfume & bleach compete. I feel like Susan Sontag’s “Alice in Bed.” Angry. I long to escape. I meditate to create calm. Social media is mostly doom & zoom ~ Spring upstages us all. Pause book launch for “Shift Happens” (no sh*t Sherlock). Applause from windows & doors, every Thursday at 8, for the over worked & underpaid ~ may we all see pots of gold at the end of those rainbows… Jamie Oliver rocks the lockdown with ‘bed hair’ for his new show: ‘Keep Cooking & Carry on.’ I carry on more than is deemed necessary; fuelled by anxiety. I can’t wait for a dinner date… VE Day, 75th Commemoration, I am more Vera Gin than Lynne. In war, does anyone truly win? (Fascism is still happening…) Moved by WWII drama, the Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Society. & new Lee Miller documentary. Stay home. Binge Radio & TV. The new ‘social responsibility.’ Learn to ‘make do & mend’ again. Embrace precious air time. Appreciate the new social distance dance of the socially minded. Navigating those on ‘Planet Janet’ (this is hedonistic Brighton) bit more of a task: “OVER 30,OOO UK DEATHS!” I yell inside my head, as ‘space cadet’ violates my person; triggers panic attack & an overdose of anti-bac. (I am labelled hysterical & paranoid). But apart from that, I’m fine!! Dreamt of red wine; symbolic of life force. Still writing of course. Have started writing for the Daily Haiku. How about you? Sx

A Butterfly in Moonlight by Jobe Berrington

it’s things so strange as these stranger times that makes me long for the strangest things

After by Sascha Akhtar

& when you choose who You will see first & What you will do, first - what if Another chooses you first?

& your lists of doing & Seeing - they will never

End & in the aftermath the greatest tragedy will be

Offense - taken by us when all those wonderful people, we longed to see - have gone back

To being impossible to see & we all need to make appointments, again

To see, each other, maybe At some point - in a future

That is all speck &

possible illusion.

Rise to the Bait with Faith by Krushna Mishra

It all came with a thud with the television set screaming to a sobering silence to push us all to corners where fear only now lurks and our own dear long united part from us imparting the lesson of nearness over a distancing that cures not like a curse bitter and dry but a help that asks us to try if the virus dreaded be to a crushing defeat stashed till safety in a bang returns and all drifting apart now in good knowledge cheer all those turn safe and hear the world is saved and gods in labs have created the magic to inject with abracadabra and end the pandemic with its panic sighs and hushed signs to make life bloom again ending the gloom of millennia for lessons we will carry into centuries unborn now to teach us to love and live leaving life in all forms safe for a friendly planet in a wise flood of clean boldness.

Cry no more if you love and know you are loved in turn , know your love will be safe when you stay separate sure defeating the virus virulent with a heart clean and pure, know the key to life is love, to love to live is the lesson hard, dead are all that don’t love ,hear, rise to the bait with faith you bear.

Mason Bee by Richard Hawtree

I’ve lost this morning’s brightest words: fenland blooms that nudge, bodies that fix a secret course across the universe.

Outside the fluent mason bee, testing the gap in tired bricks, consoles with homespun clarity.

Refuge by Brendan Hawthorne

My home was once symbolic of lifetime achievement What I came back to after a shift A haven in which to relax Dwell upon the day Celebrate and debate through the parallax of half empty wine glasses The world was out there just through the picture window the other side of my front door past the bins and down the path a bit before this seed of destruction raised the social contact drawbridge on the preservation of self isolation In here the air is less polluted but out there more contaminated And the world has moved into my field of vision living room A world within an LCD screen delivering packages of survival through hot wired firewalls that pressure cook mental health well being on social media platforms validated by approval ratings It’s all there in high definition to download and encounter at will I will have to go with the flow Swim upstream Drown in terabytes of guilt when others seem to be doing more with their enforced withdrawal than I am I see you through the window Down the file path Beyond the junk bin I’m really well connected but have never felt so alone

Hardship Michael Thomas Hill

While we keep our heads, those In government departments Are losing theirs, blame us for Their downfall

We trust them not to care a lot, they Think of only themselves and Not others.

Tired of listening to their lies And not speaking a word about it

We keep our thoughts to ourselves Treat each other the same, can’t take The truth when told to their face Or get through to the base

Talk with friends or walk between crowds Of people, through town centres, forgive Them not their pain They to stand in the rain Waiting for a train

Watch them wait and pass them by Have no dealing with hate.

Them not be man or woman And breathe not a word to them About your dreams

What they don’t know can’t hurt them They’ll never be told or out in the cold……?

They’re not human’ putting people out on The streets with no food to eat…. or shoes for Their feet……!

Through a Time Darkly by Marie Papier

There is no resemblance between being locked up in the broom cupboard or

the order to stay at home, forget trade, forget time, the name

of days, enjoying silence and the song of birds, until your flour

and oil, your wine have run short, your hair is turning white. Then

you begin to think life is not what we’ve lived, unconscious of

the origins of oil and flour, the labour involved with growing

the grapes until the end of their captivity in dark barrels down dark cellars until

the wine shines in cristal glasses, swills in the mouths of connoisseurs who know the slow maturation of life.

Locked In Syndrome by Alan Wilson

Shall I compare this to a Pinter play? No, it is more like a bit of Becket. I see no one and ease my arid day With verse, vainly trying not to wreck it -

Compare my lot to Godot’s hapless chums Anatomising melancholy. The good news can be counted on my thumbs; Bad, an endless fingering of folly.

To bear my bird I binge on Radio Three While browsing with old friends of whom I’ve got A shelf-full, consumed with draughts of tea Alfresco, now the sun is getting hot.

Summer’s reprieve recedes, parole postponed. Day after day the scythe is honed.

On living alone (with new plants) by Nicholas Wong

The Spring sun fills my house, painting it oranges and yellows.

I turned off my radiator, and now my new plants, friends, live there.

The evening is colder than expected without sun, or friends.

Do I choose the cosy warmth of plants, friends, or the loving embrace of central heating?

I think the answer is clear. Seven Jumpers.

A Crush by Julia Travers

I’m taken with you. Mooning out of windows, sharing a breath with you through the door, finding chores that bring me closer.

I lay down my schedule to be with you today, my face warms, lifted, my chest buoyed, ribs at full tilt, limbs alight with the electricity of your generous beauty quiet care unassuming dance

I answer, Yes! to your primal draw, seek your love and forgiveness grateful enchanted I drink your Honeysuckle nectar, mouth all a curve, skipping, discombobulated, tipsy, a mess, all asunder, in my crush on Spring.

Two days in April by Duncan Taylor

6 April Locked inside on a cruel blue day the leaves on my luscious foliage plant feast on the sunshine blossom on the cherry tree about to erupt silence reigns the virus roams out there, somewhere.

12 April Bliss is the translucent blue sky the achingly pink blossom of the magnolia before me a gentle breeze wandering bird song empty public places a forgotten garden overlooked by throngs holed up in isolation here is a community with nature a carpet of daises daffodils past their best hanging on grimly the first leaves of the majestic oak greet the warmth with gratitude and thanks for the Spring.

A sonnet for the NHS by Ian Irwin

This Thursday night at eight o’clock I’ll clap

With heartfelt thanks: an echo off the bricks

And glass, for those who strive to help the sick,

Their sacrifice designed to help us cope.

The honour and the glory theirs to keep

Their resolution strong and hard to break.

These restless spirits fighting for our sakes

Are not remunerated or equipped.

Resounding claps are not exchanged for food.

The children can’t be clothed in gratitude.

Blue propaganda cloaks truth in lies.

The NHS is still our greatest prize.

It must be taken off the talks for trade

And selfless, honest workers duly paid.

Everything Under the Moon by Amy Bacon

Blame the hipsters and youths - don’t blame the government. Blame those without gardens, cyclists, sun-seekers in parks. Don’t question the government - blame the clumsy ones queuing at A&E, the bed blockers and those who lose the fight. Don’t blame the government - blame the maintenance crews on £8.72. Blame the panic-stricken - the self-centered ones clenching their hoards. Don’t blame the companies scraping up the earth, or the foreign president calling to mine the moon.

No Remedy by Derek Sellen

He waits at the late-night pharmacy for the tablets to keep his heart in sync. He doesn’t speak to Next-in-Queue.

Balms and salves for all ills line the shelves. This week’s miracle - Vitamin D - is sold out though.

Clutching his bag of chemical tricks, he sets off into the dark. Cautious, he’ll detour around teen hangouts.

The wind rustles up sounds of pursuit. His torch scans to left and right. Why does it skip and tumble in his chest?

He fears, more than the beat of other feet, what might stalk the pathways of his breath.

A Forgotten World, an exaggeration of current events. by Ethan Cartwright

I’ve woken up an a world I don’t recognise, A world of strangers, confused and afraid. The authorities say it’ll all be okay, “There is no reason to be dismayed”

The cities are desolate monuments, Concrete remnants of a forgotten past. Nature has taken over, A constant that will everlast.

We see only through the eyes of technology, Or through the layers of glass. Out there the world keeps turning, But here, time doesn’t pass.

The streets are damp and dirty, In shops, there is only violence. A stray dog may bark at the darkness, Besides that, there’s no sound but silence

The world has forgotten compassion, Lost what it means to love. This isolation seems eternal, No olive branch for the dove.

What Price Normality? by Flloyd Kennedy

Don’t go out! They said. Stay at home. Keep your distance. So what’s new? What’s new was that it wasn’t just me It was everybody. I felt quite chuffed, to be At last, part of a community. How strange to reach my time of life Always an oddity But my way of life was now the new normal. Ah, those were the days, Filling the hours with novel ways Of generating ideas to play with, Writing, knitting, planting seeds to grow with, And tap-dancing - Re-creating my childhood only this time Without the guilty sense of time wasted, Of potential spilt. It couldn’t last - There is no pleasure without pain. At first the dips and dives into gloom Were few and far between; Miniature downward spikes that came and went Without leaving a seeming Trail of destruction in their wake. But slowly, surely, as is their wont They expanded to full strength, making The return to light a struggle hardly Worth the fight.

And then, I realised I still was not alone! CoronaCoaster is the new name For the new norm. Hooray for normality. Not.

Hopes to regain by Trishita Dey

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be like this, how cruel, how mean! Maybe it wasn’t meant to be such a devastation where the happiness of spring turned into a state of demise for the mankind. How the beautiful dawn of cherry blossom lost in middle of the way. It became standstill. It was enough heartbreaking. We became monotonous with no patience left in us. But you, yes you reading this don’t loose the hopes. With every fall, the leaves regenerate and grow again. So will we. This period gave us the precious gift of time. This is the time to work for our own self and on our culpabilities. Whatelse happens! but the hopes shouldn’t go and yes we will be getting through this.

When all the world stops by Sian Banfield

When all the world stops, Doors close in and Close out Cars cease their constant, droning crocodile, Keyboards click only at a distance.

Then we become busy. We think, We read, We talk, We play. We bake biscuits, Butter-gold and crumbly. We learn to listen And we understand our full capacity For love.

Plagueground by Steve Day

Today is not quite like any other they are running a long haul fever flight to recover their senses left at the only address identified as home.

Blue sky morning’s weather reporting broadcast through a bright light of stripes flagged in slate and shadow; back where they believe they belong, dropped into a spring of locked down potency; no children’s games in the playground, bolted chains at the gate, this landed land is now their plagueground; re-entry arrival running late.

Already the white wood anemones are open, scattered across the rosary moss and beech cutting below a dry stone gully, blackthorn hedging the edge of hillside into seclusion.

Walking this path because this path is not usually used at such a partisan hour. This path is only known to those in the know and those in the know will either have visited earlier or at dusk, after their animals have been fed, watered and put away behind bars.

For the moment this path is the escape route out of the house for the once-a-day-act-of-exercise with no encounters with neighbours, or worse, strangers. Where did these masked people come from? Possibly a long haul fever flight to recover their senses close to where they imagine someone else’s handiwork might help them find their own.

Coronavirus by Jean Frances Parrott

A strange and unseen ghost Has us in its grasp Slow…Indidious..creeping round. Hard to track,cannot be found….

Started slowly….Slyly….far away.. In Cathay… Not the first to come from there…. Far too soon, spread everywhere…. Then appeared in Italy.. Now it’s rampaging free… A World Pandemic…. Anyone.. Can get it……

We are all trapped, Rich and poor,old and young…. Life on hold,the clock has stopped. Each day ,death toll Such sad cost….

How to protect those we love… Cherish our young,shield from the worst… Not part of our life plan,this Curse…. Stalking the land,spreading contagion…. Nation,by Nation……

We aged,have been here here before.. Some of us lived,survived a war… This though,. is an unseen enemy… Invading,Infecting in home territory…. We will win through….we always do.

Outside its spring,sun shines,birds sing… We are just a small part Specks on our planets face.. Whirling,turning,revolving in space We strange evolution…the Human race…. We will continue….life will go on… Win through again…..stand brave in the sun…..

Coronavirus …lock down… by Jean Frances Parrott

Early this morning,day dawning. Moon shadow,blue sky. Sun streaked,pink golden hue… So beautiful….. Breathtaking view…… Heart breaking too…. Such beauty all round… Natures rejoicing,bird sounds…. While we Listen to the daily death toll… On TV. That roll call,of lives lost… Coronavirus Fearful cost…….

It will pass,not last…. Try if you can ,to hang in there… Do not despair… Keep your eyes to the sky….. Live well my loves Enjoy each day….our time is short Dreams fade away…. Love lives in many little things A butterfly,a wedding ring, In the sun which touched your cheek With the wind stirring your hair… True love lives…..Do not despair…..

Wondering by Ian Rabjohns

Sitting on my garden bench in isolation….

Wondering

If all the little things that live here were to go. Who would care, who would know that they were gone. I would care and I would know that something here was wrong. Those few that dig and delve and try to understand that world of little things have, built into their bones, the cycle of the year and what it shows.They have found the tapestry; all sewn together, each one dependent on the other now. I see them all around my feet and busy in the flowers, and wonder what was here before; when it really was their world. Not ours.

Blues for Alan by Jane Hemmings

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/lockdown-blues-JH.mp3

Well, I’ve got the Lockdown Blues man - round and round in my head, Yeah, I’ve got the Lockdown Blues babe - round and round my bed, Wanna see my friends and family - but I gotta stay alone instead.

You know those Coronavirus blues, well they’re playing on my mind, Yeah those Coronavirus blues, well they’re playing with my mind, Wanna reach out and touch you - but I know that wouldn’t be kind.

We’re all doing our best here - trying with all our might, We’re doing our best - yeah, we’re trying with all our might, To look after each other and check that everyone’s all right.

We might feel like frowning we might feel like the world’s all bad, Yeah, we might feel like sighing and think the world’s gone mad, Being kind and gentle to each other will stop us all getting too sad.

Gotta take good care to let our loved ones know how we feel, We’ve got to take good care to let our loved ones know how we feel, Cause staying away will prove our love is really real.

We got to keep on being patient till that virus is on the run, Yeah, we got to keep on being patient till that virus is on the run, When it’s over the horizon - then we’ll really have some fun!

(Alan is 94, a life long player of piano blues. Being well looked after in the care home, but missing visits from his wife and friends. His dementia makes it harder for him to understand. He asked me to write him a blues….)

Goose Jazz by Philip Foster

When spartan dorys from down South spatchcock our tartan-fielded valley, when they’ve done us in good and gone, will our paths be smooth with velvet moss, will distressed ochre eat red wheelbarrows; will tapped engines leak pearls of black and broken stepladders lean against themselves like hemlock philosophers.

And will we grow with the patience of plants in the gaze of tinned-up factories. Will we placate our vagrant cocks with painted mirrors dangled from string and carve again to make arrows, to cover the kayak with animal skin - is this when we will remember the art of swimming, when we reinvent the words for things.

Will these be the neat rows of kindling at the end of everything; will this be the rusted locker or deadman’s chest of our legacy, the black fingernails, the stale patchouli, the worn green and handrolled of our prospectus; and will our music be the two-note goose jazz, the two-note goose trombone of the future?

Lets by Lorraine Wood

Let’s …fly amongst the bird song breathe the uncontested air of spring,inhale the night-scented stock,a memory from childhood when the stars were our good night kiss,pages turned over through the storm. Let’s fly above the white cliffs find our names at the waters edge,catch each letter and fill our pockets before the tide returns. Let’s fly into that starry night now we can all see,while nature rearranges the landscape an abundance of new life swims free.

They locked up Grandma by Becca Johnson

Someone’s locked up Grandma, She’s not been seen since tea, I think his name was Colin, I’m sure it began with C,

Someone’s locked up Grandma, I’ve seen her at the pane, It’s been two weeks and counting, Do you think she’s gone insane?

Someone’s locked up Grandma, Thank god she likes to read, As we haven’t heard a single word Of when she will be freed,

Someone’s locked up Grandma, They got my parents too, We think they might charge entry, To our corona zoo.

lockdown by Roger West

stocked up stacked up locked up in lockdown cocked up fucked up puckered up and put down shacked up hacked off handcuffed hand me down loved up gloved up puffed out and sat down

slow down hoedown show up to the showdown zonked out funked up bunkered up and hunkered down cranked up motown good god y’all get down stuffed up zippered up slippered up eiderdown

shop shut snapshot belt up and buckle down ramped up damped down working for the clampdown phased in phased out maxed out in melt down back down crackdown get down stay down

Lockdown Buzzcut JLM Morton

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/lockdown-buzzcut-JLMM.mp3

This is the time of kind-hearted dispensations when kids hold scissors two-handed, garden shearing a father’s hair - open mouthed in concentration, squealing at the mists of water spray. When time comes round for the game to end and mother takes the clippers, it’s been weeks since they’ve touched. Her fingers furrow the pattern of his follicles and he’s a mole, flinching through old locks. She thinks she wants to press the whorl on his hairline where a cowlick used to be until they connect - or he disappears. Entrusted with flakes from his scalp, the molluscs washed up on the wold of his skull, she thinks she wants to stoop and taste the earth on his neck. She trims around the ears, grades the edges and his shoulders slacken. Both of them gulls at the plough, their flight an act of faith.

Plague Diaries by Sarah Davies

These are the same plague diaries that we have always written - your great grandfather, his father before him, their wives in the embroidery of linen and the blood pin-pricked in error,

on parchment and on vellum, the binding of our body and the politics of being. Candlelight is darkness, electric is the darkness,

how we have the dark times, each to our own blindness, and each age changes witness, ours to a confinement and the dangers

of our touch, when this is what is needed through the testament of screens and the ghosts, familiar voices - the proof here on the skin that solitude’s contagious

Jewels of evidence at witch trials where we offer up our brothers and our sisters to the gathering of public name and shaming , all rituals and pastimes

And your last wife at the stake, flowers round the may tree, cherry blossomm are wasteground dandelions, are people lost and wondering at their own small, greening gardens Shall I mention an Arcadia?

These are plague diaries, the same as always written in the dark come after first sleep - Dear Husband light the candle, the ink upon my fingers, like the blood of some old sea God

because this is an island which no man is, nor woman but I wonder as I tap, if the sea will reach my window like the floods of winter

my darling has forgotten? This is why I write, and who I write for - my children and the fish, the bloggers, widows, and the archivists

Lockdown by Sarah Davies

Some people are bad at keeping distance- they stick to the world like glue-

world sticks to them too. They look into dark mirrors or at shimmer screens

for information and signs of when it ends, this separation

Waiting to buy fish by Charlotte Pearl

Of all days it was good Friday And we stood there in a line, Holding our breath. Heart in mouth. Two metres apart. Heart in mouth. Weighing up our options, Readying our order, Just waiting to buy fish.

And the sun spilt out On everybody waiting. Weighing up their options. Wishing it was over now. Wanting to be home again, Recoiling from passers by, Just waiting to buy fish.

And everyone was silent. Silently worrying. Thoughts like thunder. Two metres apart. Everybody waiting. Wanting it over now, Everybody waiting, Some just waiting to buy fish.

keep calm by Jonathan Mayman

out in my garden I can hear the traffic from the motorway

if I close my eyes I could be driving down to your place

I’m trapped for now here in my garden you in yours

we can see each other on our phones speaking words of love

keep well keep strong it may not be long the miles will melt away

Statistics Can Never Lie by Alun Robert

Statistics can never lie … but those who mine data can and those who analyse the facts and the experts in R0 extrapolation and those who proffer interpretation and those who present these results and those who invent explanation and those who try to camouflage the truth behind the facts; can.

How does this affect all those who take action on such statistics knowing that they are not the same as the true facts they appear to portray? For they blame those wet behind the ears when their flawed actions cause abject chaos of wrong turnings and dubious decisions and then claim in their defence that … statistics can never lie.

Repatriation flight from Peru by Tim Toghill

Repatriation Flight

Dusty military airbase buildings, eyeless windows Bright sun gives way to gazebo shade Busy clipboarded FCO officials Gleaming flag carrier plane

Lines of aircraft tarmac bound Hot intense midday equatorial heat Stamp on passports, tagging of bags Helpful uniform clad men bustle

Eager tired passengers form orderly queues Exotic airbase location hidden from city eyes

Memories of extraordinary times, of gracious people, of Peruvian sun

29/30 March 2020, 12 hours, 6,000 miles. And the BA crew all volunteered. Incredible.

Reemergence by Usha Akella

We retreat and reemerge from our rooms like waves meeting by the shore of the window, this dance of three happens daily now like three needles crocheting a new pattern of reality. Simple human actions, eating together, cooking, washing dishes, a new alphabet in an unhurried world of harmony, kinship and family—we are reconfigured in a lucent house breathing a cornucopia of light, limpid walls and tiles seem fluid like water rippling a chiaroscuro, outside, that—the red streak of a cardinal’s winged surge, that—the squirrels serrated scampering on trunks, that—the unhurried drift of a dandelion.

Spring too is upon us—this too is reality— the sun’s golden bombarding drenching suffusing, this beauty is undeniable—a world savaged by light, saved by light, singing with light, rains baptize the streets asking us to rise anew, the streets are rivers cupping reflections of the oaks and cedars, blue bonnets and Indian paintbrush splatter the streets, scarlet berries bud like miniature poppies on the dark green reminiscent of a red whirring virus leaving shadows of painful stories, this war unfolds as wars have always ravaged the earth, some mine woe for profit, some simply try to keep bone and skin together, the human mind is rarely pellucid, we understand what we can and mostly move on in acceptance.

A locked down seagull Uday Shankar Durjay

I used to see the reflection of sunlight dancing on your lips, sparking and glittering like pearls on the golden grass. Now a deadly frustration circumambient me.

An invisible animal is out to vanish all the lights. We are getting disappeared in the dark day by day. Can we remember 1820,1920? and now 2020. Is it nature, taking a piece? We may mention it’s a revenge of nature. We never expect this incompatibility to our life ever but this literal to our life. This is also truth we didn’t care about our world. We are using a huge plastic bottle and container and through to the sea water. We are clearing the natural state an acre and acre. We are killing animals for a million purposes.

Now a day everything has stopped. The nature is getting so green though. Animals are in open yard like a free verse poetry. A huge fresh oxygen around us like kites are flying in the sky, soft breezes are blowing over the building like seagulls are set free to roam.

Don’t move inside out. Delivery vans are dropping the goods, Uber eats delivering the client’s order. But we are completely locked in the wall. We can’t enjoy the time, we have been just waiting for new day. We have been waiting for the new light.

Day by Day by Peter Moorhouse

It seems a long time ago Since I was immortal. Now, in old age, I am a threat And threatened At one and the same time. I smile and comment to strangers As we weave our invisible paths. But I am just a pupating statistic In the daily list of numbers Read out by frightened, Power-drained, blank faces, Clinging to slogans.

Crowd by James Pertwee

Last night I dreamt that I was in a crowd. Jostling and pushing, elbow to elbow, We surged forward, making for the gates Pressed tightly together, with good-humoured banter. Once through, we poured into the vast stadium, Filling it, shouting and cheering and chanting “Up the reds!”, “come on the blues!”, “You’ll never walk alone!” Marching onward and tightly packed, with our placards, We snaked through the streets, a different chant: “Whaddawe want?! When do we wannit?! Now!!” There must have been thousands of us Bound together in the camaraderie of a common cause. Out into the countryside we went Among the tents and the portaloos Raising our arms high, some with our girlfriends on our shoulders As the rock anthem blasted out, A vast sea of bodies throbbing and pulsing, as one, to the beat. And in the crisp clear air, wrapped up against the cold, We started the countdown - ten, nine, eight, seven, six… Until the bongs rang in the new year. A huge roar went up! We threw our arms around each other, Kissed, shook hands with strangers! As the echoing cheers and laughter faded away I came to, woke up, Alone again.

Change by James Pertwee

Everything has changed. Contained, constrained, confined, locked down, An Englishman’s home is his castle… …or his prison.

And nothing has changed. The sun comes up and the sun goes down. The birds are singing, summer is coming. All is as it should be.

But everything has changed. A trip to the shops a risk-filled mission. Every foray into the outside world A game of chance with high stakes.

And yet nothing has changed. Humanity is as it ever was. Shared hopes and fears conveyed in another’s smile Without a word being uttered. Two strangers complicit.

But no, everything has changed. The whole world is in turmoil. Presidents, kings, labourers and dispossessed, The richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor, All are in fear.

And still, nothing has changed. The rich manage much better than the poor. Most governments try their best. Some make good decisions. Some make disastrous ones. Just as always.

So what has changed? The whole world is in danger as never before. The whole world is fearful as never before. Many are panicking just as ever. Many are selfish just as ever. Many are idiots just as ever. And most are kind, just as ever.

And when we come through this What will we have learnt?

Everything and nothing will have changed.

The Corona Raven by Henry Herschel

I’m sitting here pondering away my hours Thinking about this world of ours Wishing I didn’t think that I had to rhyme I should take some time To learn a different way of doing things I wish the world would think Something similar not hollow rings For the normal not right gone before Like the Raven, Nevermore!

Sword by Benjamin Skomorac

I spend days, nights, without being diagnosed with this madness. I am floating on the ceilings dressed in a heavy blanket who bends me in the morning, shows what I’m getting ready for. I cut my knee with my sword like two hills, stranded on the shore of my limbs. I live without them equally, lifeless. That will be tomorrow, I’ll calm down, take off the burden of immortality.

Live Life by Jane Moorhouse

Everyday There are Chances to die There have Always been Chances to die Everyday Perhaps the risk is greater now But it is still small

So instead of fearing Our chance to die Let us embrace And celebrate That we have been given The chance to live For at least another day

The chance to Sing and Dance and Smile and Make connections And put our stamp upon this earth More firmly than we did before

The chance to Hear the birds sing Watch the plants grow Smell the blossom Breathe in the less polluted air Walk in the deserted streets

Death will come regardless of our fear But life will only happen if we let it.

Clap for the carers by David Bleiman

and here in bungalow belt where neighbours hardly ever come within two metres we went out in our ones and twos thinking to clap the lonely sky until we heard the thunder of solitude rolling up the wide road and shared the lamplit smiles of solidarity

Let’s call it a day by Mark Saunders

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/lets-call-it-a-day-MS.mp3

I can’t believe it’s Friday, and the same goes for Thursday and the day before that which was …. what’s its name.

Let’s call each day Day.

Today’s Day the spring weather holds so out of isolation I step feeling bold. My neighbour outside his door stares as if we haven’t seen each other before. I wave across the hedge and call out Good day! I do believe it is what used to be called a Friday.

Ha, those were the days! he replies with a smile and tips his hat, as we go our separate ways.

Anaesthetic by Kathryn O’Driscoll

Today I am slack jawed with my brain stung with lidocaine. Nerve endings spasming, ticks without feeling, someone has numbed me city-wide.

Today my eyes are empty shop windows displaying all of their best solutions to insurmountable problems on tiny invisible display tables of nothing. Someone has anaesthetised my brain.

Today I am on lockdown. No contact, silent park lands wet with Spring wilting without notice. My mind is echoing white noise and riot gear and I can’t taste my teeth anymore.

I am a quarantined country noose-quiet and cyanide-sickly, bleeding out of brickwork I no longer feel - and finding fog-filled alleyways and cobblestoned depressive episodes feel familiar even in this half-lit death.

Corona Cough by Adam Munthe

Yesterday, today, rioting spring dusk and swallows high, grasshoppers still scratching in the thickets, the cypresses are robed, bending like friends with a tiny breeze for conversation

A road to the goatherd’s for cheese and yogurt, the car pottering, we smile, pull into the long grass, subside to let them pass

The driver paused beside me our windows open, a baby face, nascent moustache, three friends to laugh at him

A kind of funnelled breathlessness, he sized me precisely, twisted his mouth into a kiss, and spat

We jumped, stopped, paralysed he backed up, our faces close enough to cough I made to rise, “We gave you the road to ride” “Fuck you,” he whispered, and then drove off

Actual despair? A bate? A game of dare? It felt like hatred

The car ditched, still pottering louder than the grasshoppers. We furious to know.

Stretch (You Are All Right) by Richard Skinner

You are a pilot through the days’ yawn, the rod of iron down your back aching in the sunshine. The streets outside empty of people, of crime, horseplay, pit bulls. The numbers and letters on the tops of buses speak to the sky. It’s the only talk you’ll hear. We clap every week. Downstairs, the drilling carries on— they must have got through by now. The cherry tree in the courtyard sways every morning, swishing to itself. It yearns to reach the sun. We have all turned into sunflowers. Dogs look up, cats sleep. Cars furtively turn corners, roar out of sight. The church steeple looks worried. It is pink in the rising sun, facing it, telling it to make sure to return tomorrow.

Death Obtains by Mara Adamitz Scrupe

Death Obtains

as seeds’ spawn barren of two decades’ sparing

Death obtains as rosemary clenched in sucking scale/ veins’ closed system

Death obtains as dried bugs & mouse ribs/ an abandoned breast pump in a shoe box

Death obtains as choke knots/ writhing/ noosing/ periwinkle’s grip on my garden beds

Death obtains as emerald borer in leafless ash/ spiny in April’s flush & mantling

Death obtains as fossil mosaic/ contagion/ a stone road shivering beneath the world

On Mute by Barry Taylor

Among the twenty-seven new native species of silence:

the stifled explosive roars stockpiled in the stadium; the stunned interval marking the distance from one safe house to its neighbours; the mosaics of voiceless selfies on the evening news; the hush of rush-hour; the vacated stage where the blackbird improvises morning.

Under the startling new-green trees, the silent tremoring of walls and worlds at a passing breath.

Down our street by Matt Black

Roshan and Aisha make lots of cups of tea, stick to new daily routines created to maintain cheer. They stare out of the window. They want chocolate bars which they are too scared to go and buy.

Josh, who never had the courage to leave the computer job he hates, and has always longed for an alternative lifestyle, has dug up his small back garden and plants spinach and garlic to bolster his immune system.

Wojcek is desperate to get back to Poland, to see his family, but is worried that if he gets there he will never be allowed to return. He drinks 4 cans of strong lager, starting at 6, every evening.

Liz weaves bright new futures in her mind, of a world that has learnt its’ lessons, and looks forward to the autumn. She sews scrub bags for the NHS, plans to make recycled masks, knit rainbows.

Jade can’t get her usual supply of methodone, but has found some cheap spice. She likes the sunshine. Although she is hungry, she’s got the gang, and her lockdown is flying by.

Stephen, aged 75, cupboards overflowing with cheese, ready meals and whisky, thinks it is Xmas. He Facetimes his son every evening at half past six. Eats and drinks like there is no tomorrow.

Lorraine spends 10 hours a day on Facebook campaigning for the cure of Covid19 by a combination of turmeric teas and yogic breathing.

Rob develops business plans for using the last reserves from his bankrupt cafe business, and some thin Government support, for a start-up in developing video games - his teenage passion. He is in discussions with his landlord about unpaid rent.

Chris and Kerri lie in bed every morning, rowing over how much screen time Ben and Gemma, aged 8 and 6, should have every day. Ben and Gemma are downstairs creating alternative worlds in Minecraft.

Alexandra texts Gilly that a G and T at 5 tonight in the back garden, with 6 feet between them, will be completely fine, surely darling.

John is alone in his flat, sweating in bed, waiting for his twice-weekly call from an NHS volunteer telephone befriender.

Louisa bleaches the front letter box, the front door bell, the wing mirrors of her Citroen Picasso, every morning at 7am.

Rashida has spent 2 days weeping for her Mum, who died aged 52, for lack of PPE. She is also a nurse, goes back to work tomorrow.

Mike eats Monster Munch and reads online conspiracy theories and analysis that show that Covid19 is a statistical myth created by capitalists to increase global control over consumer populations.

Melanie, asthmatic, wakes up thinking she has Covid every morning. She spends her days on Facebook looking for posts that will offer her lifelines for her more precarious than ever mental health.

Jane is on 80% furlough, and now she can no longer go to restaurants or on holiday, is better off than when she was working. She reads, rings friends, listens to Guardian recommended Spotify lists. She loves lockdown, but knows it is not right to say it.

Ashley clings to the wreckage of S.S. Hope, stares across the grey, choppy sea.

Unwittingly, and despite best efforts, the small corner shop spreads Covid19.

The pub is closed.

The pigeons coo-coo, coo-coo.

Callum, aged 4, draws pictures of giants every day. He loves his Mum and Dad at home together for this spring that seems to last forever.

[Untitled] by Sandi Sterck

March ends . Fallen leaves dance on the lawn, fly up on the wind into the air like birds. They do not sing.

April begins with all it’s promises. Animals and birds copulate in anticipation.

Should mankind do the same?. or submit to the dark clouds ominous warning.

Let’s hide from the light and sunshine, furrow deeper into ourselves. Or instead, look up to the stars, embrace the light, and look forward to tomorrows dawn.

March 2020 by Frances Meadows

If I die of Coronavirus Don’t make me just another number Just another statistic Remember I was alive and well Remember I lived a life Remember my children, my loves, My learning, my style, Remember the things I wrote, The things I did, the people I helped The students I taught Remember the meals I cooked The presents I gave The times I hugged you. Remember how I Kept the law, braved the worries Listened and supported. Remember the veg I grew The bulbs I planted, the birds I fed Remember how I picked up litter Recycled plastic and paper Remember how I walked the paths Loved nature, cared for you Remember Aunt Flo’s chocolate cake! It’s not about the death you’ve had It’s about the life you’ve lived

Habitual Sea by Claire Clint

Drowning in your habitual sea, Dragged by surging waves that push and pull me, To the depths of intrigue and shallow safe shore, Sands strewn with shells the limpets once wore.

A foot strongly grounded, gripping rocks, scarred for life, Soft inside hard shell, programmed to survive, Tides turning gently, daren’t loosen the latch, As waves of hungry fish come to take their catch.

Children bring buckets, scoop up empty shells, Sparking joy in those they cling to, ringing familiar bells, Filled once more with sunshine, dry away salty tears, Purpose reimagined, new habits drenched in ancient fears.

7pm Shout Out by Paula C. Brancato

At sunset, we headed toward the East River, a tidal basin, cool fingers of sea slipping slowly in and out. We walked the empty streets and sidewalks, the dog’s nails tick tick ticking,

traffic and church bells silent, pavement licked clean by rains, past Mandicati’s, Bellwether, Centro’s, Chairman Sun, Bella Via, shuttered against the coming wave.

Sniffing empty tarmac, hunting mice, rats and food scraps and finding nothing, Myrtle bit into the black of a garbage bag and pulled out a bone, Kentucky Fried and battered, half eaten.

Any other day, I would have pressed my fingers under her snout into the soft fleshy fur of her jaw. and forced her to release it. Bones wound the stomach, hurt the heart.

No one on the streets, No one on the walkways, Nothing but the sound of Myrtle crunching on that bone. Will she survive it?

My mother, I mean. And so many others. Though the virus is abating, now. From buildings blocks away, separated by clouds and nothingness, people we could not see whooped and hollered and clapped.

Noisemakers chirped like crickets. Horns bleeped. No way to imagine who the revelers might be. A last shot of amber closed the sun’s eye. Through the pink and purple dusk, a lone bus honked and hollered.

Another Fine Day? by Adele Cordner

Should sun still shine on this beleaguered land, make blossom pink and white on cherry trees, light curls of lambs, scent daisies to draw bees, let gentle waves lap swathes of untouched sands?

Should wind not rage as humans battle on? Should litter not be whipped through empty streets and rain not gush from gutters while we weep for all sick souls whose lives are not so long?

But sun has kept us calm through all the pain, made us look up while storms might rage within. So nature steadfastly has played her part. She spares us from the deluge of spring rain that we might step outdoors and there begin to find a pathway to a lighter heart.

The Viral War by Christy Galligan

Your Poem With creased brows they never tried Giving solace where there was death, Tired beyond exhaustion while all Around the noise of gasping breaths.

Isolated boxes of bodies Wrapped in double shrouds, No mourning by loved ones or families But placed in sacred grounds.

Where is the humanity in dying Where sickness claims so many lives, While eyes stare forlornly Behind shield and formaldehyde.

No longer our heros fall in trenches Not by bomb, bullet but by tentacles, Death envelops us all No word will undo this spectacle.

Spare a though for those who’ve succumbed And those who will, we realise, For mother nature has endured Our destruction of that which was pure.

Corona by John Nightingale

The virus is a crown of thorns. It brings a lockdown Sabbath to the earth. Life will never be the same again - or will it? Take deep breaths and feel the pain and love, become aware of changes in the air we breathe. See the people walk through fire and flood, on a long road, past field and slum. Imagine that they come to Birmingham, where guns and chains gave way to bicycles and cars, where jewelries became munition factories, and back again. Now may the chain of motorways no longer choke, the smoke replaced by cleaner air. Cast out despair, prepare to be a city of sanctuary for every heritage, for refugees from poverty and rage. But can it be we surf each obstacle? ‘Twould be a miracle. However, there is one miracle already, that we are here at all; then, though we’re small, together, when we share our bunch of sacred stories, challenge despair, our faith the more is. And, while we live, our actions stretch into the future, give the lie to those who only think of death. So may we, with every breath inhale the oxygen of love and breathe it over others, a new story, we hope a crown of glory.

NOTE: This meditation was read at the end of a gathering for Earth Day organised by “Footsteps: Faiths for a Low Carbon Future”. The proceedings were conducted online through zoom because of the corona virus lockdown. The name corona (latin for “crown”) is given to this group of viruses because of their crown-like shape. The poem mentions two crowns of Jesus referred to in an Easter hymn, a crown of thorns and a crown of glory. There are also allusions to some of the presentations, eg the Jai Jagat March for Peace and Justice.

Springtime on Bredon by Chris Noel

It’s springtime on Bredon The bells are quiet this year Round all the shires they’re silent In steeples far and near A disquieting quiet to hear

Here on a Maytime morning Stand about and sigh There’s still a green and coloured land The larks still sing on high About us in the sky.

Don‘t come to church good people They‘re shut and barred and chimeless Good steeples, stand and pray We stand about all aimless The coloured land stands timeless