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Hey You COVID

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you win

drafting me unwillingly

one more warrior

in a choke

….hold

I. could. die.

simply thinking about

the risk

you’ve offered me

on a silver platter

like the devil, sly

with guileful grin

but this fool isn’t your fix

I choose

to live

 

 

I am an RECE ( Registered Early Childhood Educator), “Educator” being the key word. Infants, toddlers and preschoolers learn through hands on exploration, purposeful play and socialization. In the midst of a pandemic, I will soon be expected to return to this environment where social distancing is not possible and little ones require close contact. I am not a health care worker but will be expected to assume the same risk. At 59, I am forced to decide between safety or an income. It haunts me daily.

 

 It’s Quadrille time at dVerse. De is our wonderful host.

The word is “fix” to be included in a 44 word poem.

 

image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

 

Steady Stream (Scream) of Consciousness

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pixabay.com

 

 

Will I find the dream again? Somewhere in this new realm reeking of reality? I feel like I’m treading on the nothings of my days. Guilty of nothing. Achieving nothing. Feeling everything but nothing. Watching moments pass shamelessly into nothingness. Is that a word? I don’t even write this way. Horizontal thoughts wishing to waterfall once more. At least I’ve kept my not so subtle sense of alliteration throughout the aberration. Alas (what?) my poetic skin is paling, failing. Hmm…internal rhyme intact and that is whacked. Maybe I should slam. These words are not my jam. Who am I?

 

 

Sharing with dVerse Poets Pub. It’s Open Link Night! I am your host.

Originally written for PANDEMIC POETRY

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In Mid Flight

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stillness speaks

like a bird with a broken wing

the way of song, essential

the freedom to fall, forgotten

heaven is for real

we are but a coke machine glow

between darkness and light

 

 

Written for dVerse Poets Pub.

Bjorn has asked us to dust off some books to create some “spine poetry”.

 

Burgeon

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I am a seed

without a season

buried deep

in the cold compost

of my dreams

flood thirsty, time flushed

endless roots reaching

for the reason I rise

but I will not wilt

in recycled soils

I am hidden

only to surprise

the sun

 

 

It’s Quadrille time at dVerse. Pen us a poem of 44 words including the word “flush” or a derivative. I am your host. Doors open at 3 p.m. The prompt is open all week.

 

 

 

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

Life Takes Off His Mask

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and my normalcy stands naked

against alien stars

and virgin skies

earth speaks of simpler things

in archaic tongues as

cinders of the commonplace

lie blatantly at my feet

She offers me seeds I don’t remember

I plant them in empty gardens

unbeaten paths

timeless, rich soils, untouched

by my aching body, my weary mind

I kick the ashes

desperate to stir the life I knew

but ashes fade fast

into the light

 

 

 

Written for Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub in response to a quote by Mizuta Masahide

“Barn’s burnt down, now I can see the moon”

In these unfamiliar times, as pieces of our regular life break away, what do you see?

Share your own personal epiphanies in a poem. Doors open at 3 p.m. I am pleased to be your host.

 

 

 

 

Picacho Peak

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after the climb

I rest

inhaling indigo

of cloudless skies

exhaling all but my soul

the sun is an ocean

wrapping me lukewarm

politely peeling the pieces

fears flaking

sorrows shedding

I lay them out

stone cold on the mesa

to wilt and wither

 

 

 

A “quadrille” consists of 44 words, not including the title. It is a favourite form over at dVerse Poets Pub. This week we are including the word “peel”. I am pleased to be your host. Feel free to join in. Doors open at 3 p.m.

And Now

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when I hear thunder

I remember the end

of what we knew, the day that

polished pearl of a moon told us ALL

there is to understand while

every tree spoke at once and

there you were trying to silence them

with your arms flailing like a madman

thinking the earth spoke your

language as clouds rolled in laughter

because we all (should) know that

universal truth cannot be heard with

deaf ears and so many

tongues a twisted, so then

we sifted through the ruins

of you and me

searching for truths

that had buried themselves alive

but I’ve never once forgotten

that day or the decay

and the way it ended

and

started again

and ended

 

For Amaya’s prompt, “MTB: The Death Sentence” over at dVerse Poets Pub.

A very unique and challenging prompt.