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“People around the world may be physically separated in pandemic lockdowns, but they are joined in at least one way — many are experiencing vivid and bizarre coronavirus dreams.” Why so many people are experiencing pandemic dreams, Helena Humphrey, NBC News
I find myself much engaged by the brave and honest responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, COVID-19 Lunascape, May 20, 2020, which asked poets to share their pandemic-driven dreams. Thanks! and Bravo to mm brazfield, Irma Do, Sonja Benskin Mesher, Nancy Ndeke, and Adrain Slanaker.
Do join us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt. All are welcome: beginning, emerging, and pro poets. This is a friendly, nonjudgmental opportunity offering the chance to exercise your poetic muscle, to display your work, and to “meet” other poets who may be new to you.
states
birds chirp
the last
song heard
before going
into shallow
restless sleep
pipes clank
neighbors laugh
dogs howl
window cloaked
in moon
sliced Roman
shades cardinal
red i
then find
the cacophonous
earth fading
from me
there is
a river
in the
anemic star
light its
ripples a
veil of
opal and
brass the
pit in
my throat
slowly calls
a chant
a prayer
of sorts
to any
available mother
to take
me in
the arms
of anything
before the
poison of
the hyacinth
breath of
the deep
seated night
will drag
me in
the undertow
of her
charms while
the nymphs
dressed in
Coco Channel’s
post C19
gray suits
flirt for
a like
enmeshed in
electric forgery
unnatural i
the feel
in this
cage of
bone nothing
but mud
midnight news
reporting blues
and the
porous truth
that soon
a derivative
of Pi
will flow
through my
blood to
buffer the
pandemonic messiahs
© 2020, mmbrazfield
To Run, No Chance to Dream
Sweat drips down
my brow
my chin
my arms
my back
Onto the treadmill that has had better owners
it rumbles
it squeaks
it grinds
it whines
But it can’t be heard up two flights of stairs at 3 AM
it won’t disturb my quietly sleeping children
it won’t disturb my quietly snoring spouse
it won’t disturb the quiet illusion of life as it should be
Here in the basement cave with it’s napoleon ceiling
I do not want to sleep
I do not want to dream
I do not want to figure out how to stay safe from something that can’t be seen
I do not want to figure out a “new normal”
If I am moving, I am not dreaming
of things that I can’t control
of things that I shouldn’t hope for
of things that could be or should be
of things that start with “what if”
So I run but not away, just enough to sleep
without dreaming
without pretense
without aspirations
without the energy for my brain to continue the run
It is now 5 AM.
© 2020, Irma Do
Irma’s site is: I Do Run, And I do a few other things too . . .
..were we dreaming?.
as i passed i saw the room, coal on your table,
spread neatly. wondering i glanced around,
saw the snowy underwear on hangers,
the chandeliers.
it all showed pride and i know
you have seen it too. raddled
face in mirrors, knowing that we
are all much the same, without
meetings and disagreements.
so,
must we write about it before we forget,
before people come and disagree?
they have small waists and a national costume.
© 2020, Sonja Benskin Mesher
..bad night dreaming..
dreamed of devastation, flew miles low
over concrete . skeletons, bones of the thing.
all is dust, as dust we have become. slow.
grey. nothing moves here no more. no sighs.
they have forgotten us. we have forgotten them.
are we now the bones of what we were?
bad night dreaming.
© 2020, Sonja Benskin Mesher
Sonja’s sites are:
- sonja-benskin-mesher.net
- Sonja Benskin Mesher, RCA paintings (This is her Facebook page, so you can connect with her there as well as view photographs of her colorful paintings.)
- Sonja on Twitter
- sonja-benskin-mesher.co.uk
- Sonja’s daily blog (WordPress) is HERE.
Teaching Me
Of the classes my father paid,
Of the classes I paid for me,
Nothing tops like the classes I teach me,
Am the pupil,
Am the tutor,
Notes compare the mood,
Yesterday does shine quite a bit,
Today has it’s shadows,
Tomorrow seems a decade away,
My score sheet blurrs,
May mark pen draws exes in excess,
A staccato of dreams zig zags on the edge,
Every human smote rides my eyes,
I mourn with ease what mornings bring,
Vacation vacated it’s pull,
Reading tells better news,
Afraid is quite real,
Reality is traumatic,
My own voice sounds alien,
And prayer raised it’s volume,
My bridal hopes still dreams of a sunrise,
My groom is every human with a sigh,
Am reaching out to myself more,
Am negotiating with mind more,
Am recounting scars with a smile more,
Am learning from own lessons and tutorials,
And my score though not high,
It’s above average truth be told,
For priorities are ever clearer,
Rif raf and procrastination has exposed themselves.
I have met me and sat with me besides sleeping with me,
And I dare say am pleasantly surprised at who I saw,
A creature who thought they knew but now know they didn’t,
For what had mattered all those wasted years is simple,
Love life as you live it in the moment,
Enough is the best stock to keep,
Health is wealth of a kind and matters a lot,
The mind has great capacity to adapt,
And Humanity is just one part of the universe, and not the universe,
That all men are basically the same and their needs are simple.
And I woke with the smiling sun,
Thankful for such a class that taught me the simplicity of life.
© 2020, Nancy Ndeke
Nancy’s Amazon Page is HERE.
Please Complete in Triplicate
Yellow ties snake out of
brown bin liners
like thin layers of leather
with static cling that
accommodate copious quarts
of unrecognized
refuse, be it
a shattered sex toy or
a shiny tray splattered with spaghetti.
In the “new normal,”
I’m denied discretion as
it’s deemed an anti-contagion
civic duty to
fill out forms
listing every last
object chucked into each
garbage bag sagging
by the curb.
I nitpick over the papers,
plunged into panic as to
whether I’ve revealed
all my trash truths
in ink black enough and
fearing I may find myself
fined or detained or
banished to a rubbish blacklist
because I’ve unwittingly breached
the bureaucracy theater
thought up to thwart either COVID-19
or the bearers of virtual torches and
pitchforks turned viral
on Twitter.
© 2020, Adrian Slanaker
To read more of Adrian’s work, just do a search on this site and/or on The BeZine.
Jamie Dedes:
- About /Testimonials / Disclosure / Facebook / Medium / Ko-fi
- 2020 Poet Laureate of Womawords Literary Press
- The Wombwell Rainbow interviews Jamie Dedes
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Each and every poem, on this subject, is amazing. I am unable to single anything out as everything is perfect. Congratulations to you all, my fellow poets; my non-contribution I attribute to my lack of specific inspiration; but I believe that you have covered it all so I don’t regret not joining in.
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