As the pandemic passes it would seem
Each night and every morning
I step into a vivid world of dream.
Lurid landscapes beckon
With skies bluer than before con trails disappeared.
Vast disasters threaten
With casts of everyone
I’ve ever known.
I cannot call
These nightmares; I am unscathed,
Barely concerned for my own safety through it all.
I watch events unfold,
Never able to warn or aid,
Just seeing the world around me fall apart
In brilliant pieces as if the jeweller’s art
Applied itself to our humanity
Creating necklaces of catastrophe.
Like a horseman of the apocalypse
Revolve before my gaze
And those affected
Are my parents (long gone)
Or others from my past,
Before I ever heard of a pandemic,
Before our world
Was suddenly undone,
Before figures of mortality or cases
Filled our news,
Assaulted us with dread,
Never knowing who would, next, be dead.
Try as I might,
Avoiding cheese, coffee, alcohol or blue screens
Late at night,
Reading uplifting books,
Watching heartwarming films,
Even while my family remains untouched it seems
I am fated to live, each time I sleep,
In Covid dreams.
(Like others, I’ve been having long strange dreams since the pandemic took hold here. So I wrote about them, wondering how many people’s sleep is similarly disrupted.)
One of my online gaming characters was a young goblin who had just left home to seek his fortune – and maybe love. I wrote the poem in response to a call from a fellow player for poems related to our games. He printed it in his newsletter. The goblin’s name is pronounced Vu-ru-zu-vul. (Goblins don’t see the purpose of vowels.) The Cannis Sea was in our gaming world, sadly defunct but still a source of inspiration from time to time. Vrzvl also scribbled a picture of what he thought his sweetheart might look like…
Vrzvl’s haiku dream
Hair as green as leaves
Tangled like curling spring ferns
Round a grinning face.
Eyes as big as moons,
Deep as the dark Cannis Sea,
Full of wild mischief.
Teeth as sharp as rocks
In a mouth wide as the sky;
Lips open for me.
Arms, thin, taut as wire
And hands like soft twig brushes
Caressing my face.
In my dreams you walk.
Where shall I find you in life,
My goblin sweetheart?
I have vague intentions, some day, of writing a novel or novella with Vrzvl as one of the characters.
With apologies to Browning who probably wouldn’t recognise our current weather patterns. I wrote this last week and thought I’d better post it before the forecast weather improvements make nonsense of it!
Cherry trees made an altogether glorious parade
And a magnolia cast a huge upside-down-umbrella shade.
Forsythia was golden.
The violets were out
But the taller trees determined
That Spring was not about.
There were daffodils in the breeze, dancing
While the glossy bluebell leaves were thrusting.
A lilac sprouted leaf buds.
A willow wept yellow-green.
Still the taller trees determined
That Spring had not been seen.
The sycamore was one that made a start
Wearing tight furled leaves to look the part
Though the other woodland giants
Were resolutely bare.
For the taller trees determined
That Spring truly wasn’t there.
The elm-tree boles that might have wished to please
Were all just memories through Dutch disease.
The chaffinches were nesting
(Though not on any orchard bow)
And the taller trees determined
It was too cold for Spring right now.
Magpies chased off last year’s offspring.
Aconites were this month’s bling.
Some ducks were building nests
And the geese honked, full of cheer,
While the taller trees determined
That Spring might just be near.
The branches raised to greet the driving rain
Were uniformly black without a stain
Of green. Beneath them flowers
And birds (and lambs) told all of England how
Despite the taller trees’ determination
It was April now.
Here – have a poem. A cat lives a few doors away from us but visits us frequently. Recently, it snowed. And yes, that’s my house but the photo was taken last time it snowed heavily, not this.
The first day
of heavy snow
there were no prints and the cat
had clearly voted with his paws to stay
at home, warm.
The second day
I heard a tap at the door,
faint, as though gloved,
but I was doing something important
and did not respond.
There might have been more
taps but as I say,
I was busy that day.
The third day the garden was still full
of lumps of white,
car-shaped, pot-shaped, shrub-shaped.
might have ended as a cat-shaped lump
if he had sat on the doormat or a stump,
but I let him in.
He shook drops of snow
(probably caught from a gate or rail)
like a liquid cat-herine wheel
then pushed a damp determined
forehead against my hand
When I looked
outside there was a line
of paw prints, from his house
Can anyone tell me how to get WordPress to accept line breaks between verses? I have edited and edited until I’m blue in the face and eventually settled for lines of dots. It only behaves like this when it senses poetry!!