Poets, Writers, Songwriters, and Artists Document the two Pandemics: Covid-19 and Confronting Racism in America and around the world.

I apologize but some of the earlier posts, poems, healing thoughts on the pandemic of COVID 19 and the Pandemic of racism were lost. Here is a new post. 

NEW YEAR’S EVE 2020

 

Cowering into the New Year

Heaviness compressing everything

The air that I breath feels thick

My lungs filling only part way

Fearful I might inhale devastation

 

Tight chest and scratchy throat

Is this the beginning of my demise?

Diligent with my mask

Did I fail to wash my hands?

Was I too close to the shopper in front of me?

 

Afraid of my own body

My hands convey deadly particles

Biting my fingernails

Rubbing my itchy eyes

Thoughtless activities now lethal

 

Offspring yearn to hug young and old

Rejecting them weakens my heart

Isolation from them like blood letting

My elderly status a constant concern for them

Terrified my mother may succumb if I am careless

 

Anti-maskers flaunt their carelessness

Too weak to cooperate with the masses

Leaving the vulnerable to their lonely end

Anxiety and uncertainty forceful inhibitors for the rest of us

Cowering into the New Year.

 

Respectfully submitted by

Andrew Laufer

 

© Andrew Laufer, 2020. All rights reserved.

 

Todd Boyd

God's Man at Poetry Park

God’s Man at Poetry Park.

He stands alone, In a long, dreary colored overcoat, like one of the Earp boys.

Arms outstretched, as in opposition to the sunrise.

He’s come like Poe’s Raven to warn “John 16, Corinthians 12,”

the words tumble from his mother tongue, over and over again.

Quoteth curses against the worldly poets verses,

Carved by acetyline torches heat and rusty steel plates, 

like remnants from Hiroshima’s atomic fate,

or a remainder of the math of Dachau’s infamous gates.

He stares blindly fixed ahead, his metaphrase voice spews forth,

“John 16, Corinthians 12” he screams to empty ear,

“Jesus is leaving us and not being heard,

He Will Return as lightning and thunder, His wrath cast upon this earth,”

Nothing like these Words of my best songs, 

Always about leaving something behind,

Going where I want to go without any heavenly adversity.

The shortest distance between two lines,

They say with History,

There is only repetition, but never remorse,

No earthly changing, just death’s life-long discourse,

With this worlds sinners

Each of us lives alone throughout these temporal, trying times,

Never to be repeated or second chances

Like a snowflake, we live such short, unique lives,

A funhouse of smoke and mirrors.

“I say unto you,

These things I have spoken to you,” he continues,

Written out to eulogize, as permanent as I can make it,

(Hard steel)

“That you may not be scandalized.”

Otherwise, let the End begin now,

The four horsemen and the Beast are set loose,

From their restraints of Faith, Hope, and Charity,

Merciless, they hate the sinners but love the sins,

Dandelion seeds float like micro -parasols in upon a breeze,

As angels they come onto him, He sings their praises,

Of the Glorious Bloodshed to come, satisfied

“John 16, Corinthians 12,” he screams into the setting sun.

All day long he stood there and yet no one else comes to listen.

The world is busy watching a man murdered before their eyes,

John 16, Corinthians 12