Under the Sun Out here under the sun, construction workers in the street with their loud equipment, making sure the sewers are in tip-top shape. The line outside the bank keeps growing, everyone stands on their social distancing marks. Meanwhile, the politicians clamor to open up the country, while nurses and doctors report the hospitals are at capacity with no vaccine ready to beat this disease. If you value your life and the life of others, the medical expert say to stay home. I tend to believe the medical experts over the political Vidiots, who play Russian roulette with our lives.
Poems From Isolation May 2020
Sean Cho A.
Lind Grant-Oyeye
Cassandra Arcaro
Meghan Kylie
Nancy Austin
Jim Landwehr
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
Jackie Langetieg
CL Bledsoe
Jessica McDermott
Jan Chronister
Michele Mekel
Asia Colonna
Chelsea Jo Murphy
Victoria Crawford
Drew Pisarra
Jeanne DeLarm
Audrey J. Ross
Kathy Earle
Saharsh Satheesh
Poem and Cover Photo: Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal facebook.com/luis.c.berriozabal madswirl.com/author/lberriozabal
Don’t get up. Outside that door there’s an entire world that wants us dead. Cacti store century old flash floods in the soft of their arms: I believe in drought and the unpuncturable silver tongues of desert lizards. How much sad- ness can I blame on history, I’ve been unburying my father’s fathers for years now and the clouds still won’t get fat with rain for me. We could scatter out belly fat in the sand for the vultures, cut off their wings and pretend we aren’t dying. Leave your shove. I’ll take off my shirt and dab your gut wound. Lodge our house key in the soft of your foot: when they find our bodies they’ll come back to our room and know we had nothing to leave. Close your eyes and take me by the elbow. This world has left us to become whatever we like. Yes. I’m terrified too. Sean Cho A. Twitter - @phlat_soda IG - @phlat_soda
Coronavirus Courtship There are nights I long for anxiety sex, for intimate encounters fueled by tension and fear, yet the reality of quarantine is this: I’ll have to try to do without. Oh, phantom lover, bye! You were never one whom I could count on. By the time I thought you up, you were gone. That said, I’ve become someone’s COVID wife. Vows were made by text; our honeymoon’s on… ‘though we sleep in separate beds. Hey, that’s life!
Drew Pisarra Twitter - mistermysterio IG - mistermysterio Tumblr - megacrashcourse
Magical Thinking Previously published in Verse Virtual
Long held dream hunger streams like starlight on a solitary earth: A room of my own to read and write alone explore words unknown Fantasy of a forest retreat beneath my feet nature’s path to meet the hush of grace A age of paradigm shift imposes on borrowed time of my old age, a viral stage My room, my fate my garden encircles while at my gate, my son leaves groceries Desired space to write lines laid down to isolate: through glass, I see a wandering pink moon
Thirty Seconds of Calm Camels plod slo-mo Whales leap in royal blue waves: Thank you CNN
Victoria Crawford
A thousand whys Why should we speak of the coroner in the middle of spring or speak of summer with blinds Carefully drawn before July comes Why must we imagine daffodils in sleeping bags or sleep with bags of chips for marigold Why must we get hitched to the first movie on television and call it ‘Love at first glance� or see the sights of Venice through eyes of old photographs from drugstore picture albums The Coroner is not a crooner made for pleasing ears but we will dance in silence, awaiting a new tune.
Lind Grant-Oyeye
Pandemic Distances We are told to adhere to social distancing. Six feet! Two meters! It keeps germs and human contact at bay.
We must wear masks if in public. Cover your nose and mouth! This protection shields from contagion and the reading of hum
We should shelter in place to flatten the curve. “Be together alone,” they quip! But it’s truly no different than normal, when we’re alone thou
Michele Mekel
man emotion, alike.
ugh together.
Baskin Robbins It wasn’t long ago an itching in the ear meant death, which is fine as long as everyone can go out for ice cream, after. My neighbors have been stoned since the birth of their baby, who I suppose has been stoned, too. I can smell it in everything, the little death to tide them over. Nothing is anyone’s fault unless they choose it to be, which is another way of saying free will, which falls away with a complex enough investigation. I’m not supposed to say I understand what it is to be away, to wish to be away from every moment. Bourbon is cheaper than a casket. These days, weed grows in the streets. You can see the cracks in the sidewalk where it’s poked through.
Things I’m Going To Do When I Can Do Things, in no particular order: -Get a tattoo of Tattoo from Fantasy Island, probably not on my face. -Train a squirrel to vacuum in a little French maid’s costume. -Start going to the fancier Dollar Tree that’s a little further away. -Buy all those funny tee shirts I’m always seeing advertised, then sweat in them a bunch and sell them to fetishists. -Travel...to the couch to watch TV. -Buy a new set of tires...and set them on fire right outside the door of my neighbor’s apartment the next time they play music too loud. -Maybe buy some new socks. -Invest in sex robots, which are clearly the future. -Finally watch Gilmore Girls. -Find happiness and contentment...probably on my couch.
CL Bledsoe https://medium.com/@howtoeven https://medium.com/@clbledsoe
Don’t Want To Go Out From This I don’t want to go out from this Virus. Let me go another way. Let a double decker bus crash right into me. This light does not want to go out suffering, unable to breathe on a death bed being saved for someone else that will succumb to this Virus as well. Let a ten-ton truck smash me like a pancake. Scoop me up when it’s all over. Don’t let the Virus get me. I fought cancer and I don’t want to go that way either. Make it fast, make it quick, and painless.
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal facebook.com/luis.c.berriozabal madswirl.com/author/lberriozabal
Days of Isolation in the Time of Pandemic Anger at this situation with politics. It’s us against them without any intelligent thought. All that matters is which side you’re on not what is best for the world. I wake up each morning, usually around 3 a.m. Depression licking at my mind like flames reminding me that we are lost and losing more. This is because I am hopeless in hoping. The night is long—peeing is the excuse at 1: a.m. bladder control at 3. Finally giving up and opening my computer to check the new numbers, the deaths or the hungry and desperate for our help.
Fatigue reins overall. The fatigue of being alone with this new world of pandemic. The lack of hugging someone or being hugged when life seems too much to bear. The constant barrage of the unknown ending, our lack of al
ll.
Jackie Langetieg jackiella.com
A 2020 Romance Do you still want me over? No. Let’s play it safe. An Amazon package delivers you gifts, Comfort items to pass uncomfortable times. Work is sending me out. Let me make you a mask. We embrace for the first time in weeks, Hands held tight on stone porch steps. Come tuck me in. I would if I could. Video games are the new dinner dates, Wake-up calls the new morning alarm. I miss you lots, beeb. I miss your cute face. The days bleed into weeks and months, Pixel hearts lighting the distance between us.
Audrey J. Ross dragonisticartwork.wordpress.com Twitter - @dragonistic Instagram - @dragonisticartwork
Black On Black I’ve been wearing a lot of black lately while it hasn’t been a conscious decision I can’t help but wondering if inside there is a mourning afoot a sadness that cloaks my world driving me to dark hued fabric I’ve been wearing a lot of black lately black coat, black jeans, black cloud when I walk I garner stares from the picture windows of shut-ins and random thrill seekers in cars pushing the edges of their safe zone I’ve been wearing a lot of black lately perhaps a manifestation of my mood a sadness that starts each day in the confinement forced upon me by a virus that floats invisibly on the breeze daring me to wear my colors
Jim Landwehr jimlandwehr.com Twitter - @jimlandwehr61 IG - @jlandwehr61
Tempus Fugit Night to day, and day to night, and night to day, ceaseless, till the sun may rise, and the moon shines bright, boundless, from the twinkling of the stars, to the glissading of the clouds, timeless, he could talk on forever, sleep can come later, but when he is conversing, tempus fugit.
Saharsh Satheesh
Love In A Terrarium My love for you does not exist under a glass dome, sealed tight at sharp-bottomed edges. It moves, sways, fern fronds fed when touched by you. Nourished, urged to produce chlorophyll from your vibes. I release mist and mix it in your air. I move an elbow, and you shift away and return, not too far away, steps in a dance of a close space. Interchange. Leaf touching leaf.
Jeanne DeLarm LinkedIn - Jeanne DeLarm-Neri Facebook - Jeanne DeLarm Author Twitter - @jdelarm
ANYBODY’S GUESS Five weeks ago, everything changed Five weeks ago, our lives rearranged. Everything stopped, no practices or games Even school closed, nothing was the same. We can’t see friends, except on Zoom When will we be allowed in the same room? Teaching from home has a big learning curve My neighbors still have playdates, they have some nerve. On the positive side, my car still has gas With no place to go, forever it may last. Lots of family time, that is a plus Enjoying meals together, not being rushed. When will it end? It’s anybody’s guess. When it’s over, will we do more with less? What will return? What will remain? We’re doing what we can just to stay sane. All that matters, even when we are freed We are together, that’s all I need.
Kathy Earle Twitter - @kkearle7 IG - @kkearle7
Hope Blooms Silent trees, moonlight so bright Crickets sing on a warm Spring night Flowers still grow up from the dirt The sunflower blooms its wild petals Reaching out towards the evening sky The night was unexpected Dark and alone, she found herself A single flower stood high Sprouting love through her petals As they expanded beyond the gardens’ wall Days pass waiting to bloom like flowers Rising and growing in the sun like towers The journey lies in a single moment of time Soon enough, the world will align
Cassandra Arcaro Twitter - @cassie__arcaro IG - @cassiearcaro Wattpad - @carcaro97
A Viral Easter It’s easy to begin to forget a beginning. Citizens paint rainbows, and station teddy bears in windows, while a novel member of a virus clan unrolls its sea-monster arms to catch us, eat us, its terrified prawns. I watch a Great Courses lecture illustrate the Black Death’s 1347 journey. A kraken swims the seas. Sailors, rats, and fleas leap from its arms, springboard off its pointed tips. Easter’s highlight: grown-up children separate as game-show contestants on Hollywood Squares, each their own star broadcast from their own city, locked into their own chamber. My daughter, three thousand miles away from me, enthrones a plush octopus, which inspects and monitors her neighborhood. It drapes its fluffy tentacles over Pandemic and other science fiction titles.
Jeanne DeLarm LinkedIn - Jeanne DeLarm-Neri Facebook - Jeanne DeLarm Author Twitter - @jdelarm
Making Soup with Yo-Yo Ma I bathe the last of the lentils, slip in spices as if I can get more, course cut carrots, eyes moist, chop celery, onions, air cello between stirs. Yo-yo plays The Swan, I go to the window, see buds on aspen, morning cloaks, carefree. Red squirrels chase each other, unaffected. They don’t know. I shelter in, make soup, keep it to a simmer. My son calls, tells of his job, a shortage of gloves. His sister FaceTimes the baby, applied for a leave to keep them safe. All our kids have essential jobs. As a girl I dutifully watched The Wizard of OZ each Thanksgiving, hands over eyes helpless when music cued the fiendish flying monkeys to swoop over the land. This menacing music overtakes Yo-yo’s calming concerto as I try not to dwell on Dad stranded in Arizona at age ninety-five. The carefully controlled soup boils over; I run to rescue it.
Nancy Austin amazon.com/author/nancyaustin.poet www.wfop.org/member-pages/#/nancy-austin-1
Balconi
Balconies (translated)
Calce sporgente fluttuante a metà penisole di libertà. Con passione furente ogni città mostra la sua moralità. Pentole che sbattono, persone che cantano, strumenti che suonano, uccelli che odono. Teatro di saggezza, di solidarietà. Palcoscenico di speranza, di resistenza. Simbolo di un’Italia che va.
Protruding cement half floating peninsulas of freedom. With furious passion every city shows its morality. Pots slamming, people singing, instruments playing, birds hearing. Theater of wisdom, of solidarity. Stage of hope, of resistance. Symbol of an Italy that go
Asia Colonna IG - @dexter_ciuffo.rosso and @_dex_art_ facebook.com/asia.colonna.39
oes.
Just Another Easter Morning We don’t celebrate Easter anymore so I sew masks for my son and his wife, pack them, mail from our rural box. He can wear it when he walks the dog, rides his bike— his job work from home now. I take comfort in the fact that this fabric will hug his face, wonder how long it will be before I can do the same.
Jan Chronister
creating in quarantine
while our airplanes are harnessed to the ground while our boarders are locked closed and our buses are not while our leaders plead no resistance as our celebrations are held back and as we hear in horror sounds of the stock market crash while we practice social distance while we spend another day alone while we watch our world from smartphone screens and gl our seas and our skies and our earth starts to breathe deeper breaths we’ve given them in a century
Chelsea Jo Murphy IG - @cjm_poetry Cashapp - $chelseajmurphy
around
lass windows
Mindlessly wandering Mindlessly wandering The emptiness is essential; Vital to this lack of vitality Empty, hollow, vacant They tell us to stay home, but is anyone really here? Does anyone live in the empty houses? God. Sometimes it feels like a ghost town The lights are on, but is anyone home? Or are we all mindlessly wandering, Exploring, opening, analyzing, obsessing Sifting through the contents of our own minds? Only to find As the time continues to pass That we really aren’t much company For ourselves, after all.
Meghan Kylie IG - @meghankyliemakesmusic facebook.com/MeghanKylieMusic Venmo - @Megan-Barrett-93
On March 30 when FEMA announced it was moving refrigerator trucks to NYC to hold bodies, and trump lied about being the “most tested” nation, instead of closing the window I decided to leave it open and listen to the sounds of normalcy: the delivery truck idling in the parking lot and workers hammering against a quiet morning. I heard a car honk, a garage open, and a morning dove’s coo-coo-coo, more like a mourning for the dead, on a day like today, hunkered inside, sewing another mask, but the clear, blue sky came anyway and with it the sound of humming – another human quite alive and loud enough Jessica McDermott for me to hear. IG - jess.colleen.mcd IG/Twitter - @lineriderpress
Poems From Isolation The poems and photos within this zine are snapshots of life during the COVID-19 pandemic. Many of our poems come from cities across the United States, and some have crossed oceans from Thailand and Italy. They tell us that, though our experiences are unique, we are all affected by this global event. Thank you to everyone who contributed to this project. Our work will be a lasting tribute to these very strange times.