Poetry
Connected Through COVID
Together, here we are,
Though locked up, all alone.
Connected around the world,
While isolated at home.
Six feet apart, a distance of which we must maintain,
To keep the coronavirus from inducing such pain.
“Stay calm, stay safe, stay healthy!” they say,
But all I can do is sit here in dismay.
Look up at the night sky to see thousands of stars overhead,
Each one of them maintaining their distance,
afraid of their deathbed.
Times are tough, but we shall not make such a pother,
Because I know, we will all fight through this,
with one another.
Path to Peace
How must we stay silent?
As the world’s vengeance reigns–so violent?
Protests raging, loved ones passing, a hope to one day be free.
And be enlightened to what we all must see.
Where color and gender don’t matter
Unlike the dreams of many children and teens, which shatter.
The sight of sorrow, the touch of pain, the sound of fear,
All reflect in a face, as it sheds a tear.
The time to walk hand-in-hand through our thoughts
And bring this world back together before it rots.
But we are the new age—Generation Z.
And we will find the path to peace, as time with love is the key.
When It All Came Down
She was an average height girl, says the size of her black leggings, lying in the laundry bin; a neat girl too, says the pristine condition of her desk in the master bedroom; and a musically talented person, say the violin and old, rusty
flute on the floor; a girl who loved to relax, and could sleep for 13 hours straight
if given the opportunity, say the warm blankets covering the
bed.
A dog lived with her, says the always-full plate of Pedigree kibble, and bowl of water; An older woman lived with them, say the grayish strands of hair found in
the hairbrush and on the bed sheets;
An older man lived with them too, says the long array of office attire hanging in
the closet and worn-out size 9 men’s shoes standing in the
garage.
But something changed as life came crashing down. Something changed, and the girl’s desk and backpack were now cluttered with trash; the violin and flute patiently waited to be played, say the instrument cases collecting dust in the walk-in closet;
Something changed and the girl rid herself of self-care says the pillow, deprived of being relevant. Something changed… and the house had lost its color like the girl had lost hers
too.
Special Friend
That one special friend
Whom you appreciate more
They’re kind, affectionate, humorous
One you wouldn’t dare ignore.
An ideal match for each other
As if it were meant to be.
However, nothing stays perfect
And over time you will see.
A whole new side is revealed
Of your friend, the people around.
The hurtful words and feelings
The sadness … so profound.
It is hard to lose that special friend
Who was always so admiring.
But it is time to go your separate ways
As this friendship is now expiring.
A Gift From Heaven
Wings of those of an angel’s
So soft and elegant, quietly fluttering in the spring breeze.
With small, golden halos resting upon its delicate surface,
Spreading an enchanting glow, shining from deep within.
Like a white, lonely snowflake
The last from winter, falling from the blissful sky to the earth.
A gift to those below
Sent from the heavens to deliver nature’s true beauty.
Oh, beautiful butterfly
May you rest on my shoulder and watch the people from the sky
BEWARE!
Dangerous black and blue waves crash
On the shore, roaring with anger
Tiny crabs trying to escape the madness
Hit with crystal-like droplets and dragged back to sea
By the thunderous waters
An isolated seagull standing on a damp rock searches for food
But is scared away by the rolling waves
The moon is a flashlight illuminating the icy waters
The smell of salt leaves an apprehensive feeling in the air
“CLARA” it writes in the sand
Footprints lead away—the last ever seen
The ocean, desolated by the unresponsiveness,
Subsides and goes into hiding
Write me a Poem
Pen to paper—I write these words
Line by line, the sentences form
The words so melodic sing like birds
The punctuations surround the sentences, keeping them warm.
Paragraphs span across the page—o’ so long
The Ink spills out creating squiggles and swirls
A favorite of the young and those among
The letters formed are as beautiful as pearls
My hard work is a waste as the ink bottle spills
I start fresh and reach for my other quills
No way to erase it, just like my shadow
The paper is a new canvas, Like a sheet of white snow