What is this woodblock in my chest
beyond kilos and pounds to tons (or tonnes)?
Quivering, it vibrates my spine,
my foggy head,
all’s aching weight,
anguish and dread.
poem-heavy December 4, 2020
poem-ribbon December 3, 2020
Tonight’s sunset
is a thin strip of pink ribbon
in a vast blue sky
.
One wispy cloud
reflects the fading sun:
a sliver of bright beauty
to stab devouring darkness.
poem- pandemic life December 2, 2020
It is a wearisome year
Each new day weighs heavier
than yesterday.
Poem- choking December 1, 2020
Tonight amid the Christmas decorations
grief is hanging on our tree;
loss pummels
hopefulness.
Sadness hollows out my chest,
crushes my shoulders,
lodges in my throat.
Longing overwhelms.
There is no comfort
here, only more memories
of what is gone
who is gone
when is gone
where is gone.
Tonight is too much to bear,
so I’ll climb into bed and
trust tomorrow brings
solace and that much lauded
peace of the season.
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poem- 10 hours later November 30, 2020
fuzzy tongue fumbles around words
brain, caught in clouds, reaches for fleeing thoughts
feet stumble, avoid tumbling
body rocking, skin tingling
when the doctor says, ‘these pills will be out of your system
in four or five hours,’ here is double time paradox,
tenacious effect.
poem- the end November 28, 2020
such a long time
in the making.
planned so long ago.
waiting.
injury
healing
tiny steps
tiny steps
tiny steps
make the journey
so
long
but here we are at
the
end.
.
.
.
August 2018 Nikolette Jones and I bantered out the plans for 3 Nikki Knox stories that I would write by August 2019. Unfortunately, August 28 I suffered a brain injury that meant time off work, therapy, and a long road of recovery. I have been dabbling for 2 years with the 4th book, and it is FINALLY finished! It is two years late, but it’s here at last! Nikolette is busy with the art and there will be a new, lovely Nikki Knox 4 book compilation out in the next few months! Yay! It’s so good to have a brain that’s working again.
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.
poem-shared November 27, 2020
It starts with a shoemaker:
distinctive shoes
loud shoes
not for hiding shoes.
It grows with friends:
shared shoe styles
shared eccentricity
shared creativity.
It rests in comfort:
not alone.
Celebrate unique soles
together.
.
.
.
My Nikki Knox collaborator, Nikolette, also a teacher, and I are feeling rather stressed these days as the second wave of the pandemic strikes with rising numbers in schools. We are consoling each other by wearing the same Fluevog shoes this week (we have several pairs in common). Though we are 800 km apart, we are in each other’s hearts and soles. 🙂
poem-the dog peeks out of the blankets November 26, 2020
The alarm. Snooze hit five times.
The feet unsteady.
The eyes blur the room.
Shoulders ache.
Ankle twinge.
Tired. So tired.
A good day to stay inside.
Light a fire.
Bake something to take
pandemic weariness away,
But the mask is on
Happy face
the work day
awaits.
poem-letter from the war office November 25, 2020
The first message is a head’s up.
Someone in the building has tested Covid positive and is off to quarantine.
“You will be contacted by an official in the health authority is there is potential that you were in contact with someone while they were contagious. Carry on until then.”
Potential: having or showing the capacity to become or develop into something in the future.
You know, like how two people in a building have the potential to pass one another, greet one another, use the same facilities, sit in the same chairs, use the same keyboards, sit next to one another at lunch, even though you don’t know them and they don’t know you. You’d identify them how?
I think the more accurate message would be “You will be contacted by an official in the health authority is there is likelihood that you were in sustained contact with someone while they were contagious.”
Let’s be real. Potential is everywhere. Give us the hope of less likelihood!
Several hundred people wait in our masks with bated breath, wondering who will be the ‘lucky’ winner of a lottery worthy of Shirley Jackson.
Pandemic adventures as we attempt to surf the second wave.
poem- Yay! It’s Friday! November 24, 2020
First thought upon waking–
elation.
With consciousness–
crash.
Tuesday.
.
Pandemic tension
daily trauma
viral hide and seek
Trench warfare,
wearing us down.
Dreaming of weekend leave,
Before the return to mud.
