This is not the year
for adventurous rambling
for party-down fun
for braving new experiences
for exploring new ideas
This is the year
for settling in
for warming up
for holding close
for safe hidey holes from which
to weather the barrage.
poem- like ducks December 7, 2020
On the outside:
calm, controlled, confident.
Beneath the surface:
quivering, quaking, confused.
How many stress-based illnesses
tension fueled troubles
surface in our bodies and minds?
How hard do we fight
to carry on?
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- 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.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
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-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.
poem- staggering November 17, 2020
when the students have left,
around the building:
faces crease with concern
bodies droop with fatigue
eyes anguished.
How long can the facade hold
when everyone’s
barely upright?
poem- Covering my ears November 2, 2020
la la la la la
I can’t hear you.
Shouting louder?
I’m not impressed yet.
Media black out:
Ahhhh.
(It’s better than a spa).
Writing- the pause September 22, 2020
For some, the pandemic has offered a blessing of time to write that they’ve longed for, and they have taken advantage, holing up at home and writing that novel that’s always been at the back of their minds.
For some, the stress of managing new complications and layers of deadly danger in their workplace or among their family members has shut down all notions of creative expression. They’re in survival mode, and all the stories that were in process have sputtered to a stop.
I’m in both camps. I’ve managed to keep writing poetry, but larger projects eluded me. Added to the pandemic stress, my 90 year old mom broke her hip in April, went through rehab and was released back home, but then she passed away in June. I am executor of her estate, and the magnitude of work required to clean up a life-time of possessions from her house was dramatic.
So here I am, looking at the last four months of 2020. I had a goal to submit 20 times in 2020, and so far, I’ve sent out 9 submissions. The first 8 submissions were in Jan/Feb, to give you an idea of how completely the pandemic froze my world!
The pause.
I just submitted the 9th thing a few days ago. It’s a promise to myself that it’s time to dig out from the pressure. I am pondering ways I can salvage my goal. I aim to spend some time with my unpublished projects and look for potential homes for them. Is it time to try a mass submission drive? Shall I find 11 completed pieces in my computer and send each somewhere? Contests? Journals? Magazines?
Yes.
There are 15 weeks left in 2020. It’s time to find my lists of ‘where to publish’ (Writers Market, here I come!). If I take a week to find projects in the computer, I can submit one thing a week and maybe even beat my goal!
How about you? Have you been struggling to meet your writing goals amid all the stresses of 2020? Will you be making any changes in the final months of the year to achieve your goals?
Do you have any recommendations of good places to submit?
