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Defeating COVID-19 Together~ By Evelyn Crawford Rosser and Felecia Theune

6/30/2020

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The intruder creeps in, like a thief in the night
Undetected unless symptoms come to light

Dry cough and aches
Bluish lips and face
Shortness of breath
Pains in the chest

Nearly every nation invaded by coronavirus
Princes and paupers reduced to same status

Some survive.
Some die.
Some alone.
Some at home.

Face-to-face interaction gives way
To social distance and shelter in place

Some deny.
Some cry.
Some stray.
Some pray.

Thank you, grazie, gracious, merci
For responding courageously

Doctors and nurses
Grocery store workers
City bus drivers
Essential providers
 
Unarmed soldiers for humanity
Left vulnerable by lack of PPE

Some infected.
Some dejected.
Some hope.
Some cope.

Our heroes need us to be heroes too
Defeating COVID-19 depends on what WE do

Give generously
Serve selflessly
Unplug physically
Connect virtually

Delay death for some other day
Choose to save a life today



Author Bio:
Please note that this poem was co-written by a mother and a daughter unable to visit each other because of the coronavirus pandemic.

Evelyn Crawford Rosser, a retired Language Arts teacher, currently resides in Danielsville, Georgia. She has published two novels: Too Late for Tears and Dancing Naked Under Palm Trees. She has kept a journal since childhood. Excerpts from her journal writings have appeared in Life Notes: Writings by Contemporary Black Women; Changes: Readings for Writers; and Celebration: Visions and Voices of the African Diaspora. Her daughter, Felecia Theune, is a Learning Specialist at the University of Miami and more versed in writing papers on conducted sociological research. She is tapping into her inner voice and looking forward to more mother-daughter creative collaborations.
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What Has Become Important~ By Mo Lynn Stoycoff

6/30/2020

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Words. All of these texts and posts
are the string between the cans
moving us into each other

We keep our hands in our pockets
and reach instead with words
and the art of letter writing is revived
and the world's heart craves story.

Art. Strangers to drama put on plays
on rooftops and backyard decks
and dance is homeschooled.

The artists we have drowned
surface their fearless voices
and release truth in primal waves
the way no politician ever could.

Numbers. Numbers that curve and bend
that ease or panic our minds,
numbers that divine our fears

and host the world's response:
these numbers, these charts
cut through the static and noise
and display the colors of our grief.


Author Bio:
Mo Lynn Stoycoff is a writer and visual artist whose poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Poetry Now, The Tule Review, The American Journal of Poetry, Harvest International Quaranzine, Speckled Trout Review and the anthologies Di-Verse-City and 100 Poems. Mo works in the performing arts and lives in Central California.
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Look Into My Eyes~ By Judie Holcomb-Pack

6/30/2020

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Look beyond my mask into my eyes. Do you see me?
Look at what my eyes are saying …
     I am scared,
          I am lonely,
               I am hurting,
                   I am hungry,
                        I am homeless.
I am strong,
     I am hopeful,
          I am proud,
               I am blessed,
                    I am your neighbor.
I am reaching out to you.
    My invisible touch
          Seeks the connection
               That unites us as community.
Look deep into my eyes and you will see
     The message I have written on my heart:
Dear friends, I love you.
     Love me back.



Author Bio:
This poem was written as a response to viewing portraits of people on the streets of Winston-Salem wearing masks to protect them from COVID-19.

Judie Holcomb-Pack wrote her first poem when she was 10 years old. Although she doesn’t consider herself a poet as she prefers short story or nonfiction prose, she writes poems when she experiences feelings that must be expressed in poetry. She is the associate editor of a weekly newspaper for the African American community where she lives. She is a board member of Winston-Salem Writers.

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Dangling~ By Jeanne Radigan

6/29/2020

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Here I sit, confined by my own four walls
With no protection
Staring at you through a glass screen,
More vulnerable than ever
As the virus and death rage on,
And incensed protesters march forward
Demanding justice
That may never come.

The world crumbles while we exchange
Our hollow words.
Can you sense how afraid I am of being afraid?
Does it transcend the glass?
It’s like I’m dangling from a cliff without a rope.
You say give it time, it will pass,
Too bad I have nothing but time
To sit with fear and worry
As I ponder this tortured world.

I long for the old days
In the safety of your intimate walls
Where mine were the biggest problems to consume me
As I craftily avoided your eyes,
And you could follow where they landed.
If I teetered near the cliff’s edge,
You were there, just close enough
To toss me that rope.


Author Bio:
Jeanne is a mother, wife and middle school teacher who loves writing, singing, playing music and spending time outdoors with friends and family.
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Can't Get No Peace~ By Keijhanae Freeman

6/26/2020

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Rest can't get no rest
Peace can't get no peace
Justice, is that even a thing?
When will this ever end?
Ever end you say
Never end I say
Looked at as animals
Beaten as animals
Feared because they know better
We are better
We just have to do better
To be better
To overcome together
Our lives matter
Just as much as the next
So take my hand
Take a stand
Be a man
Be a woman
With no fear
Justice will be here


Author Bio:
Keijhanae Freeman is 18-years-old. Moved by the images of police brutality, she will be voting
November 3rd, 2020.
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wabi-sabi~ By Mickey J. Corrigan

6/25/2020

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When there is no metaphor for it
and the futures market
in conservative and liberal outrage
peaks and spills over,
everyone ugly and loud
behind cloth masks
like bank robbers,
you decide to give
zero fucks

you turn to the book stacks
read up on your history
the buildup to World War Whatevs
thick novels that made people weep
back when your parents'
grandparents
fetched their water from a frozen
stream, clean and fast-running
in the midst of wild winter
storms

while outside your cozy, safe
well-lit home, your glamping tent
your dented SUV
little crocuses push themselves
out of the pale dirt, stems wobbly
weak from lack of anything
meaningful

in the devastated soil
of the earth that holds you
gently, gently
like a new blossom
like you matter.


Author Bio:
Originally from Boston, Mickey J. Corrigan writes Florida noir with a dark humor. Novels include Project XX about a school shooting (Salt Publishing, UK, 2017) and What I Did for Love, a spoof of Lolita (Bloodhound Books, 2019). Kelsay Books recently published the poetry chapbook the disappearing self.

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The Ship of State~ By Laury A. Egan

6/24/2020

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The ship leaves port, its long silver sinuous wake
stretches to where the tiny white city lights blink,
soon to be subsumed by the ever-increasing distance. 
 
Fog comes. Hovers over the shoulders of the ship,
covers with its soft, cold intervention, erasing all I see;
the land behind me has ceased to be a visible place.
 
The ship moves on. Gusts smite my face, the wind
whines laments of longing and the steel rigging sings.
The foghorn releases a deep-throated bellow; the sound   
vibrates along the hollow highways of my bones. 
 
No one is on the ship. Deck chairs are empty, their canvas
seats coated with the sea’s saline breath. No footsteps tap
on passageways. Cabins lights are extinguished.
On hawsers, lifeboats sway, never to be lowered.
 
Hour by hour, the days cloaked as nights, the ship sails
away into the vast darkness, shot like an aimless, mighty arrow.
No captain commands, no helmsman steers, the anchor chains are cut.
We shudder on, the ship and I, far from everything, from everyone.
 
As always, on land, others have others. They sleep together,
snug in warm houses. They speak and are heard, they touch and
are touched; to them “family” is not an irrelevant word.
 
And, as always, I am alone. A course set in youth, but now
this solitary state is state-decreed. No longer can I employ
the distractions of small social interactions, the busyness of errands.
This is more of what came before; it is therefore all too familiar.
 
Should this ship arrive somewhere, I wonder: will anyone be there?
 

Author Bio:
Laury A. Egan is the author of five novels and a collection: "The Outcast Oracle," "Fog and Other Stories," "Jenny Kidd," "Fabulous! An Opera Buffa," "A Bittersweet Tale," and "The Ungodly Hour." Four limited-edition poetry volumes have been published: "Snow, Shadows, a Stranger;" "Beneath the Lion’s Paw;" "The Sea & Beyond;" and "Presence & Absence." Member of Authors Guild. Website: www.lauryaegan.com
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Silence In A Panic~ By Olivia Giorgio

6/23/2020

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People rush in with carts
grabbing what they can off the shelf
Noises of wheels and shuffling feet echo

News reporters constantly give updates
The bars for those that are sick go higher and higher
The ones I care about go silent as they are forced to isolate

I can’t hear their laughter right now
I can’t hear their voices right now
I can’t feel happiness from their presence right now

People rush in with carts
grabbing what they can off the shelf
Noises of the wheels and shuffling feet echo

is all I ever hear now…
because I have no other choice, but to be here in the panic

I want to see and feel the presence of those I care for
Every day there is silence in the panic
The silence is filled with uncertainty

Uncertainty of when I’ll be able to go back to school
Uncertainty for the families that are struggling
Wondering if they are gonna make it
Uncertainty if the day where homeless people see a roof over their heads
Will ever come…

I want the world’s heart rate to slow down
to a slow and steady beat
I want the world to gain control again

I want the silence to be filled with comfort, not panic
The sound of carts and shuffling feet fade into the background


Author Bio:
Olivia Giorgio is a 19-year old college freshman at Mount Mary University in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. She is majoring in art therapy. Besides writing, she is interested in music and art. She is a gifted violinist, guitarist, and plays the ukulele for fun. Olivia is autistic, but hasn't let that stop her - instead, she uses her autistic sensitivity in her work in the arts. Her parents, Michael and Kathie Giorgio, are both writers as well.

Olivia wrote this poem in response to being an "essential worker" - a cashier in a retail store, and to having to come home from college because of COVID-19. Her school is teaching online for now. Olivia looks forward to going back.
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Homage to Those Who Serve (in a viral age)~ By Frank De Canio

6/22/2020

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Forget the knight in armor at a list
who advertises daunting jousting skill.
I yield devotion to the scientist
in labs, and health providers with the will
to take up arms against Corona’s scourge.
No mere medieval damsels in distress,
our nurses storm the battlements to purge
the pathogen with cavalier noblesse
oblige. Their foe deploys our friendly arms
as turncoat soldiers serve as breeding ground
to pass on its incendiary harms
pandemically. Nor can its source be found.
As such our health providers chaperone
potential victims into quarantine -
removed from front lines of the battle zone,
in lieu of an emergency vaccine.
And still our white-masked warriors advance,
as fearlessly as cavaliers of yore,
without the latter’s rapier and lance.
Their weapons are a single-minded corps
of industry, endurance, cotton scrubs,
proficiency and antiseptic rubs.



Author Bio:
Born & bred in New Jersey, Frank De Canio worked in New York City. He loves music from Bach to Amy Winehouse. Shakespeare is his consolation, writing his hobby. Poets Frank likes include Dylan Thomas, Allen Ginsberg, and Sylvia Plath. He also attends a Café Philo every other week in Lower Manhattan.
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Just Because~ By K. Gregg Boles

6/18/2020

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The air was filled with a question
oh do not ask what is it
we’re not allowed to make a visit
We need to restart the machine
hit the throttle I scream
While I wait I hear the random click
of one keyboard
So much now depends upon the red pill bottle
glazed with tears
beside the slate gray laptop


Author Bio:
K. Gregg Boles is a career advisor currently working from home.

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