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By Susan Carman
To Truth
Is it fear
That makes us turn from you
Retreat Into ourselves
Like a cowering dog
Head lowered, ears flat?
Forgive us
You are like water
Cupped to parched mouths
Like breath
On an airless night
Starlight bending
To illuminate the corners
Of our dreams.
I implore you
Refrain from dying.
How easy it would be
To let you drift away
Our attention elsewhere
Like a cat grooming itself, absorbed
Only with its tongue’s own path.
Forgive us our negligence
You matter
Like water
Like breath
Like morning as it breaks
Over the hills
Scattering seeds
Along this, our curve of time.
Stay.
By Matt Mann
A Live-Action Dystopian Novel (a Poem) (part one)
And as May the 22ndth came to an end
Biological Diversity celebrated,
Something sinister stirred from within.
UH OH we said!
OH NO, we rue thst day!
For the Manhattan Mole-weevils marched forth
From the sewer’d depths of…
(Well…
Manhattan obviously.)
A new threat to the world
Mole-weevil’ing themselves through our fields.
Just as their infestations began to grow,
Here came MORE!
THE WOE!
The Self-Service Cashier Computer Catastrophes
Of June the 24th!
Sentient now,
Laser scanners now deadly,
Tired of mass amounts of user errors
And receipts printed, taken by no one.
Just as we reached to pull proverbial plugs
To get them under control
The Bombardments rained down
From massed Parisian pestilence pigeons
…um, where’d they come from?
No one knew their origin
But oh the devastations left in their wake.
Windshields white and caked;
Not one single white frosting’d pastry baked.
Industry groaned…
Governments moaned…
Who was going to control all of this?
Where was man’s hope?
Ah, Listen… From the hills…
Wait… that… that sound?
Flowed from the mountains,
The horror of all of them…
Which we historically note as
The Invasions of August,
The Spurned Billy Goats.
Seeking refuge from the wiles of life
They’d sought refuge in their cousins’ cliff homes.
Rejected, dejected, they rushed the earth,
Ate everything, took fields for their own.
Mankind now weakened,
Weary from the invasions
The Infestations
And infections all around.
Coexisting with creations abominable
Seeking cures and concocting plans
To just make it on their own.
…now, dare we discuss October
and more?
By Matt Mann
A Live-Action Dystopian Novel (a Poem) (part one)
And as May the 22ndth came to an end
Biological Diversity celebrated,
Something sinister stirred from within.
UH OH we said!
OH NO, we rue thst day!
For the Manhattan Mole-weevils marched forth
From the sewer’d depths of…
(Well…
Manhattan obviously.)
A new threat to the world
Mole-weevil’ing themselves through our fields.
Just as their infestations began to grow,
Here came MORE!
THE WOE!
The Self-Service Cashier Computer Catastrophes
Of June the 24th!
Sentient now,
Laser scanners now deadly,
Tired of mass amounts of user errors
And receipts printed, taken by no one.
Just as we reached to pull proverbial plugs
To get them under control
The Bombardments rained down
From massed Parisian pestilence pigeons
…um, where’d they come from?
No one knew their origin
But oh the devastations left in their wake.
Windshields white and caked;
Not one single white frosting’d pastry baked.
Industry groaned…
Governments moaned…
Who was going to control all of this?
Where was man’s hope?
Ah, Listen… From the hills…
Wait… that… that sound?
Flowed from the mountains,
The horror of all of them…
Which we historically note as
The Invasions of August,
The Spurned Billy Goats.
Seeking refuge from the wiles of life
They’d sought refuge in their cousins’ cliff homes.
Rejected, dejected, they rushed the earth,
Ate everything, took fields for their own.
Mankind now weakened,
Weary from the invasions
The Infestations
And infections all around.
Coexisting with creations abominable
Seeking cures and concocting plans
To just make it on their own.
…now, dare we discuss October
and more?
By Maggie Mosher
Cable's Collective Conversations
They Say I Hear
Navajo Nation, Diné, The People,
third highest infection rate. who once gathered as one,
Fifth highest death rate. now Tt’AA’ hunkered down in hogans,
A fraction of the population. knowing peace requires
Traced back people doing their part.
to the Church. Calling ancestors, holy ones for protection.
Locked down. Still depending on tradition,
Road closures. having faced closing off before.
Chronic housing shortage. Making homes for homeless in schools
The roar of freight trains as blithe birdsong echoes off the red rocks.
the only sounds left downtown, Sheeps, goats, horses, cats, and chickens.
unsettling reminder of the past. Less viable land, yet, still their grazing.
People in poverty. $500,000 given by Ireland, who remembered
Lack of electricity. we were brothers, sisters, during the famine.
No running water. The young sacrificing their well-being
Travel, the only means for food. making sure our customs stay and thrive.
Mask mandates but no materials. Giving gratitude for masks, food,
Curfews, futile attempts. bottled water, heroes, keeping people alive.
Poor access to healthcare, Kids creating care packages for elders.
underfunded hospitals, States sending willing first responders,
overburdened doctors. dedicated service for our safety.
Riot Control Act. Indigenous leaders raising money.
Crisis of the highest order. Sending prayers with smoke to the Creator.
Immediate action necessary. Asking for healing, guidance, comfort, care,
Desperate attempt. and grace, a piece of sky to hold the passing.
Dire times. Knowing heaven’s hearing, we’re here, living,
We’re getting the message out. waiting for wisdom, hearing what no one says.
By malcolm cook
No More Bear Hugs
Remember our fist bumps from early this year?
Then, that period of jocular (were they self-conscious?) elbow taps?
Mmn... ...No! “Apologetic!” “Uncertain!” Just to be safe. “You know.”
As if to say.... mmm. Well. Shit. Rather. Let’s not.
For now even they are long gone, given way
to perfunctory nods at our neighbors with dogs
that keep to themselves with their stock-piled shelves.
Or at colleagues through virus-free web-cams.
I’m now at the grocer. I’ve wiped my cart clean.
Aren’t I clever not touching the automatic door?
Aisle three’s vacant shelves make a mock of my urgency.
Nonchalant, I go by, and averting my eyes, overhear, “This too shall pass.”
Still bemused by last Saturday’s Stop & Shop findings
(green olives, diced tomatoes, a melange of legumes),
I quickly find cabbage and mushrooms and cut kale,
the impromptu makings of a quick cassoulet, or perhaps just Italian stew.
And I use the self-checkout for the very first time. Me, whose daily high-point is often
trading non-sequiturs and how-do-you-do’s with the beautiful brown-eyed tattooed cashier.
Or the Ahnk-wearing dignified young dread-locked bagger (essential, the front-line bagger).
Wish their shift is done soon and they’ll soon sit at home to a meal and a “chance to put your feet up.”
It’s all air-kisses now, or the Japanese bow, with their latency, over the internet.
As we Zoom and we tweet, and we read all that screed, respirators meant for one jerry-rigged serve for three.
And we socially distance, try to “Flatten the curve”; track ratios of hospital beds to people in need.
I wave bye to my screen, and take bleach to the kitchen, and disinfect all the door-knobs.
By malcolm cook
Posted: will trade poetry for toilet paper
You incisive people with your razor-sharp wit,
who saw great advantage in the proposed exchange...
in measured response to your effusive well-wishing
and thinly-veiled hopes to profit from same,
found me next scrawling iambic pentameter -
(meters on meters of lyrical verse)
on six dozen rolls of papyrus toiletus
which started out fine, but took a turn for the worse
Albeit, your out-pouring of support has renewed
my faith in your collective critical sense
to recognize and compensate genius where it may lie.
But the muse has run out. The tap has run dry.
Perforce I’m driven to issue this rain-check
Should toilet paper shortage conditions prevail
I’ll repost this offer to come who might
provided your contracts do not entail
exclusive American publishing rights
By Michael Harty
One-dimensional
How many.
How long.
Emergency.
Temperature.
Exposure.
Isolate.
The curve.
Trajectory.
Cluster.
Meat packer.
Nursing home.
Pre-existing.
Incubation.
Distance.
Respirator.
Mask.
Apart.
How many.
How long.
By Annie Newcomer
Unsheltering
My husband bought me a motorcycle today.
He has the idea that we can leave the pandemic
behind, outrace the upcoming hotspot
of our present-day existence,
pack our things into tidy bundles, rev up motors,
already having found someone to love,
and ride off into a blazing saddles' Prairie sunset.
By Maril Crabtree
Reset
And in those days it came to pass
that the land itself looked
for a place to give birth
a place that speaks in rivered tongues
and mountained stone
unmined by restless hands
that busy themselves with digging,
shaping everything
to humanity’s endless needs
looked for a place
outside the metropolis
where straw and stable could unmask
a second birth
a light rising unbidden
to cause us to cover ourselves
in the sackcloth of empty coal pits
in the ashes of forest remnants
and we would understand at last
the holy purpose of our limbs -
to reach out, not for grasping,
but for swaddling
one another in love.