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Poems about the Coronavirus II

Poems about the Coronavirus II This World's Joy (anonymous Middle English lyric, circa early 14th century AD) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Winter awakens all my care as leafless trees grow bare. For now my sighs are fraught whenever it enters my thought: regarding this world's joy, how everything comes to naught. Fowles in the Frith (anonymous Middle English lyric, circa 13th-14th century AD) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The fowls in the forest, the fishes in the flood and I must go mad: such sorrow I've had for beasts of bone and blood! Ech day me comëth tydinges thre (anonymous Middle English lyric, circa the 13th to 14th century AD) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Each day I’m plagued by three doles, These gargantuan weights on my soul: First, that I must somehow exit this fen. Second, because I cannot know when. And yet it’s the third that torments me so, Because I don't know where the hell I will go! You Were My Death by Paul Celan loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch You were my death; I could hold you when everything abandoned me? even breath. Epitaph for a Little Child Lost by Michael R. Burch I lived as best I could, and then I died. Be careful where you step: the grave is wide. Not Saying the World Revolves Around You, But ... by Michael R. Burch The day’s eyes were blue until you appeared and they wept at your beauty. Imperfect Perfection by Michael R. Burch You’re too perfect for words? a problem for a poet. Autumn Conundrum by by Michael R. Burch It's not that every leaf must finally fall, it's just that we can never catch them all. Laughter’s Cry by Michael R. Burch Because life is a mystery, we laugh and do not know the half. Because death is a mystery, we cry when one is gone, our numbering thrown awry. Childless by Michael R. Burch How can she bear her grief? Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight of one fallen star. I Pray Tonight by Michael R. Burch I pray tonight the starry light might surround you. I pray by day that, come what may, no dark thing confound you. I pray ere the morrow an end to your sorrow. May angels' white chorales sing, and astound you. For a Little Child Lost, with Butterflies by Michael R. Burch Where does the butterfly go when lightning rails, when thunder howls, when hailstones scream, when winter scowls, when storms compound dark frosts with snow? Where does the butterfly go? Where does the rose hide its bloom when night descends oblique and chill beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill? When the only relief's a banked fire's glow, where does the butterfly go? And where shall the spirit flee when life is harsh, too harsh to face, and hope is lost without a trace? Oh, when the light of life runs low, where does the butterfly go? Please tell me, dear child; lead, oh, and I'll follow, for surely, my Angel, you know ... Neglect by Michael R. Burch What good are your tears? They will not spare the dying their anguish. What good is your concern to a child sick of living, waiting to perish? What good, the warm benevolence of tears without action? What help, the eloquence of prayers, or a pleasant benediction? Before this day is gone, how many more will die with bellies swollen, wasted limbs, and eyes too parched to cry? I fear for our souls as I hear the faint lament of their souls departing ... mournful, and distant. How pitiful our "effort," yet how fatal its effect. If they died, then surely we killed them, if only with neglect. Update of "A Litany in Time of Plague" by Michael R. Burch THE PLAGUE has come again To darken lives of men and women, girls and boys; Death proves their bodies toys Too frail to even cry. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Tycoons, what use is wealth? You cannot buy good health! Physicians cannot heal Themselves, to Death must kneel. Nuns’ prayers mount to the sky. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Beauty’s brightest flower? Devoured in an hour. Kings, Queens and Presidents Are fearful residents Of manors boarded high. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! We have no means to save Our children from the grave. Though cure-alls line our shelves, We cannot save ourselves. "Come, come!" the sad bells cry. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! NOTE: This poem is meant to capture the understandable fear and dismay the Plague caused in the Middle Ages, and which the coronavirus has caused in the 21st century. We are better equipped to deal with this modern plague, thanks to advances in science, medicine and sanitation. We do not have to succumb to fear, but it would be wise to have a healthy respect for the nasty bug and heed the advice of medical experts.?MRB yet another iffy coronavirus haiku #1 by michael r. burch plagued by the Plague i plague the goldfish with my verse yet another iffy coronavirus haiku #2 by michael r. burch sunflowers hang their heads embarrassed by their coronas I wrote this poem after having a sunflower arrangement delivered to my mother, who is in an assisted living center and can’t have visitors due to the pandemic. This a poem about living with the fear, uncertainty, isolation, loneliness, alienation and depression created by the pandemic. homework: yet another iffy coronavirus haiku #3 by Michael R. Burch dim bulb overhead, my silent companion: still imitating the noonday sun? yet another iffy coronavirus haiku #4 by Michael R. Burch Spring fling: children string flowers into their face masks New World Order (last in a series and perhaps of a species) by Michael R. Burch The days of the dandelions dawn... soon man will be gone: fertilizer. Keywords/Tags: coronavirus, pandemic, COVID-19, plague, illness, death, fear, pain, rhyme, uncertainty, isolation, loneliness, alienation, depression, masks, social, distance, distancing

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




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