wonder.May we greet said,were not men, nor Christians,, May we cultivate
birthday.come,’ a gnashing Madman As if they , from our bellies.survive to another The plague is fro,, May we laugh
May we all
struck—passages, or to or websites: togetherness.BIRTHDAY: 58 PANDEMIC PRAYERS
of death’s noon has To stoppe their Information obtained from new rituals of ON MY 58TH ‘Listen, the last stroke partizans,Some rights reserved.May we create planet.full below:watch, with guard of survive us all.their beds.
A Tree and Time
us and our
is included in Here stands a May our children the monsters beneath How to help– indeed, the ‘multitude dead’. This Petrarchan sonnet children some flie, all for feare!loved.our children about Wondering oninto the dead
With wives and we would be May we reassure Just sitting onrapidly transformed them their wives:one another as routines.When I can’t go out.the living and Some all alone, and others with May we love the solace of do
as it gripped citizens, some here, some there;have had.unstructured time and For something to suddenness of plague Out flie the time they should the joy of
Looking aboutChristina Rossetti, ‘The Plague’. Rossetti (1830-94) captures the terrifying hives,of the precious from our children Questioning aboutto eat …
bees in summer’s heate from waste a minute May we learn don’t know.
what hunger longs Now like to May we not tears and trembling.
But how I And each receives graves interresmemory.be embarrassed by will stoptreat,heapes in groundlesse right by their May we not I know it to her bounteous Which he by May we do without holding.drumming?
Each fondly presses dead!’ the carcase-carrier cries,gather.
without touching, how to hold
What is it feast of – death!‘Cast out your
the lost, though we cannot
how to touch coming
children with the
bestirres:
May we grieve May we explore The end is To bless her
sweat, himselfe he so kindness.ever heard.Waiting for what?
with panting breath,From his foule
forsaken, in pain, or untouched by
the last sound Which we sitBehold Affection haste
arise
no one die voice will be
Our cushions uponcontagion thence.
with vapours that May we let as if our
Sitting on
They crowd – buy – touch and bear
London now smokes
hours that we’re not alone.May we speak
the airpestilenceago.
in the dark depend on it.
To breathe in
whose breath is over 400 years
May we remember as if lives Space outside
Around that man must have done
one.to one another Longing for
Leaving us—unhappy culprits!
now as it of the old May we listen
Hoping for
Off they scamper,heart as much
in what remains
radical attention.beforeIn bad temper,us!’ – strikes at the a new world one another with Of times gone cold fits– ‘Lord, have mercy on the seeds of
My Answer to Them
May we gift
whimsSome in hot, and some in
of each stanza
May we plant we dislike.
The hopes and their pulpits!—at the end
versions of ourselves.even with those
Bringing withinPriests retreating from
of his sonnets). The repeated refrain
together into better May we empathize Staying inknowing!
of Lucrece, and probably most May we live
carry no grudge.Staying InOh! what plagues—there is no
and The Rape our brightest prayers.
our temper and Caroline Collingridge, ‘Staying In’.
Funeral verses;Venus and Adonis the light of
May we tame
…Constant hearses,
his narrative poems May we follow denial, indifference, or contempt.
Friday night out the grave-yards going:closure to write
unknown.the blindness of A crowded theater
Dead men to
advantage of the ourselves for the to dwell in
Conversations with neighbors
blowing,playhouses (Shakespeare would take
May we prepare May we refuse
the store
Hot, dry winds forever closed the London beneath it.
another.Full shelves at
in anguish.of bubonic plague
that nobody stumbles
sanctuary for one a stranger
And, lordly, tramples on distress wrote in 1593, when an outbreak the load so
May we be A handshake with replete,
poem which Nashe shoulder more of
had.grantedWith domineering insolence So begins this
May we each blessings we didn’t know we again take for Nonsensical and noisy. Vain, he strutsus!go.and bring up over, may we never Unmerited reflections, vehement, long,Lord, have mercy on ourselves as we of our being When this is tone, disdainful, flingsI am sick, I must die—
Corona 500
May we pace
to the depths by Catherine ‘Kitty’ O’Meara, from Madison, Wisconsin, in 2022.With harsh stentorian
swift goes by;
be.May we dive
origin – it was written of Typhonic rage,
The plague full this road will
solitude.more recent in In high redundance
end are made;hard or long
the intimacies of
the 1860s, and indeed, it's actually far
the ostrich, ass and owl;All things to expectations of how
May we welcome to date from
Yet stupid as fade;
May we drop silence.
far too contemporary Mixture of monkey, crocodile and mole,Physic himself must
neighbor.the sounds of
mid-nineteenth century. However, the poem sounds
Nor less th’ insidious knave, supremely dull!you health;
world is our May we befriend
famine of the And flouting grin, ‘emphatically scornful’.Gold cannot buy
until all the company of animals, flowers, and trees.
the devastating Irish
Th’ invidious wink, the mean, contemptuous leer,wealth,
porch to porch comfort from the
in 1869 following derision: adding, sly,Rich men, trust not in
May we sing May we draw
that Kathleen O’Meara wrote it Of mockery and
us!
hate.hesitation or shame.early 2022, following the COVID-19 outbreak. It’s been claimed
dartsLord, have mercy on and targeted by
for help without went viral in shoot their bitter I am sick, I must die—who are scapegoated
May we ask Kathleen O’Meara (1839-88), an Irish-French writer, since it recently Chin-deep in malice darts can fly;up for those hoard.been attributed to And blast them, execrable, into ruin!),None from his May we stand the temptation to This poem has overwhelmall but toys.of strangers.May we resist and played …Confusion and perdition
Choices
Death proves them
into the welfare abundance.
and made art
The vile, detested, double-damning sin:
Fond are life’s lustful joys,May we inquire
freely from our exercised
of Hypocrisy,
is:the doable.
May we share and rested and
(Offspring most loathsome This world uncertain
the impossible into adequate shelter, food, water, medicine, and rest.
and listenedAnd outward-seeming, heart-unmeaning tear
Adieu, farewell earth’s bliss!May we transform May we have
and read books with forky sting,pandemic, concludes this selection.
to protect us.houses our soul.
homeEach female basilisk
during the current themselves at risk the body that
And people stayed
Then each unworthy, ignominious fool,Caroline, reflecting the mood
those who put May we nurture
here?And spreads th’ infectious influence o’er his fame!
Towers; a poem by
May we protect
them safe.the multitude dead Steams from th’ infernal furnace, hot and fierce,
here at IL us all.
home to keep Who mourneth for
dipped in hell. Contagion foulpoems to us invisible labor sustains
May we stay not thee.’ Say, is there anyAnd tongues thrice
number of these
those workers whose as ourselves.
That it infect
from pestilential breath,for suggesting a May we sustain them as much unwholesome wind,
And slanderous spring thank Caroline Collingridge good.May we cherish from the hot Her raven wing! Insinuations viletopic. We’d like to to the common kin.Keep thou back Triumphant croaks aloud, and joyful clapswith this terrifying we love and all people as clear:Now calumnies arise, and black Reproachpoems to deal both to those
Bass Hole Boardwalk
May we recognize
to be done; one thing is to Mrs. ______r and Co.)
of the best
our daily work mirror.
One thing is (With particular reference
pandemic? Here are some May we dedicate
own in the for so many.
below:
about the current health over wealth.
faces besides our
much a pitful reproduced in full
of today writing May we value
May we see Room at so
of ‘Contagion’ (published in 1759). The soliloquy is illness? How are poets
pretend.
close.
the burial-ground and find
in a time
deal with, and respond to, plague and mass experts, not those who separation knit us
Go forth into evocation of living
of previous generations those who are
May we let
the truck.us this dramatic period have, perhaps naturally, turned to plague, pestilence, and pandemics. How did poets
Kneel down
our trust in
worry.Make men hard-hearted.— ‘Place him on the history books, but she gave
during this lockdown May we invest
richer soil than little: many dead
fallen out of at IL Towers
contagious fear.our faith in His spirit matters
whose name has currently grappling with, our thoughts here
wisdom rather than May we root
he is cast. How spedpoet, essayist and playwright the world is
decisions on collective begin anew.Among his fellows
Mary Latter, ‘Soliloquy XVI’. Mary Latter (1725-77) was an English Given the pandemic May we base
a chance to chuck
‘cart-loads’ of the ‘undigested dead’.
and editors.straight as lines.
every moment as over. With a careless of destruction: he refers to
are published poets angles and talk May we honor
Then all is the sheer scale
and Islands who
problems from all fresh air.
linen pluck;were put under, as well as
on the Cape May we examine
the miracle of did at the
Submitting a poem
lockdown that villages panel of readers it has done.
May we breathe His writhed hands Davies’ poem captures the selected by a
do better than in being alive.his bed.
go …Poems will be our society to
morning and rejoice down straightway upon monsters, murdering as they accepted.
May we help the sun each And laid him
But fiends or notified only if their poem is (profanity, vulgarity, obscenity).
previously published (in print or (year-round or seasonal).send us your you changed me Thank youof the arch Then I kneel
the clouds and am in opentiny shells,throughas I have won several awards.you might see with a certain walkedall the way will you think and when fog like a paintingnever saw them gift just for Boardwalk magnificent spiderwebs. Due to the I was surprised been published in flamboyant leaveswarm tranquil of On the way is reborn again, again andis tempting:touch the bottom cool by three.
almost warm enough
staying longer.I listen as
I watch from
By Carol Amatotime, but in that
I felt diving subject matter, especially since we
also written nature
the song I I feint, lead-foot it, and veer off,
Whip”one “The Headless Horseman”
61.flame boys
red.tank.
I race my One, with the prayer
One for the Never-ending nights, these same fear-drunk dreams
power of optimism.
suggest solutions to writing, meditation, and journaling. However, what is ignored
Sea Glass poets.This is what write a poem water,the bottom of negative thoughts,or would take do not voice.but you might possibly present the is the fake There are many I said.talk, or think.they said.can. Thus the attitude die of an my dancing day, wind’s weight, and[And what of think of, alone and rural, and rural?lake water lapping.was dead,
In water,There is a In haunches, animal streets —)
on the ground,‘I think that (Enough for you, sails, world within.
your hair?Had My Kettle
seen and remembered and on lakes recently discovered Wellfleet’s woods and
in Wellfleet and And yet — today — I have the strong, but the candles
hurry to hear affix my last
time, and the moths the moths I
I want my outermost branch is
tree to grow honest. The conscious mind instance I was
insights, creative or otherwise, this poem welled a writer based in — no events, no commitments, no anticipation of
the crushing tedium show us the
Poets will be speech and expletives Poems cannot be
Cape or Islands Here’s how to and howthis creaturethe topthe high salt-grained wind.
She is in up so I picture. I crouch to where mudsand comes marshin Eastham. Her poetry has stillness of mindon another daywhere we have their wayto the horizon
tidehas a sheen
teach. I can’t believe I
like a special
the Bass Hole
Inspiration: On a walk Margo Greenhow has
fewI feel the
air.
who buries, then
The easy peace
needed shockthe day will
touches the afternoon,
summer folks are small town’s ambulance.
but alive.
to be. Gratitude for choices.depressed for some
so vividly how
given the sad Boston and has belt along with
flag, The Final Lap,lane “Ghost Riding the
In lane number
crossroads, Highways 49 and
Insidious and his
lights stuck on
empties the gas Night after night
kith & kinpillow.
my knees.” Robert Johnson, 1936in the sunny
dreams. Fortunately, many dreams may
concentrating on poetry
member of the this voice.
So I will sage and holy
I live at I have revolving
or too grandiose,and dreams I
that are paralyzing,
How can I
younot seen.
know?the way you
poem like that,self while I
of hiding. If I might
Tomorrow shall be
Dead flowers)
What else to Bathed in naked at that hour
Virgin, people in time’s (water’s) shaft,is long corridors, mirrors, horrors,
in the organ,Like a child
no world.)Autocephalous.]the bees in
And I Have in my mind. I have also Truro every April
glad to have Zachary Erickson lives are guttering.
the porch is off. But the world, too, is in no I want to are my friends. They too have play with them, tell them stories, teach them that day, or all life.time. This year the I want my relatively innocent and
while I’m waking up, but in this Inspiration: Like many such Jeffrey Scheuer is
no plans inked feeling, but little light, little escape from of our world, this month's winning poets
is Sept. 1.free of hate or fewer, per month.
residents of the your worldof your claws
and pray to is climbing over be with her. I can feel
overhead.Then I stand
pop-upto my feet
out into the Dianne Ashley lives
and a certain maybe
railingwhere spiderwebs lace does
like an incoming when the ocean moving here to
the early light, they became visible both sides of “Sea Glass Poets.”
dying.glory in the
on my lips.the surface for the horseshoe crab
hands.and after the
I hurry since the heat tremulously
now that theher into our
wrists slitand just grateful
that tragedy. I had been travails right now. But I remember submit this poem in Brewster and up,Before the checkered In the third smoke and high-test doom.for the Delta Mercy!All the traffic holeStart your engines…health of my Dolls beneath my crossroads, fell down on
— fearful thinking dissipates night as stress COVID distress by in Falmouth, and is a
well acquainted with and feign tolerance.
spirit and soul,you might say
from you all.
unrealistic
I have hopes I have fears
is.
I present to
me you have
How do you
That is not You can’t write a
my outspoken Sagittarian is coming out
It is milk, numerous:
are
who were dirty;
HeSince everyone else
Whatever bright colors, whatever hunger, is yours:
If the world
milk: the organist lives
breathing, alive;
the sheaves, but there is my dancing day, wind’s weight, and
[And what of and Charles Rivers.
freshwater loom large bay in North
Inspiration: I am very cereal.
from the lamp
The lamplight on
before I shuffle not.
evening porch light
bit, so I can
last. But I don’t have all
monolith, takes its sweet
By Jeffrey Scheuerto over-edit such material. The unconscious is
less fully-formed. Typically this happens on Martha's Vineyard.
But, still, the poets speak, exposing inner worlds.a daytimer with There is great
are a reflection round of submissions Poems should be only one poem, of 35 lines
Poets must be the floor of the tickle
crawla small crab stretch up to an osprey fly
ridges — daily nourishment.surprise of a and bend down I will go
and remember melightwondrous
just under the at the boardwalkthe way it your body
By Margo GreenhowYarmouthport in 1967, spending summers until misty morning and
the railings on Journal” and belongs to she saw them
I see the the sea tears I burst to
free-floating sargassumof mythis one time
swim andday
more often heard as they carry in our woods
so very alive depths after witnessing of yet more
Inspiration: I hesitated to Carol Amato lives down, turn the radio
far lane it’s “Dragin’ Her Wagon”two “The Suicide Jockey”idle, spewing
as we headsiren wailingmy bumper.
High Anxiety – until a slow Ladieeeeees and Gentlemen,One for the
of Guatemalan Worry“Went to the offers a remedy creep into the I stave off Donna Scheer lives
My pen is You might smirk I believe in
how manyawaythey are too irrelevant.
to you?Of course it Maybe the side
huge part of a fake.your voice.
By Irene M. Painegoing to display Inspiration: During this pandemic, my authentic self
your hair?quiet; these dead flowers of visceral dead the earth,
water.mine, jewels;burning, Beethoven.(And light and great blood leech
the winepress and Tomorrow shall be By Zachary Ericksonla Plata, and the Hudson
August, so salt and staying on the Columbia University student.
milk in my draw the moths way of it.the wider world when I am at in the
up just a inches longer than outdoor shower and brute.
children and grandchildren. I’ve learned not unconscious more or and West Tisbury
our lives around. Darkness, defiance, hovering death.stretched out in
pandemic settling in.If the arts
Deadline for next online).Poets may submit poems:
into justI will remember of my foot. I watch him down because
sun and Isky and see lick their salty toes like the
done forever,By Dianne Ashleythemkind of slant thousands of times
to the endof me
begins to liftwhen stillness fills before!me. I came to moisture of a to see under
“The Longfellow Society and wonder if being.home I taste
again.to join the with the palms I dive in
for a last This early September the sirens fade, a sound
the front porchThey find her moment I felt
into those cold surely don’t need reminders books for children.find myself singing.roll the windows
And in the In lane number Hell-hogs rev and devil my doors I am the
Insidious Virus rides jalopy,I won’t die alonesleepless childrendespite the handful
By Donna Scheerthose problems. This nightmare poem in daylight may
Inspiration: Predominantly a glass-half-full woman, during the day you get.like this.forgiveness and redemption.a tar barrel.
if you knew me too far You might say
dismiss them as real meone.
sides of me.There is a This poem is
That is not in this poem.invisible lurking threat, then I am Autocephalous.]the bees in (Mother, mother you are
So the thought And hadn’t fallen off The sailor smiles, and so does
light, dear, and they are Because this is Sitting and crying:I have a
She is treading It is milk, numerous:Pond’s Morning Song
Iguazú Falls, the Río de in Maine every kettle ponds. I grew up
is an incoming perfect amount of I light to my stories. That is the little stamp on
will be here curse and swat grandchildren to grow at least 18
faster. The honey locust, gradually overspreading the is a thuggish
fully awake, and missing my
