PRAYER BEFORE THE PEAK

......UK coronavirus peak at least two weeks away, chief scientist says
.................................................. ......................Guardian headline

Let me be ignorant. Let no one speak
of death tolls now, or if they do please tweak

the figures ever downward. Not one squeak
of how those microbes spread, or drifting, leak

into the air. If You must wreak, then wreak
what must be wreaked elsewhere. Just let me sneak

through this unscathed. Lord, things are looking bleak.
Grant me the strength I need to not be weak

or old. Oh let me not be past my peak
until the peak has passed. That's all I seek.

Matt, That is wonderfully vulnerable. It should be archived with a select group of other poems spawned by the pandemic. There is palpable fear in it. There is paranoia. There is a sliver of hope hung on a wing and a prayer. You captured it.


By chance I opened up The Essential Rilke selected poems this morning to this passage from the poem "The Bowl of Roses":

And aren't they all doing the same: simply containing them-
xxxselves
if to contain oneself means: to transform the world outside
and wind and rain and patience of spring
and guilt and restlessness and disguised fate
and darkness of earth at evening
all the way to the errancy, flight, and coming on of clouds,
all the way to the vague influence of the distant stars
into a hand full of inwardness.

Now it lies free of cares in the open roses.



How time flies.
x
x

Matt, I have been and continue to be extremely anxious in this awful time. Your poem captures many of my feelings. Bravo

Thank you, Matt.

Thanks, people. I thought this one would be lighter when I started it.

I'm doing a poem-a-day challenge this month for National Poetry Writing Month with about 50 other people on another poetry forum. This was today's poem. I thought the challenge would be a good a distraction from the pandemic, and sometimes it is, but as you can see, not always ...

Stay safe.

-Matt

x
I found this this morning, in paragraph form, in the NYT. It is an article about the doctor in China who tried to warn authorities of the pandemic that was brewing but was silenced. He later died of the coronavirus.


It is found poetry:

Wailing Wall

They come to say “good morning” and “good night.”
They tell him that spring has arrived
and that the cherry blossoms are blooming.
They share that they are falling in love,
falling out of love or getting divorced.
They send him photos of fried chicken drumsticks,
his favorite snack.

They whisper that they miss him.
x
x
x

I called it a hoax, yes that’s true;
Now I’m blaming the whole thing on WHO.
Still, I said, what the heck,
Put my name on the cheque
Let’s have credit where credit is due.


OK, I know WHO isn't pronounced like that -- call it an eye rhyme? -- Maybe I'll find something better when I've calmed down.

Jim, that found poem works very well.

Trumpsters in Lansing, Michigan
Expressed their Herd Impunity.

Scarily, Warily,
Shopping for groceries
Holding my breath till I
Nearly pass out

Health’s a priority,
Super-imperative,
Heaping my basket with
Ciggies and stout.

Mattironic!