Awaiting a Secret Transmission

Working from home is not exactly good
Because all I want is to eat good food

Pouting tantrums, snarky, shrill, then sad…
(Not the children, mind you, but their dad)

Focus Focus!
I need Hocus Pocus

Coffee, coffee and then more caffeine
Makes me a lean pandemic machine

Today I miss going to the market
but not parking lots, carts, or where to park it

The dog barking at the delivery man
bringing another meal served in a can

Lots of cakes, cookies and banana bread
Is there a vaccine for the fatty spread?

Now I recall why cooking is not on my list
No one else has cleaning on theirs. That’s the twist

All I do is sing and clean house
No need to be quiet as a mouse

Chirping, flying, birds are merrier,
Listening to them, I fly farther

Living on the fringes of the world
days and weeks together swirled

Today I miss going for a walk outside
But in my mind I go for an imaginary ride

Now that I have the solitude I crave
All that I want is to go to a rave

Looking cool in a bandana mask,
Sipping wine from a hidden flask

Wondering where to go when I do go out
A park, an ocean, or thereabout

Whispering in the window I see
someone laughing and smiling!

Human contact I dearly miss
Pats, hugs, a cheek kiss

Orange blossoms’ fragrance floats from yard to yard
sticky sweet but always makes me sneeze so hard

She carries it with her wherever she goes
Sharing her secret virus, but nobody knows

Alexander Akin, Frances T. Borella, Rebecca K. O’Connor, Thomas Vaden, Rakhi Shelat, Natalie Champion, Kris Lovekin, Julianna Cruz, Dar Stone, Kamelyta Noor, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Gudelia Vaden, Juanita Mantz, Nan Friedley, John DiFusco, Debby Johnson, Cindi Neisinger, and Cati Porter

There once was a contagious virus
Which caused us to to run and hide us
We stayed in our homes
Only our back yards we roamed
And wrote poems every day on papyrus

Cati Porter

In the midst of a pandemic
So much stress to stay well and not get sick
I must not forget my mask
This is a huge task
Focusing to remain poised and slick

Gudelia Vaden

The city of Arts and Innovation,
shut down by a virus infestation.
No need to worry!
The Mission Inn Lights, will switch on early.
An Early Christmas? I am hoping that the ROBERTS see this!

Cindi Neisinger

We’re into terrain that’s unmapped,
Our previous life has been scrapped.
We’re facing a crisis
Due to the virus,
So we might as well write since we’re trapped.

Douglas McCulloh

Our delusional President Trump
Has shown he’s a virus’s chump.
While he’s dithered and lied,
Countless thousands have died;
The economy’s taken a dump.

Steve Perry

I went to the store for some flour
Got there at a very early hour
Armed with my list
In my wrinkled old fist
Six feet apart, passed on a shower.

Nan Friedley

A crisis called us to care
about elders and others, that’s fair.
But boredom of mind
made many unkind,
what harm, they think, this virus to share?

Ai Miyamoto Kelley

The restaurants and bars, catacombs,
For a virus is keeping us home.
Streaming and screaming,
Cleaning and scheming,
Together we are all alone.

James Luna

There once was a dragon named Cyrus,
He was most afraid of the virus,
He puffed and he roared,
Through the sky he soared,
His jewel adorned mask was priceless.

Debby Johnson

Coronavirus on the loose—run!
Sheltering in place is no fun
Missing friends and family
Chatting on Zoom—barely
Remembering days basking in the sun

Natalie Champion

Original prompt: Write a limerick for submission to The Press-Enterprise’s limerick contest. Outcome: Debby Johnson’s limerick was published on PE.com.

Fear

— After Raymond Carver

Fear of the unknown.
Fear that this will never end, that life will be forever changed.
Fear that truth and science to protect people will be overlooked!
Fear that we will wind up enduring narcissistic abuse for another four years.
Fear that I will run out of beer during the Pandemic.
Fear is not having the “ganas” to reach out to my loved ones.
Fear of death of a loved one and friends and family.
Fear of not being able to say, “Goodbye” as a loved one takes their last breath.
Fear of not being able to fly to Riverside for my dad’s eightieth birthday and giving my dad a birthday hug.
Fear that my dad in Memory Care won’t remember us when the door opens again.
Fear of forgetting what it feels like to hug someone.
That I’ll never lose this fat that I had accumulated!! Ha!
Fear that a return to normalcy will lead to a second pandemic.
Every time I hear someone cough I want to run and hide.

Original prompt: Write one line of poetry addressing what you fear. (After Raymond Carver’s “Fear”)

by Tom Vaden, Patrick Vaden, Natalie Champion, Nan Friedley, Gudelia Vaden, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, Kamelyta Noor, Rose Y. Monge, Magdalena Nunez, Cati Porter, Julianna M. Cruz, Rakhi Shelat, Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez

Fears

Every time I hear someone cough, I want to run and hide
These are scary times and I wish they would go away

Every time I hear the word pandemic, I want to run and hide
Washing hands for 20 seconds with warm water and soap is better than hand sanitizer

Every time I switch on the news and people are dying, I want to run and hide
Masks are now required when going out

Every time I see a person in a supermarket getting close to me, I want to run and hide
Disinfecting supplies are hard to come by these days
Every time I hear of a commercial cruise ship that was highly infected, I want to run and hide
I am doing my part to flatten the curve by staying home as much as possible
These fears belong to me

Shelter in Place

My soul yearns to return to normal
One day merges into the next
Keeping a six foot distance is required
I long to visit friends and family

Empty Town

Riverside, like many towns screams of loneliness
Masked people are the new norm
More staying home
Parks closed to children’s dismay
I see despair and emptiness in people’s eyes
Store shelves empty
Where has all the toilet paper gone?
Commodities and food are scarce
Even the birds have left
Resembles ghost town
When will this pandemic end?

Sheltering Together, Alone: A Renga

Pan. Global. Multi.
One together we dance. Clap
them out now: seven-

teen syllables, or seven-
teen syllables minus ten.

Sheltering together,
separately, in our
individual homes,

Safely apart, we gather.
Interesting life we have.

Sheltering is not
bad with your favorite book,
Where the Crawdads sing.

We were we are we will be.
Spring pairs multiple—new life.

Stillness of water
Reflects old woman image
Lines of past turmoil

Pajamas, blankets, and rest.
I am eating happily

Sat on a couch, won-
dering whether I will see
again a bird nest.

Already forgetting how
not to despair I doze as

I watch the starlings
gather as I sit alone,
a murmuration.

Our family chats on zoom.
Zoom to see his face near mine.

We shelter apart,
yet see the same blue sky and
feel the same warm sun.

My computer not that fast!
Birthday drive-byes make me cry.

Shelter in place to-
day, dreaming of a May Day
happy dance, Parade.

Safely apart, we live.
Trying to flatten the curve.

Meditation, calling in
The Light. Connecting
with Creation. All is Well.

Original prompt: Write a collaborative renga.

Cindi Neisinger, John DiFusco, Douglas McCulloh, Ai Miyamoto Kelley, Frances T. Borella, Frances J. Vasquez, Kamelyta Noor, Cindi Neisinger, Dar Stone, Barbara Berg, Gudelia Vaden,
Burcu Misirli Chatham, Natalie Champion, Renee Mosher Peirce, Steve Perry, Magdalena Nunez, Rob McMurray, Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez

Pandemic
(a Haiku, a Tanka, a Fibonacci Poem)

Haiku

Panic fills my lungs
Fear survives and overwhelms
We shall overcome

Tanka

War waged against men
Microscopic enemy
Rampant exposures
Medics battle on front lines
Lives lost – will mankind survive?

Fibonacci Poem

Man
Fears
Hidden
Enemies
Fighting to the end
We shall win, endure, overcome
Human lives must go on – kick the virus in the ass

“The Zoo”

Becoming caged animals:
Strip away humanity’s busyness
And fast-paced nonsense
To see the lack of thought.
One day we’re at the zoo
And the next, it’s barren
And we’ve become the animals
Behind the thick glass and
Fixed stares.
We have no where
To go
Except our thoughts;
Dark, unmarked
Territory.
Praying we’ll escape
Ourselves
And move on with life.
But we’re trapped inside.

My name is Emily Torres and I am seventeen years old. I have been writing poetry for about a year or so. I have always loved seeing the world and people on a deeper level than just the surface. I hope you enjoy my work.

What Do You Remember, Do You Forget?

Screen door slams, mom screams:
“Frog outta here!” “Ribbit Ribbit.”
Big trouble for my sister and me
digging in the goo of our freshly-tarred
street. Memorable turpentine baths.

Sitting in an Apricot tree, sticky
fruit galore, throwing pits next door.
Playing Hide and Seek, no one dared
look for me up in the tall walnut tree.
It gave them chills, as they feared heights.

Sweltering afternoon, city pool,
stepping on sticky pink Laffy Taffy.
Reckless, playing with monstrous waves,
my feet rarely reaching to the bottom!

I am Glinda the Good Witch
and my baby sister is Toto.
My chunky child-fingers peel back
gift wrap to reveal the neighbor boy’s father’s
wood-and-brass military plaque, joyfully received.

My pricey Madame Alexander doll—
playing the part of Juliet— threw herself off
the balcony of our NYC apartment, only
to fall on my grandfather’s workshop
windowsill, and oh was my mom mad.

Fleeing to the lake, toting my sack
lunch, begging refuge. Camping
by the lake with family, fresh fish
for breakfast with fried potatoes,
biscuits and gravy. Heavenly!

All summer, lungs aching, playing
sharks and mermaids in the pool.
Summer sun, the buzz of bees,
the taste of honeysuckle…. joy

Climbing a tree in first grade with
my best friend Jason; the jealous
kids chanting “Natalie and Jason
kissing in a tree!” Six years old
and we got married in the muddy
drain pipes. Best day ever.

Big poofball of Hydrangeas picked
haphazardly from my Grandma’s bush—meant
as an “I love you” gift from a toddler.
It held the extra “gifts” inside—
“Aahh! Maleficients!”— creepy earwigs.

Snow-stranded at my friend’s house,
we played “Blue” on repeat.
Skinny neglected child walking down
Lysol-scented corridor at Juvenal hall.
Believing I must be adopted, not fitting in.

I sat, crossed-legged on my bed,
with a dictionary as a desk. A book
and earphones my only means of escaping
further dysfunction and cacophony.
Family devotions ends with Lord’s Prayer,
on Sundays the 23rd Psalm.

The brain reweaves its neuron web.
Suspect every memory. Retrieve
and rewrite (retrieve and rewrite)
to achieve the lies you need.

Original prompt: Write one line about a childhood memory.

Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Natalie Champion, Rick Champion, Cindi Neisinger, Renee Mosher Pierce, Magdalena Nunez, Debby Johnson, Steve Perry, Dar Stone, Vicki Broach, Kamelyta Noor, Douglas McCulloh, Robin Longfield, Cindy Bousquet Harrie, Becca Spence Dobias, Kris Lovekin, Stevie Taken, Gudelia Vaden, Stephanie Barbe Hammer, Julianna Cruz, Frances Borella, Nan Friedley, Cati Porter

A Room for Everyone

Closed-door cloistered
sitting upright fingers poised
poetry room

A room for writing, all
my own, finally, it only took
a pandemic

Wandering in the room
of my thoughts

Desk window, portal to imagination
when outdoor exploration
becomes forbidden

Sunny, cozy, warm… a room
that looks out to the world

On the south side is a glass
conservatory. Broad leaves
breathing, making
food of sunlight

A sun room shaded
with all the plants
I’ll never be able to
grow, making
an indoor jungle

Glass walls, outside
inside, table, chair,
my laptop, and me

In the study room, teaching
my computer to read Greek

At hallway’s end, a quiet
room with a reading couch

I am a compilation
of all the rooms
in all the houses
in all the movies
I watch to experience

their decor. The ceiling
of sky, walls of horizon,
inhale night, exhale day

An island,
a continent,
a world,
this room

Pull down the ladder
and climb to find
me keeping company
with your keepsakes

In the living room, cats
sleep, run
and chase each other

In this warm kitchen there is
always the aroma
of fresh baked bread

In a stew, create
comfort food one
crockpot at a time

I am the only room
in the house
that holds your
destiny, next to
the family room

You must visit to prepare
something that feeds
you. Yum!

I hold the threaded machine
she peddles to make masks

Magnificent, glorious
room that is so magical
oh how I love you. You provide
me comfort. It is my husband
and my and my daughter’s
bedroom we cherish
you a lot and promise
to keep you clean

I am your front porch room—
warm sunlight streaming through
walls of glass–sip your coffee
and watch the birds and butterflies flit from
flower to flower–sip your coffee
and watch the plants turn their leaves
to the sun–sip your coffee
and welcome your guests

The pond swirls and rushes
to fill the blind darkness

Original prompt: We are the house. Which room in the house are you?

by Julianna M. Cruz, Elizabeth Faith Aamot, Gudelia Vaden, James Luna, Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, Jessica Lea, Nan Friedley, Cati Porter, Dar Stone, Renee Mosher Peirce, Steve Perry, Barbara Berg, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Douglas McCulloh, John DiFusco, Rick Champion, Rakhi Shelat, Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez, Frances T. Borella, Lynn Doiron

Threshold

I look for an open door, but the door is in me and I am lost.
The door is freedom but fear is stronger. Always it is slamming shut.

I press my hand against the door made of stone and it does
not budge, yet on the other side I know is paradise.

I touch the door, made of maple, the micronutrients of its source
tree trying to flow again in between the cracks.

With gloved hand, I push open the carved door made of cedar
and a stranger says, “come in.” Who is this person in my house?

Eek!!!! I push open the brown-tinged, heavy steel door
and wonder what’s on the other side; maybe a secret garden?

So transparent, so honest, outside is always inside
with my glass door, my favorite! The door…. so tempting,

so tantalizing, yet I must remain inside. My red door, so welcoming,
a barrier protecting the UPS man from ‘vicious’ pups.

Two doors to my future, one red, one blue, with a sign that says,
“open me” and with a pill hanging by a string on each doorknob that says

“eat me.” The door is dark and pulsing. Beyond are the thick red walls,
warm and nourishing, of the womb in which the future will grow.

Doors are opening, says the MUNI bus, but to where? A surprise
awaits you on the other side. Knock knock. Who’s there? Luke.

Luke who? Luke In the peephole and come get your pizza.
My door is always open to those with need, even in these hard times.

Gun-metal gray those western clouds will swing open
allowing sunlight’s waltz over thresholds of brighter days.

When the winds whipped around the town, she rode the front door
like a surfboard, high above and far away, another world beckoning.

Fuzzy images peer through opaque glass framed in oak. Armed
with newspaper and vinegar I rub till the glass is clear.

What is in? What is out? The heavily crafted iron doorknob begs
to be turned, “Turn me around to see, turn me and I will turn you–inside out.”

I stand in the doorway, neither here nor there; a choice must be made—
I cannot linger in liminal limbo forever.

Original prompt: Doors – what do they look like and where do they go?

by Rakhi Shelat, Kris Lovekin, Shali Nicholas, Natalie Champion, Rick Champion, Julianna Cruz, Gudelia Vaden, Juanita Mantz, Elizabeth Faith Aamot, Ai Miyamoto Kelley, Doug McCulloh, Renee Mosher-Pierce, France Borella, Lynn Doiron, Debby Johnson, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Barbara Berg, Nan Friedley, Cati Porter