#coronapoetry

[africashowboy]

There are lines in my house Also curves and other shapes Every new conversation reveals A little more I need to learn. There are lines in my house Boundaries I may have set Through not being home And missing out on growth. There are curves in my house Some create unbroken circles Traditions we all appreciate Others are just weird going I-don’t-know-where. There are cracks in my house You can’t see them in the dark But each day the lazy sun wakes up It throws a few more on the pile. There is me in my house Itchy feet finally grounded My kids think I’m furniture My wife’s adjusting to half her bed. Photos and Poem by Nana Kofi Acquah (www.nkacquah.com) @africashowboy (Copyright: 2020) www.nanakofiacquah.com. #lockdown #coronapoetry #covid19 #ghana #ricohgr3 #africa #accra #poetry #nanakofiacquah #nana #nanakofi https://www.instagram.com/p/B-CD9dYlWcB/?igshid=1fivsci1kz0cp

[junflower123]

Quarantine Thoughts 8

“Wear a mask!”

Please, for the love of god

Wear a mask

Every time I see those words, I wanna pick up a flask

And just

Drink

Drink 

Drink 

Because I feel this

Sink 

Sink 

Sinking feeling

Having to beg for basic human decency

[virtualciti]

ज़ालिम अपने मास्क यूं फ़ेंका न कर तेरे आशिक़ों को कोरोना हो जाता है ZALIM APNE MASK YOON PHENKA NA KAR TERE AASHIQON KO CORONA HO SAKTA HAI DEAR DO NOT THROW YOUR MASKS AROUND YOUR LOVERS MAY GET CORONA INFECTED #covid #corona #covidpoetry #coronapoetry #coronashayari #covidshayari #poet #poetry #sher #shayari #shayri #couplet #urdushayari #urdupoetry #hindishayari #hindipoetry #poetrycommunity #poetryquotes #poetsofig #poetsofinstagram #urduslam #urduadab #poetryslam #sadpoetry #sadshayari #infection #infected #vaccine #covidvaccine #coronavaccine (at Chandigarh, India) https://www.instagram.com/p/CJObfhcDXkQ/?igshid=1vj0p0fveehd5

[ryankilshannig]

When it started you allowed yourself the conceit

You could and would escape it

Because you were hunted by a dumb predator

Which multiplied inside its prey

And as long as you could control

Your distance from those who fell

You were going to be safe

Now four months on

Tired of paddling

Through a featureless seascape with no end in sight

You wonder if the voices of surrender

And the voices that say there was nothing to run from in the first place

Those sirens calling you to the rocky island

Who offer you honey and wine

Their warm eyes

Lashes dripping in the summer sun

Call to you to rest

And lay down your burden

You wonder if perhaps

A stop in port for a moment

Wouldn’t be so bad

The predator is not at all dumb

But omniscient because it knew

Before you started out that it

Would come to this

You exchanging your lungs for a moment

Of honey and wine fed to you

By a fanged maiden

Now less than six feet away

[ndreamswake]

Corona Poetry #1

In another version of this time,

you would let me hold your baby.

She’d be curled, perhaps, upon my breast

as we walked, side by side, and tumbling toward the water.

There’d still be wild daisies doubled overhead

And a sea full of grass turning gold beneath the green.

With your child in my arms, I’d feel like we were sisters

—as I did sometimes when we were children—

I’d know for sure then, that some loves come back blooming

even after they’ve been fallow.

And all around us would be Spring promising

That all things just come out right in the end.

[viedemaigre]

#17 Coconfiné

Pendant le confinement, il s’est passé plein de choses.

J’ai perdu deux concerts à l’extérieur. J’ai perdu 120 heures d’atelier. J’ai perdu mes vacances d’été pour lesquelles je n’étais pas parti l’an dernier afin d’économiser. J’ai réussi un crowdfunding. Tatiana de Rosnay a partagé une de mes vidéos sur twitter. J’ai fait un objet magique. J’ai passé trois heures au téléphone comme en 2005. J’ai lu “Martin Eden”, j’ai découvert Cat Power et Mélanie De Biasio (merci Manu Six !). Et puis j’ai écrit. J’ai beaucoup écrit. Voici la liste de ce que j’ai écrit :

  "Cinématique" (slam)

"Vu à la TV" (forme poétique courte)

"Golgotha" (textape)

"Avenir" (forme poétique courte)

"Paris Paris" (slam)

"Le Donjon" (slam)

"Observe Absorbe" (slam)

"Haut menu" (forme poétique courte)

"Même pas" (slam)

"Faire forêt" (slam)

"Douze" (slam)

"Limogé" (nouvelle)

"Dégradé" (nouvelle)

"Peau contre peau" (nouvelle érotique)

"Vendredi 13" (nouvelle)

"Chimère" (nouvelle)

"Paysage mental" (nouvelle)

"L'homme qui avait perdu son pouls" (nouvelle)

Sans titre (nouvelle)

"Jour 1" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 2" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 3" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 4" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 5" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 6" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 7" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 8" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 9" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 10" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 11" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 12" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 13" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 14" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 15" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 16" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 17" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 18" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 19" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 20" (forme poétique courte)

"Jour 21" (forme poétique courte)

  Si je t’expose ça, c’est d’abord parce que j’ai un ego de la taille d’une montgolfière doublé d’un besoin de reconnaissance primaire (bisou les jaloux).

  Et ensuite pour la temporalité de cette période. Je suis artiste, j’étais totalement confiné et donc safe (en T1 de 34m2 avec vue sur parking cela dit). Je n’avais pas eu une telle liberté pour écrire depuis longtemps. Des heures entières devant moi sans objectif, sans avoir à m’interrompre pour répondre à des mails, préparer des ateliers, caler un rendez-vous, développer des outils de promotion, rédiger un rapport, suivre mes contrats, etc…

  Créer. Ne faire (presque) que créer. Comme je le souhaite. Ce devrait être mon unique activité, non ? Hé bien ce n’est pas le cas. C’est plutôt moitié moitié et encore. Le statut d’artiste implique des responsabilités autres que la pure création. Loin de moi l’idée de me plaindre, au contraire, je trouve que cela amène vers d’autres compétences très intéressantes. Mais je m’interroge quand même. Et je rêvasse. Je rêvasse d’un système où il n’y aurait pas besoin d’intermédiaire, pas besoin de plan de communication pour financer et diffuser mon travail au public. On dit “le temps c’est d’l’argent”. Je n’y crois pas. C’est l’inverse. Quand tu as de l’argent tu n’as pas à vendre ton temps.

  Je n’oublierai pas ces deux mois.

   - Photo : A. Sepré

- Musique : “3, 6, 9″ - Cat Power

[knowledge-burst]

PM Modi ने #lockdown कब तक जारी रखना है, यह हम पर छोड़ दिया है, जैसे माबाप अपने बच्चों से काम निकलवाते है वही स्कीम हम पर लागू करदी💪😀 #knowledgeburst #coronapoetry #coronafunny #coronamemes #lockdown2 #pmmodi #14april2020 https://www.instagram.com/p/B-82QGlBP3c/?igshid=5nlm8bdr3gvj

[livuntildeath]

It is quiet now. Only the birds sing beyond the confines of these four walls as we are left to perform over boiling pots of sauce and behind sea-shelled bath curtains. The deer, no longer timid of human chaos and blinding lights, make no effort to abide by the traffic laws in an empty downtown street. And the sky opens up, big and blue, allowing the Earth to finally breathe. It is quiet now. And I often wonder, if able to measure the sound of clinking glasses and mid-conversation laughter to be had in all the coffee shops, and restaurants, and dimly lit streets of the world, would only silence greet us? Would the decibel meter of public space lay itself down to sleep? Perhaps these sounds have not dissipated, but rather are transferred elsewhere. Reanimated around a coffee table littered with scrabble tiles. In a bedroom of two lovers who had been lost in a sea of schedule, now found again in a sea of sheets. Or a family gathered in a once abandoned dining room to eat, uninterrupted by overtime, choir concerts, or track meets. These moments have become so rare and far between, many of us have forgetten they exist. Let alone, remember how to stop and appreciate each as a gift. To be present; to be alone, together, in this day and age, has become an endangered species. But it is time to remember. To read. To reminisce. To run. To reinvent what it is to be human. Perhaps now that we are forced to be still, we can see ourselves. For it is in the stillness, we can grow with each passing day. Like the woods beside the house or the garden you said you would dig 3 years ago. In the stillness, life goes on. And if we are wise, we will learn to become apart of it all - as we once were. To surrender our illusions of power and godliness, our insatiable need to conquer and control... Perhaps it is then, the Earth will again welcome us home.