Poems for a Pandemic

I process life as a human on planet earth through poetry. Love, loss, wonder, wounds, parenthood and more recently pandemics. Here are 9 poems I wrote during March and April, as we grappled with the biggest global disruption in living memory. You can also hear me read some of these poems on the Poetic Beings podcast.

#1
18/3/19

After bushfires, a global virus
I look into my lions' irises
my children - making their earliest memories
within a globe that rocks unsteadily
gig economy, cancelled concerts
anxious crowds, hidden monsters
and sometimes I wonder how to teach them
God is love, the ground beneath them
sometimes I wonder how to teach me
God is love, the ground beneath me

#2
21/3/20

The sun shines brightly here
while the world is humbled
systems crumble
we lose the control we never had
like the ferris wheel stops spinning
the car tyre is flat
the light globe blows

but the sun shines brightly here
the breeze still blows
the birds still sing
and the pen still writes
when some things are taken,
other things are left
and maybe nothing's ever birthed
without some kind of death

#3
22/3/20

There are new griefs here
more subtle than the classic losses
we have tasted in the past

The wave of fave local cafes
ending their operation
knowing you can't sit at that table
drink that coffee
made by that barista, anymore.

Then there are the places trying to stay open
you think about how difficult this must be
your shoulders sag a little for their burden

You just had a stack of new books arrive
you will not be able to launch in person
and you wonder,
who wants to buy poetry books right now?

And you enter the tangled mental knots
of plans interrupted
rhythms shattered
likely losses passing before your eyes
holiday cancelled
business plans scrapped

And there are beautiful innovations
seeds of new creativity
little sprouts of hope
like 'going to church' this morning
on couch with sons snuggled close
And there will be new life
there will be wondrous, unexpected beauty

but don't miss the grief
it deserves to be felt
don't live out of the despair
or anxiety
but don't miss the grief
it deserves to be felt.

#4
24/3/20

The centipedes don't know

Life continues normally for them
and the billions of other life forms on earth
that don't go to the cinema
or the pub or the library

It says something about us
that these places feel like
part of who we are
limbs we only notice when they're lost

These are the places we swap stories
watch them on screens
borrow them printed and bound
part of who we are
is in the telling
and the showing
and the sharing

And we will do this
in our homes
and on our phones
if our meeting places close

But maybe it's a good reminder
that what makes a human creature
is a little more than hunt and gather
a little more than food and shelter
a little more than 'the essentials'
And the more is in connection
so we must not lose connection.

#5
30/3/20

The parks are closed
the swings hang still
dust gathers on the window sills
of restaurants with doors now shut
Centrelink brims with the latest cuts

And I lay in bed to pen this poem
safe and fed, here at home
and I don't know what words to write
one minute, everything feels alright
but sometimes a breath is all it takes
to feel the fear, to sense the weight
guilt that we don't suffer more
terror that we might suffer more

And being human is a fragile thing
and we rest our trust on paper wings
but they're razor thin
and maybe life on a knife edge is always life
and privilege is just another word for blind

#6
5/4/20

I've been
going to bed earlier
spending less money
sitting on the deck
outside when it's sunny
writing more poems
calling more friends
thinking more about
who I'll be when this ends

I've been
reading more headlines
feeling more anxious
craving more wine
acting impulsive and restless
I get stuck in my mind
when there's nowhere to run
and I wonder
where I will be when it's done
​
In some ways I feel better,
in other ways worse
and maybe the mix
of the two just affirms
I'm still broken and beautiful
like I was before
I'm still held by grace
no less and no more

#7 
12/4/20 (Easter Sunday)

Death and resurrection;
the way.

In the time of crucifixion or coronavirus
this hasn’t changed
every ending, a rebirth
waiting to be reframed
check your tombs for rolled stones
and messiahs playing gardener
like when it all began

If the story teaches anything
maybe it’s that Christ often resides
in ordinary places unrecognised
and seeing requires more than just eyes

So check your tombs
and don’t be surprised
if new life walks out
of the burial sites

#8
18/4/20

Exercise has returned to nature

We used to sleep in our homes
but did we live in them, like now?
we used to drive on our streets
but now we walk them, rediscover them
I have never seen so many people
walking their local pavement

It helps that these last few days
have been the glory of autumn
warm sunlight after cool mornings

I wonder about winter
maybe it is time to learn to hibernate?
If we could sleep 6 months
and wake on the other side, would we?

Is there enough life here
to be here,
today?

But that is always the question
in our privilege or our poverty
we gaze towards unrealised horizons
replay waves of yesterday's waters

Here is so often the most difficult place to be.
​
But here is where we are,
walking our streets
drenched in Autumn light
as ordinary and extraordinary
as ever.

#9
19/4/20

When my grandkids ask me
about living through the coronavirus
I hope I can tell them
I trod gently on sacred ground
and didn’t squander all my thoughts on the survival of my comfort

The preservation of privilege
turns our gaze from the sacred amongst the suffering
Christ, the ground of being
is always positioned with the suffering

That is why sacred ground abounds
the woman whose home reeks
with bulldog masculinity
the bruised child facing bullies
haunting homes and not just schoolyards
the elderly who miss the glint in grandkids eyes
(not captured on screens)
single ones whose skin will
only know its own touch for months
not to mention the frontline workers
or the very ones who suffer the virus

I have been known to trample
over sacred ground
in my anxious rush to feed my ego
but I hope that when my grandkids
ask me about the days the world changed
I will be able to say
I changed with it
I trod more gently
I loved tenderly and fiercely
among all the sacred in midst the suffering