#poems quarantine

[sanddollarpoems]

I feel it closing in

With every ping of my phone

Another friend wanting to talk

Or hang out

Or grab drinks

And I get it, this is what we do now

As a culture

This is how we "society"

But my introvert ass wants bed and a book

And I don't want to talk

Or be friends

Or exist

For a couple of months at least

God, I think I miss 2020

[poetrythreesixfive]

The Great Indoors

To thrive in The Great Indoors, one must learn

to live boldly, daringly, unburdened by the sad

shackles that temper lesser souls, for happiness

requires that we do what needs to be done

first, one must learn to swing from the rafters,

to hurl oneself fully and heroically from one

high beam to another; if no rafters are available,

feel free to tear out the ceiling until they are clear

secondly, one must not be inconvenienced by

windows, so smash them out with whatever

solid objects are at hand; books, vases, and fine

sculptures will do, and in a pinch, try furniture

next, slide down any and all bannisters, and in

the case of living in some deplorable dwelling

where no bannisters are to be found, employ

a laundry basket to sled down the stairs at will

running is essential, around in circles and down

hallways, with the addition of screaming and

howling at every juncture; and jumping too

should be added, for obstacles will be expected

hunting for food will be necessary, as always,

and can be found in the usual hideaways, but

forget not to fill the tubs with drinking water

and to provide a helmet or coconut for a scoop

whatever tasty morsels are discovered should be

stashed in a clandestine location and protected

with booby traps; a water bucket over a doorway

is foolproof; use projectiles whenever possible

finally, shelter is essential in these wild times,

and building a fort using couch cushions, chairs,

and other sturdy shapes will assure you of safety

from marauders who might think to harm you

don’t forget to include the dog and cat, for they

will naturally take sides in any skirmishes, and

if the neighbors want to join in, make sure that

all secret passwords are secure and up to date

if parents or authority figures get involved and

punishment is threatened, deny everything and

blame it on pirates or raiders; remember, there is

nothing more noble than a sworn pact of secrecy

in all of these escapades, be sure to take time to

read books, at night by flashlight under cover,

and by daytime curled up in the warm glow of

a sunbeam shining through a broken window.

-GeorgeFilip

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

A poet RIP.

After testing positive with COVID, Patricia Horan, the poet, passed away.

Below is her final poem, written with insistence and ferocity via text from her hospital bed according to her friend Elizabeth Sabo.

Notes on a Stay in a Hospital Quarantine Cell

© Patricia G. Horan :: December 27, 2020

“I swallow my pride and it tastes like honey and salt.

The air has embraced my private body and has approved, and it quietly rejoices in its revelations and the liberation of its childlike spills and neediness. How I reach to love it suddenly, this stranger I’ve kept in a fifties New Jersey suitcase, only removing it for one afternoon on a nude fire island beach.

Now it is truly liberated in a small windowless quarantine room in North Carolina.

The machines behind me beep, shining little christmas trees, watching my pulses, systems, and disturbances like grandmothers, occasionally clucking, unfashionably faithful through the night. I am pinned head to toe to a proud family of counters, weighers, and witnesses. This little womb and its divine protocols.

Shame is peeled from the human body when the body is wet with sweet tears and shocking love. It has suckers like snails and they make marks. The shameless body houses the soul proudly instead of shrouding it.

My mother tells me I began to walk on my first birthday. Today I took steps alone from the commode to the bed, to the applause of my caregiver. Eighty years has incensed up in a laughing swirl of smudge smoke. A laughing swirl of smudge smoke and ageless birthday courage.

Echoing a hated preachment, I see that my life is just where it belongs, that mistakes are potholes filled in with diamonds.

If this dream goes away in the glare and blare of rough reality I will lovingly remember it the way I recall my dying mother squeezing my hand that is now identical to hers. My tenderness spills over in tears of recognition and reconciliation.

Message from a Quarantine Room.

Little womb of a room.”

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

“...enough of the high / water, enough sorrow, enough of the air and its ease, / I am asking you to touch me.”

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[lontanodalpanicoo]

Blood is screaming inside my veins.

Another morbid thought floats inside my brain.

Why am I still alive?

Will I ever be 25?

[yoursecretmoon]

drawing stars in the air

[themeghanamanjunath]

Your path will unfold

Your history will be told

Behold the light you hold

Shield it from the cold

Be ever so kind

And you will find

It is this part of you

That stays ever true

Despite icy winds that blow

Find a way to glow

In darkness abound

You will be found

Above all, I'll choose you

And everything I do

Will be with you in mind

After all we're one of a kind

Self-love isn't just a harp

It's both shield and sword sharp

Loving you isn't a task

All of you under that mask

Shake off the weariness of the world

Open up, let your petals unfurl

Loving you is long overdue

And as long as I am, I will continue

[clarislam]

I'm excited to share that my poems "Sick Days," "Everything Is Fine," and "Quarantined Fear" were published in Young Canadians Roundtable on Health’s project "In Their Own Words: Reflections By Youth On The Pandemic!" 

Thank you to the YCRH for publishing my work!

Read my poetry here: https://healthydebate.ca/2022/12/topic/sick-days/ 

Read all the works in the project here: https://healthydebate.ca/special-series/in-their-own-words/

[inspiration-apparent]

Untitled

Delia Saastamoinen, April ‘20

I just want to run away

and start over

and meet new people

and cry new tears

and pick new flowers in the spring.

[crowleys-right-eyeball]

no i will not!

in general i dont think fandom tattoos are a bad idea but i think u need to at least give yourself like a two year buffer from the end of that piece of media before you commit. like if someone told me "yeah im obsessed with hazbin hotel rn so im gonna get a hazbin hotel tattoo" id be like woah okay maybe put a pin in that idea for later. but if someone told me "yeah i read homestuck in its prime and i still love it so im gonna get a homestuck tattoo" id be like well fair enough its been like eight years. if you still like it now you'll probably still have fond memories of it in 20 years. you do you.

[duskys-poetry]

Entertaining Insanity

Isn’t insanity so entertaining?

You all have normal lives to lead

Mine’s been nothing but isolating

The scars are my friends

The sickness my lover

Forever inside

My quarantine’s not over

It never has been, for my illness lives inside

Neglectful isolation

All my life I’ve been made to hide

So I find my companionship on the kiss of a blade

The intimacy of a breakdown

The seduction of self destruction

And I find the meaning in my life to be

Entertaining insanity

That’s all there is for me

In this prison of corruption

[skid-the-mighty-poet]

[drunkpages]

Videopoema propio, ya disponible por Youtube!

[shamailaijazhaider]

Emotional Quarantine

The summers became adult by now, The seasonal flu was common now. But for me flu transformed into fear, I’m covid positive, I couldn’t bear. I became untouchable that night, No hugs, no kisses, and I cried. I encaged myself as if I was with leprosy, Seeing kids from far seemed so crazy, My soul was oxygenation by my daughter, A beautiful letter slipped under door, everyday. After 14…

[lontanodalpanicoo]

Intrappolata nel letto, cosa ho fatto di male?

Catene di ricordi e speranze mi inchiodano a terra, ma non sono più io, non ho più un cuore.

Ti guardo e penso: se non te ne fossi andata così presto, forse avrei potuto salvarmi. Forse.

Forse

Forse è davvero colpa mia.

È colpa mia se te ne sei andata.

È colpa mia.

[roseacademia]

A poetry I wrote a couple years ago, in March when Corona was still discussed a lot. It's to people who chose to not quarantine and on top of that, they would mock those who did, call them fools and all in all would be troublesome toward them. Writing a few verses of this was quite cathartic even XD

It's perfectly understandable for those people to not quarantine who had to feed their families, who didn't have enough resources to quarantine but the rest, that didn't have a valid excuse