 Poetry: June 10, 2020 Issue [#10221] |
This week: When the Doors to the Zoo were Opened - Edited by: Fyn  
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I love to go to the zoo. But not on Sunday. I don't like to see the people making fun of the animals,
when it should be the other way around. ~~Ernest Hemingway
Life is a zoo in a jungle. ~~Peter De Vries
I never thought much of the courage of a lion tamer. Inside the cage he is at least safe from people. ~~George Bernard Shaw
Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.~~ Aristotle
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Pacing
back and forth
back and forth
forth and back.
Endless loop
on repeat.
Stuck.
Restless panthers
prowling nowhere.
Wearing a path in the grass,
a trail just inside the fence.
Staring between bars
yearning to be on the other side--
of the glass.
No wild animal as such
just caged humans.
And then the doors opened.
And they burst out
not sure where to go
or for what
so they drove aimlessly,
wandered a store
needing nothing
wanting something
and then
they escaped back
to the safety
of home.
The restraints have been, for the most part, lifted here in Michigan. So used to staying at home, many stayed put anyway. Clinging to the known versus the 'unknown of 'out there.' Except for the kids slurping ice cream cones at the Dairy Queen. Except for the teens who were in a convertible with the top down...and their tops off. Then, there was the grandmother who is now afraid to get near anyone and the mother who was leery about letting the kids ride their bikes. And others exercised their right to protest and gathered in huge groups. Some wore masks, many didn't.
We've changed. Or have we? We are social animals. My daughter came over for the first time in three months. We hugged and tears flowed. I'd missed her terribly beyond the 'seeing' of facetime that didn't cut it. After ten minutes, we were good. Then we indulged in a mom/daughter weekend of silliness, cooking out, watching movies, laughing: just being together. We each had someone to share the confinement. But I've talked to those who are alone, have been alone, in their solitary spaces. Beyond loneliness, they are sad, worried, and in such need of a bit of human togetherness. A simple touch, a hug. And yet, others have no issue for it really, aside from masks at the store, seemed (or felt) much like normal as they have been alone for ages, having lost a spouse or living nowhere near family or simply, by choice.
There are those who will go forward with new fears. Others will yearn to just go about their lives as they always have. One worries now about that stranger near them picking out apples and worries it isn't (or will never again) be safe to even do so. Another shrugs and says they refuse to go through life being paranoid. Others simply opt for a sensible balance.
Worry about jobs vanishing, companies being unable to weather the drought, travel plans on indefinite hold, absentee ballots arriving in the mail: new concepts and worries where there had been none. And yet, and yet, we must go onwards because standing still, afraid to take a step is not an option. As things begin to open, my husband comes home from work saying one of the guys in the shop had been exposed so he wouldn't be at work for two weeks. The specter rises like a dark, threatening greenish cloud. Hubby says it reminds him of that thing after 'Jaws' came out when no one wanted to get back into the water. Perhaps we shall choose to stay close to shore for a bit, stay in the shallow ends of our various pools.
Seems like there are so many poems churning in my head. Poetry is how I interpret the world around me. Dare say I am not alone in that. As writers, it is what we do and it is good for us to do this!
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From last newsleeter's pick a phrase.
JCosmos  wrote: here's my take.
Love in the midst of the quarantine writing com prompt
love
in the midst
of this quarantine
more than ever before
life seems like
a bad dream
a bad dream
that we all share
like a lost child
wandering in the woods
with steam =fogged goggles
on his face
due to the fear
all around him
and the constant hate
but in the end
we will all overcome
the hate around us
as the virus retreats
leaving behind
during the changing seasons
we all worship
the ancient book
of the dead
Monty  wrote:
I am just a poor poet
Money have I none
But I have Silver in the stars
And gold in the morning sun. Thank you for a fine News Letter. |
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