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Anais Vionet Feb 14
You have to admit, the future's looking bright
- with corona seeming to fizzle out a bit, with
cryptocurrency, the metaverse and the futuristic,
kiss-your-sister quality of lab-grown meat to
save the planet - yep, things are looking up.
Anais Vionet Jan 15
He passes through the room like a bubble in champagne, unattached, teflon coated, and somehow freer than the rest of us. “Jordie’s here,” Leong says in an excited whisper.

“Yeah,” I sigh, adjusting my mask, “saw him.” She smiles like a cat behind hers. Leong knows I’m crushing on Jordie and she finds it delicious information which she waves at me like a flag whenever he’s around.

We’re processing in, distancing and passing table to table. Leong can be with me because, as roommates, we’ll be quarantining together. Lisa joins us, she’s back from the restroom. “Jordie’s here,” she says, bouncing up on her toes to better scan the room.

I don’t look at him but he fills my horizon like a thunderhead. He’s all I can see, even when I’m not looking at him. We reach the end of a row of tables and bam, there he is, six feet away. He says hi, I say hi - I’m very professional as we exchange looping, harmless euphemisms for settling in for spring semester - then he’s called to the next station.

“If only we weren’t so busy,” I say, holding this fiction in front of me like a shield. “Yeah,” Leong and Lisa say, practically together, and smiling like thieves.
BLT word of the day challenge: euphemisms: substitute words
Anais Vionet Jan 4
Lisa and I got our emails the same day.
She read hers first. She made a small
sighing sound, the faintest of protests.
Then broke the news, with a scowl,
“They’re moving classes online “temporarily.”

I don’t want to talk about Corona any more
- I want to scream about it. Maybe we’ll
graduate, in three years, without knowing
what most of our classmates look like -
​​antithetical to university “networking”.

I’m lucky, I know - I’m only inconvenienced.
I roam, safely, indoors, impatiently untouched by
adult, real world concerns, like jobs and money.
So I’ll keep my head up and smile like those
glamorous, happy girls in ****** commercials.
ch#66 BLT word of the day “antithetical”
antithetical: the exact opposite
Thomas Steyer Jul 2021
I know someone who thinks he's enlightened,
while other people are still quite frightened.

He knows for sure that Corona is a lie,
just as much as pigs can't fly.

No point discussing things with him,
for he considers everything I say as dim.

Don't watch the news, he says, it's all fake,
the truth is, that your freedom is at stake.

Certain media channels tell you for a fact
that the richest people have formed a pact.

With subtle methods they keep you at bay,
and aim to shape you like a piece of clay.

Think about the real reason for vaccination,
it's enough to give you fear and trepidation.

Aren't you a little grim and negative, I say,
isn't it even paranoid to think that way?

He smugly looks at me 'cos he thinks he's right,
and pities me as I won't put up a fight.

I suppose belief is bliss no matter how misguided
or how badly informed one views things lopsided.

Perhaps he's survived by learning how to swim,
but where would we be, if we all thought like him.
Ritz Writes Oct 2021
Painting glossy images of life and
sitting near the window thinking about what has gone and what could have happened;

folded hands in prayers restless minds over sleepless nights counting stars over wishes to push the button~ renew, restart and rebuild.

Alarm rings to wake us from unsettling nightmares
Chores and stern face to pursue for bills await and responsibility to ensue.

When the night crawls in
the cyclic pain begins.
"Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.." ~ T.S. Eliot
missanthrope Aug 2021
My footfalls, they
Were the could-care-less slaps
Of a housewife’s plastic slippers
Upon her unyielding hardwood floors
When she unwillingly gets up from the sofa
To open the door
For her ugly husband.
missanthrope Aug 2021
The masked runner’s breath
Is already circumcised fivefold.
But he will never get over the humiliation
Of wearing right on his mouth
A diaper
Of saliva, stale air, and swears.
Shruti Gour Jul 2021
Maybe this is how the world ends,
Not huddled together, holding hands,
as a meteor races towards us.
But quarantined separately in rooms,
as a virus eats you slowly from inside.

Maybe this is how the world ends,
Not from a single gunshot to your head,
as you revolt against bullies on streets.
But from a slow drowning in your guilt,
as a voice asks you why didn’t you?

Maybe this is how the world ends,
Not from a bomb exploding in the mall,
as you buy a new summer wardrobe.
But from a slow burn deep inside you,
as you ignore the haunted eyes around.

Maybe the world doesn’t end after all,
Not from guns, bombs or stray meteors,
as you wake up to sunny blue skies.
But how will you face yourself tomorrow,
with all this death festering inside?
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