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FC Azaele May 2021
The world, so empty
all locked indoors as the virus lingers and refuses to go away
I see the world, so inanimate, so surreal
Slowly fading away

People used to cheer, made jests, and roar
now it's silent and the roads are filled no more
so desolate, one lonely land it is
Everyone locked indoors

cheers to the essential workers who step outside to serve the world another day
cheers to the workers who step outside to serve their family some food on their plate.


cheers
In hopes for a better day
I went out to the bookstore the other day, the mall was empty, very little people were seen around.
*sanitise and wear a mask when you decide to step outdoors
Ylzm Mar 2021
the yearling roasted on the spit
its drippings crackled the fire
huddled in a smoky closed space
family with a neighbour, or two
bags packed, shoes on, ready to go

the meat carefully carved
its skeleton intact, unbroken
with endives rolled in flatbread
unleavened as we had no time
meal's remains destroyed in the fire

we're ready to leave at any moment
from where we're born and always lived
to a place known only from ancient tales
outside, shrieks and wails, of horror and utter terror
inside, goosebumped, hair standing, we waited, in silence
Dave Robertson Apr 2020
A little splinter today
a tiny shiv
to ***** at our resolve
to flatten the curve

buckle in and fatten up
in your locality
so beautiful days
can be unlocked again
Sourodeep Apr 2020
Above this cloud of madness
flows a gentle cool breeze
drifting  away all the sadness
striped butterflies flapping at ease

sound of the waves are heard
once suppressed by the chaos
rhythmic crashing no longer weird
silent therapy broken by the gentle dose

If only one drowns deep can one taste
the salt can be the much needed sweet
where there is no emotion to waste
and only generous soul to greet.
More lonely writing sitting by the window.
coulorfulSmoke Sep 2019
Lone your stupor sits.
What reverie
you declare,
ambrosia never stang like this
since last the rain came stinging.

Ah but puddles my dear,
what fun!
I'll watch your splish splash
but let us not forget
the protection glass affords.

I fear large numbers.
I  confess,
it's true.
It's not the hands per se,
rather the eyelashes
and how they remind me of teeth.
They chew me up
with a glance.

Still, what good
could one decimal eyelash hope for
faced with Napoleon's specters.
I'd wager on scarce.

Even so, eyelashes chewed through
my thatcher.
I'll have to buy
a new one.
One that isn't so fond of how the Swiss
process milk.

Not that it's desired
but it's still nice to have a tally
in the loner's column,
now and again.
Far moost o' me
     three score minus one year
tethered upon terra firmae where
planet Earth doth veer

(spins upon the global axis
     (tilted 23.5 degrees from the plane
     of its orbit around the sun),
terrestrial genesis (perhaps accompanied

     for Pete's sake by Gabriel
     blowing his horn) in all honesty unclear
boot more oven concern
     points to thermonuclear

and/or subnuclear
war, particularly at forefront
     of thine primate noggin
actively hypothesizing

     theoretical armageddon,
     when non plus ultra gravitates
     with e pluribus unum necessitating
     each individual to bend over

     and kiss his/her rear
goodbye unless total merciless queer
hue loss atomic fallout immediately
     incinerates e'en

     the moost savvy profiteer,
which aforementioned prognostication
     arose from overbear
ring hazy, hot and humid

     dangerous heat spell near
lee approximating insufferable
     temperature nearing triple digits
     (along Eastern Seaboard

     of United baked States
makes this human,
     an immediate convert to climate control
(though he happened tubby already)

     basking, glorifying, and luxuriating
     within delightful 60º Fahrenheit mere
really expressing gratitude for such
     creature comfort donning my

     stretched out birthday suit,
     (yet thee moost comfortable leisurewear
then thrift store "special bag
     mountain of clothes

     as mooch as Yukon sales,"
     no matter mine ill mannered
     mirrored reflection doth jeer
at such a sorry sight, and/or

     laugh reading interlinear
monologue colloquy,
     which message gleaned between lines,
and should this poem be red aloud,

     thy ******* passion linkedin
     with humming HVAC, ye would hear
courtesy hove cochlear
(hollow tube in the inner ear)
sensitive to deafening sounds...so beware!
Gabriel burnS May 2018
Beneath the facade
The opposite awaits
So few though, I let in
Because my friend,
This heart of mine,
It may not be a temple
But make no grave mistake
For it’s neither a brothel
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
They are the sky.
I am the earth.

They are taxi rides.
I am a river rushing.

They are eyes glued to a screen
when their companions long for real conversations.
I am the wind in silence.

They are ****-coloured beer.
I am black coffee and stout.

They are cell phone towers.
I am the stars.

They are poodles on leashes.
I am the lone wolf.

They are elevator rides.
I am off the beaten path.

They have forgotten their roots.
I am plugging in.
Snehith Kumbla Aug 2016
over the cracked
footpath, he spreads
his time-frozen
wares unawares

of childhood now
arrested indoors,
TV, computer,
cell phone drone,

no mango trees
to aim at, the
playgrounds
have gone concrete,

trudge home
catapult seller,
the market for
such simple pleasures,

now obsolete...
Catapult - A plaything consisting of a Y-shaped stick with elastic between the arms; used to propel small stones (WordWeb dictionary)
She likes it indoors,more like she's "self bound",
When faced with dull moments of just staring at the ground,
She tends to look out the window for inspiration,
Stretches out her arm through her window and she loves it when she touches the clouds perspiration;
Drain drops,
They make her feel so good;in her mind the world stops,

Perhaps when its raining she's as happy as the crops.
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