The Literary Cat image by Reva
At This Time by Reva Nelson
I know that Some of you have Cleaned the stove, tidied your closets, painted your bathroom, emptied your cupboards Washed the floors, cleansed your cushions, vacuumed your cars Written three novels, painted five pictures And accomplished countless other achievements. I have Talked on the phone Watched Netflix Read ten novels And have been in shock. This author of ‘Bounce Back’, Creating Resilience from Adversity Has not felt resilient, has not felt new energy, has not felt creative. However I do rejoice That Nature said, “Enough” Too many pollutants, too many emissions Too much waste And has started to stitch up the ozone layer Put fish back in the waters Allowed bees to flourish And has set us straight In spite of ourselves.
Love in a Time of Distancing by Antony Di Nardo
Love is but a syllable in a book two other words are you and me together we determine how bright the last light leaves the day you talk in terms of candles I quote variations on a simple word for luminous we agree to flatten the curve with a kiss the cello plays Billie Holiday the clouds a chorus from Hallelujah April snaps and out we flutter like birds from mountain to mountain a moment’s breath to reach the peak our breath combines the words we speak
Fading Stars by Christopher Black
While robins woke to fading stars, That drew fat worms to morning doom, And tired hands sought coffee jars, Still half in dream and nightly tomb, While prostitutes and presidents, Walked secret streets, or secret rooms, And madmen claimed it all made sense, But nightly danced in drunken fear, While others stared in innocence, But couldn’t help a sudden tear, Rising from their aching hearts, For those they lost they once held dear, A message came from foreign parts, Of something strange passed through the air; As if a fusillade of poisoned darts, That pierced the old and young, the sad and fair, In silence, swift, and thus, unseen, As Satan climbing Heaven’s stair, His strength renewed and body lean, To reclaim his old authority, And sit the chair where God had been, Sans remorse, regret, sans pity, First one succumbed and then the many, From east to west, in town, in city, The working poor lost every penny, And sat alone, apart, in wonder, For them escape there was not any, As the world around them broke asunder, For existence cares not what your name, Or what day they put you under, And while many played the ancient game, Of searching entrails for some secret reason, A bleating scapegoat they could blame, Others knew we’d had our time, our run, our season, Had squandered all, destroyed the world, Against Life itself had plotted treason, So down the great abyss were hurled.
Making Soup by Kate MacDonald
What’s in the cupboard? What’s in the fridge? She peeks here and there. Veggies? Broth? Seasonings? Abundance and scarcity. Peel. Chop. Substitute. Sauté. Simmer. Taste. Adjust. Purée. Beyond the window sun shines beckoning. Her bike’s in winter storage. Tulips Yellow daffodils Narcissus surely bloom Robins and worms Bunnies under spring Hosta leaves A solitary swan on the river But an ingredient’s lacking? Quixotic desires? Think Midas. Don your cowboy bandana. Substitute two feet for two wheels. Make soup.
Great British Baking Show Haikus by Kim Aubrey
1. Reality too harsh? Retreat under meringue peaks to bake a Daquoise 2. What could be more real than sugar, egg whites, and cream beaten, then eaten? 3. To frost sweet pastry amidst news of plague and grief pipes rosettes of hope.
Kim’s cakes, K. Aubrey