Wishful Thinking Kills

And yes,
we are so very tired
of isolating,
and of being made to do
that which we do not willingly do.

And weeks have passed,
and the sourdough starter lives,
but there courses through us
a spirit of rebellion,
a mighty scream of
“fuck you”.

So they open the parks,
and relax the rules,
and all you can see
are people too close,
too exposed,
too vulnerable
and anxious
to pay attention
to
the
bottom
line.

Are we, then,
so fragile,
so dependent
upon the contact
with others,
that we completely,
abjectly,
foolishly,
abandon logic?
Whatever happened to
“self isolate and stay safe”?

It is time to evolve
beyond climate,
beyond politics,
and beyond having to cope.
It is time
to abandon stupid,
and embrace common sense.

On Long-term Planning During a Pandemic

The cogs ratchet slowly
upon their allotted circuits.
Vibrations of the
“click, click, click”
cause time parameters
to shift,
to morph into vague sepia images
that bear
unimaginable glimpses
of an obscured,
and uncertain,
future.

This country does this:
that country does that:
politicians waffle,
granting themselves
exemptions
unavailable
to the non-elite.

Conspiracy theorists
scream of government control,
of 5G electromagnetic manipulation,
of chemtrails,
of the removal of “freedoms”,
and of how vaccinations will
kill everyone.

“Click, click, click”

There is a future,
but it is unclear
how it will progress,
other than with vast societal

CHANGE,

for the betterment
of all.

Thoughts On Sheltering In Place

Domm, domm,
heavy 
hollow
echoes, 
shadows
of what may come.

Thunk, thunk,
sculpting a thought
one chip at a time,
but time
becomes the harmonic
that shatters
the opus.

Weird sounds,
unlikely linkages,
and hiding,
hiding,
hiding and sheltered
in the backroom
of my mind.

Once there was a time,
and once a time there was
when we knew who we were,
when we knew where we were going,
when we almost
knew why.

I Never Pictured Here

Sure:

imagining on occasion
     being other,
          being elsewhere,
               being headed
for someplace
     that I could not recognise
even
     as I arrived.

But then,
there were,
you will know,
events.

And stranger things
have happened
that
I never pictured 
here.

March/April 2020

I never know when
it is,
but I do,
vaguely,
comprehend
where.

Plans are long interred,
to be celebrated, 
perhaps,
in requiem,
after this time
of now.

It is to contemplate:
it is to meditate:
it is to await,
without imagining,
tomorrow.

Lockdown Ping-Pong

It tantalizes,
just a bit,
     those rogue thoughts
of tomorrow.

Now you see them,
now...not so much.
     They morph,
crying in small voices.

And just when you think
you can look forward
     you can’t;
retreating callously to now.

Maybe tomorrow
will make transition
     more viable
than this shimmering,
          shadowplace,
                    kaleidoscopic vision
of what must be.

Return to Normal

Years from now,
when I am gone
but my lockup colleagues remain,
you will try,
through data analysis,
to formulate a question
that will help us understand
just
what happened.

You must be careful
to use your word skills:
no room for political 
policy statements
here.

What happened?
What didn’t we do?
Why were we so slow
to stop the spread,
but focussed instead,
on controlling the message.

Assigning blame allowed us
to ignore action
until
it was
far
far 
far
too late.

Let your future
give us an answer
that will not further alienate,
     will not further confuse,
but offer
some slight glimmer
of comprehension,
and of
Hope,
in an uncertain Tomorrow.

Lockdown

...and I have become
more threatened
more enfeebled
more focussed on the micro
letting the macro monster roam free
and out of my mind

...and I have developed mechanisms
whereby
I do not think ahead
I do not anticipate
I do not speculate
but by this diverse,
and constricting,
route
I avoid tomorrow

change will come
but it will be a nuanced change
a change of social consciousness
a change fomented today
while we are locked down
in our various ways
in our varied lives
waiting
to go slowly forward
into 
our 
shared
tomorrow...

Washing My Hands

It all comes down to this, then.
Manic hand cleansing:

no beseeching of the uncaring gods:
no besmirching of immigration policies:
no longing for other days that
forever
have passed.


We share, with our cleansing routine,
a commonality 
that long has been lost,
if
     it
          ever
                    existed
at all.

The parameters have been reset.
The future is ours
for
     the 
               making.

Be secure in your loneliness,
knowing,
                 paradoxically,
that you are not 
                                                        alone.

Count to tomorrow,
then simply
scrub
again.

Repeat.

The Ripple Effect

If life is
but a pebble in
this eternal  ocean of time,
how can we ever really begin to know
upon what exotic, strange and wondrous shores
the effect of our actions will roll towards, and expend?
Just a simple splash, a random wave, and the ripple begins.
Speeding ever outward, seeking resolution in harbour or shore;
the change that we have wrought will become, perhaps, catastrophe,
or vibrant inspiration, in ways we cannot know as we struggle
to keep afloat.  Perhaps this distance amplified breaker
will attain tsunami strength and speed, and crash
upon some quiet beach, bringing change
and pain.  Or, from some peaceful bay
the wave prisms radiant sunset,
offering solace and refuge
from a busy world
that simply
does not
care.