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Poetry in Lockdown: Part III

Raag Marwa

Gentle notes echo in the room 
as they did a year back in your Mumbai office,
today, this shipping container you’ve nicknamed ‘home’ 
reverberates in the dying Dublin light.

Our 35th day indoors

fingers caress the flute
like the floating eyelash of a newborn;
head tilted, eyes shut, symphony cascading over
the microwave defrosting our forgotten appetite.

            You are not here,
you don’t belong
in this contaminated world

  the earth bare bones without meat,
bleached roots digging through
ashes of burnt meadows
there’s no time to grieve

from within our cage.

Strains from your flute
penetrate atoms to stir against their will
forced out of their bulimic state.
Brows pulled together

            you are not here,
you don’t belong
in this contaminated world

rubbing soil between two fingers;
it stains your cuticles
with the promise of finding the rhythm
that attracts the bees and the tigers.

You stumble

breath hitches
through the bamboo tube
uncontrolled exhalation
sharp tones brought to a sudden halt
 
shh! 
can you hear the atoms cringe in vilified hope?

 

-Sree Sen

Submitted June 8, 2020
 

Staying Apart

By the third month,
every thing was a someone.
Books packed sweatily on shelves.
Nodding alliums gossiped.
Wisteria lovers wound urgent braids.
A bog cotton field at sunset 
was a festival crowd.

 

-Eilín de Paor

Submitted June 8, 2020

Metamorphose

ACT 1

Emancipatory Politics

This is Emancipatory politics…

To Avatars of authority
Every man is the same
But through the power of words
The damage was done
As rage was the animus
Man will get richer and prosper
To try fix the rupture
In an age of primordial sin
Where no land brings peace
Already numb in the eyes
He will search for that string of light
Still riding on that crest of a wave
Wondering when he will die
And Where is the justice?
The petty thief is imprisoned
The big thief becomes a lord
And the more crimes which take place
The more they become invisible
Sorcerers may know that werewolves are bands
Who can transform into one another
This is the quiet revolution
So we descend into eternal summer
Through a magnetic dragon eye
But revolution shall remain a matter
Of the least likely cases
In a cold world
God is still in the box
And clemency forms an inevitable death
From a bond of silence
For we must give thanks
And remember its who you know
Not what you know
And who you don’t know
Over who you know
This is the breaking in
And as the old world is dying
The new struggles to be born
And when people remain silent
Tyranny shall blow its horn
Revolution is the job of the artist
And a it is a source of magical esoteric joy
Where Freedom is like a beacon
And heaven’s possibility can transform

This is emancipatory politics

Act 2

Transformative Magic

This is transformative magic…

The ancients believed
In immortality of the soul
We are all spiritual beings
In a human form
And if you bury the truth
Deep in the earth
It may grow then
Like a mighty oak
For in times rife
With social discord
When you anger
Those who vanquish
Remember that you only
Live once and so
Through bravery, humour, force or cunning
Blake said that the eagle
Never lost so much time
As when he submitted
To learn of the crow
And Socrates said that when a great man
Makes an error
It is greater
Than a fool’s truth
But we must not forget
Those who pray
For the salvation
Of their enemies
For this is totem observance,
We must place our trust
In he who cares not
Because the greatest
Souls lack intensity
Yes, your light shall vanish
And your nostalgia is nothing
But a profound desire
To alleviate the suffering
And recreate the past
He is a sailor’s truth
Formulated as an aesthetic
And if he didn’t exist
It would be necessary
To invent him
His fundamental path
To all that exists
Is to relate to others
Because to live is to know
And his son is like the condemned man
Does he recoil?
Can he re-emerge?
Shall he rise in fire?

This is transformative magic

 

-Alan Garrigan

Submitted June 8, 2020

Sunflower Hives

little golden wings
perch on tongues
softly soaked

in gardens stem
burned clay hands
cast red

fields buckle for
taste

petals bare back
caked in mouthed
dew – slow sips

nourished crack
bodies fibers glow
trick-yellow

ever easy in buzzed
grace

 

-Lindsey McIntosh

Submitted June 8, 2020

A Mother's Wisdom

A silvery thread she said. 
A silvery thread is what holds us
 here, What keeps us here, what
sustains us.  Once broken, it is 
irreparable. Once broken, we drift 
away. 
A silvery thread she said, the ignorant youth never 
listen.  A silvery thread she said and then I understood. 

 

-Jane Rigby

Submitted June 8, 2020

Ode to Corona

Oh, to hear the children laugh and play,
Instead of being just shut away.
And to simply get a bus,
Without masks and gloves and all that fuss.
To sit outside have coffee and chat,
About nothing and all, of this and that.
In a shop to simply browse awhile,
Of former things like clothes and style.
Going for a walk is no longer fun,
The masked faces look so glum.
Just to have a cough or sneeze,
Without worry you have the dreaded disease.
Washing hands all day is not so grand,
Worrying in case you missed a strand.
To go beyond the recommended mile.
Could lead to prison for quite awhile
Holidays, pubs and clubs are all in the past,
The Covid rules have all been ironly cast.
The fat quickly gathers round the waist,
The nation fattens up without too much haste.
The loss of freedom is hard to bear,
One feels the need to curse and swear.
But think of flowers and how they grow,
After hail wind and snow.
When this is over think of the joy,
Of living as we like, oh boy.
Oh, when the children come out to play,
It will indeed make everyone’s day

 

-Margaret Hayward 

Submitted June 10, 2020

Little Cow of God

God’s little cow it lands lightly on the blade
As I whisk another nettle from its toil
A blade of grass grows long among the lavender
Yet another
Doomed and now they’re gone
This weeding and toil in constant sun
I’m here to right the garden wrongs
And time gives time and time again
As minutes throng grass lives in vain of lasting long
God’s little cow it lands lightly on the blade
I pause and watch her gentle sway
And time gives time and time again
I am enthralled and touch the grass on which to lay.

 

-Siobhan Olofsson

Submitted June 10, 2020