20/20 doesn’t mean what it used to hope was sucked out of our beings drowning us in metaphorical waters the despair vibrated in the gasps of the dying
can we recover…
politics, and the anger it fueled climate change, and the natural disasters which ensued sickness, and the devastation that followed all of it ravaged the land, the body and the heart
i hope we can recover…
but there are stronger ones among us survivors, come what may we’ll need to lean on them or forever lose our way
we can recover…
Thanks to my hubs for the title of this piece! I’d wanted to write one final piece about the year 2020 but hadn’t found what I would call an acceptable way to lead into it. Recently, while having a discussion, I misspoke trying to utter the word “situation.” Great discussion and a title was born!
Zoom here, Zoom there, Going nowhere, and yet anywhere!
Little spider climbing up the air on invisible string.
Gentle purring indicates it is awake soon will need to be fed. I care for its needs, it can then help me – we are a team: my friend, my chainsaw.
The man has a place in the country, a few acres. Part of it is meadow, but part is hillside with trees. The meadow is a nice open space, but it is the trees that enchant him. Their shade and the breeze particularly attract him. They are his refuge from a life of stress. A friend posted a photo she had found of someone who also had trees, and in their roots had placed tiny elfin doors, windows and even walkways, handmade but exquisite. He would do that too!! They would add a magical touch to his magical place.
SO MUCH UPSIDE DOWN
He sits at home imprisoned by disease, yet his world has expanded more than he ever imagined. Technology connects him to people and places in the world where he could never otherwise have gone. The curse and blessings are mixed. He can see and speak with people who had moved far away, yet cannot hug his grandbabies. It has become a strange world. Among his pastimes has become a search for himself. Not an inner, existential search, but a search for evidence of physical accomplishments. With the internet, he can search for his published work he would otherwise never have known about. It still puzzles him that writings of his have been posted from one site to another after their initial acceptance. He doesn’t mind – he is surprised. As a child, his mother refused him any identity of his own. Now, he finds he exists all over the world. Amazing!!!
A NAME IS…
“English was good enough for Jesus, it’s all I need, and you’d better stay away from that foreign stuff too!” Cecilia’s Father was vehement in his pronouncement.
“It rhymes with Hawaii,” Cecilia sighed and finished. She had just mentioned to her father the names of Bahá‘u’lláh and Bahá’í, that the first meant ‘the Glory of God’ and the second, ‘Follower of the Glory.’
“English names don’t have meanings,” he refuted.
“Armstrong, who had a strong arm? Boatright, who built boats? Smith, the village blacksmith? Most names have meanings, we just don’t know them.”
“Still, that’s foreign stuff.”
“Granpa was born in Germany. That’s foreign!”
“Well, that’s diff….”
“And Jesus wasn’t born in Kansas.”
At that, her father had to grin. He couldn’t argue there.
“Every religion is new some time. People living in the Roman Empire thought the name of Jesus was strange and new.”
“You win,” he grinned lovingly.
Herrmann aspires to be a hermit, but would miss his children, grandchildren and a few friends. He is known to carry baby kittens in his mouth, pet snakes, and converse with owls, but is careful not to anger them! A traumatic, abusive childhood embellished with dyslexia, ADHD, cyclothymia, now, PTSD. This is Duane’s second feature on The Short of It.
Honored to have Life Is Off and Taking My Temperature accepted for this project! It is so important that we have places to store the feelings and the emotions this year of upheaval has given us. Hopefully it will gain us insight for what not to do in the future should this type of life-altering event occur again.
I’d recommend you browse through all the other submissions too. The creativity, the honesty, the heartbreak of all their experiences is rich with what we would call “The Human Experience.” So much resonates with the fear, the uncertainty and just how much life stays the same too. We share in order to survive.
If you have something you’d like to share, please do become a part of this project! Submit your story
like out of a sci-fi film the tension builds as our reality becomes an unrealistic and an unwanted fantasy we’d never have dreamt up willingly
personal habits mutated overnight, for some people affected before our eyes, everyone all steps ventured became tentative a feeling of a strange abnormal that couldn’t be defined the markers of who to be kept changing
many were lost, not just the dead their lives upended with new realities of despair retreating into themselves, forced there alone with the grim reaper loved ones watching from afar, helpless
covid-19 will cease to be eventually oh, but the cost of the lessons learned as mentally, emotionally and physically we heal the scars of devastation will linger the pain of the losses great as we, the left behind, begin to emerge anew
Forgive the shameless plug for this wonderful book!!
If you prefer paperback, click here or Kindle, click here. And remember, I’d be happy to Authorgraph it digitally, if you choose to purchase an electronic version instead. Thank you for your support! 🙂
Fallen leaves, yellowed. Hot winds blast during the day. Sweet Mangoes beckon.
Festival of Colours-Holi
Hues of fire on trees. Festival of hues on cheeks. Pristine moonlit night.
Wet stray on road, Searching for shelter from rain. Thunderclaps exhort.
An entry in Lockdown Dairy
Bare roads, sans human. Nature sets up symphony, With birds, bees and breeze.
The beautiful Taj Mahal-India
On Yamuna’s bank, Love’s monument pristine white; With the moonbeams vie.
Indian Winter nights
Winter nights- Sitting around a fire Waiting for the morn.
A cough, Cold air’s whiplash; Invites sufferers’ curse.
Long nights In a donated quilt. A homeless prays in sleep.
Goutam is passionate about poetry and writes whenever something or someone touches his heart. He lives in Kolkata, India and writes poetry in English, Hindi and Bengali. His book on English poetry “Hues of Life” (Notion Press) can be found at Amazon. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Goutam blogs at Straight from Heart.