After Dylan Thomas

by Jane Skellett 

Do not go gentle to the misery pit.
New age should burn and rave at dawn of day;
Rage, rage against the rising of the shit.

Though wise men in their prime know what is writ
Upon the wall, they keep their wits, and they
Do not go gentle to the misery pit.

Good men, the last wave by, taking each hit;
Their frail deeds might have danced and gone astray;
Rage, rage against the rising of the shit.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun to quit,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way;
Do not go gentle to the misery pit.

Grave men, near death, who at the threshold sit,
Wishing the black crow white, or even grey;
Rage, rage against the rising of the shit.

And you, my country, where is your true grit?
Curse, bless, me now with your histories, I pray;
Do not go gentle to the misery pit.
Rage, rage against the rising of the shit. 

Jane Skellett is a community writer, currently working from her home-base in Bournemouth, UK. She runs workshops, and a well-established writers group; and writes across all genres, to help celebrate and support individuals, groups and communities internationally. She is a member of the Society of Women Writers and Journalists, and her poetry has been published in a number of collections, as well as winning a number of prizes and awards. Illustration: “Pandemic Daydreams IV” by Callie Hirsch. Hirsch who comes from Rockland County, where she discovered her love for nature. MTA Art & Design commission recipient, Hirsh’s art can be viewed at 105 Beach Station, Rockaway, Queens. In 2001 she was invited to show her work in the Biennial Internazionale dell’Art Contemporanea. “Pandemic Daydreams” was created over a three-month period in reaction to the COVID-19 pandemic. Daydreams allow for momentary escape, delving in our subconscious being.

Aprilcalypse

by Bruce W. Niedt

A light spring rain falls on Sunday morning
and the dandelions on my lawn.
I am here, not far from Independence Hall,
while democracy shakes like a leaf,
just as shaking hands is going out of style.
Squirrels dart across deserted streets
and tornados, my childhood nightmare,
rip through the South. This world can turn
on a dime, a dirty dime like the one I found
by the curb yesterday. From cornfields
to tenements, change is rattling the husks
and window panes. Some have spray painted
anarchy symbols and swastikas anonymously
in the alley by the trash cans; others boldly
brandish them on protest signs. My wife and I
watch the news looking for facts, while others
eat up Pizzagate and the Deep State,
jumping into a chasm of disinformation.  
They fear Spanish and Chinese like I fear heights.
I grew up in a pink split-level, wear jeans
like Springsteen, build a playhouse for my grandkids
and read them Goodnight Moon. Now I have
a President who asks if we can inject disinfectant
to kill the virus in us, and I think of the film
Idiocracy. (Dear Mr. President, please sit down –
you’re not helping. Very truly yours, a citizen.)
I wish I could just fly away from here, mount
a poetic Pegasus and lift us both into the clouds.
But solace will have to come from the real world,
like the empty boulevard lined with cherry trees
that bloom in the rain in my home town.

Bruce W. Niedt is a retired “beneficent bureaucrat” from southern New Jersey whose poetry has appeared in Rattle, Writers Digest, Mason Street Review, Boston Literary Magazine, Tiferet, The Lyric, and many other publications. He has been nominated three times for the Pushcart Prize. His latest chapbook is Hits and Sacrifices (Finishing Line Press). Illustration: “Pandemic Daydreams XI” by Callie Hirsch. Hirsch who comes from Rockland County, where she discovered her love for nature. MTA Art & Design commission recipient, Hirsh’s art can be viewed at 105 Beach Station, Rockaway, Queens. In 2001 she was invited to show her work in the Biennial Internazionale dell’Art Contemporanea. “Pandemic Daydreams” was created over a three-month period in reaction to the COVID-19 pandemic. Daydreams allow for momentary escape, delving in our subconscious being.

pansy spiral pensée sonnet

by Marcella Durand

when everything collides within a spiral of pansies
a condensed dot in which all the velvet darkness of pansies
begins in a flurry of bright yellow pollen marking the center of pansies
and after the distinct boundaries of deep purples out again to the distinctive yellow of pansies
petals; not leaves but petals, in that petals are the non-chlorophyll part of the pansies
flowers do not synthesize sunshine in that marvelous process of even pansies
like trees and grass and leaves and everything green but the flowers of pansies
are not green but often yellow and deep deep purple a particular purple of pansies
at night the yellow of pansies
becomes an odd muted gray not like the vivid yellow of pansies
a gray almost sketched out and unreflective more like a drawing of pansies
before it is watercolored with yellow and purple like pansies
I never thought before I would write poems about pansies
they were the first and last flowers to be had before the shutdown. therefore, pansies.

Marcella Durand’s newest book, The Prospect, was just now published by Delete Press. Her translation of Michèle Métail’s book-length poem, Les Horizons du sol/Earth’s Horizons, was published slightly earlier this year by Black Square Editions. She lives in the Lower East Side in New York City where she is working on her next collection, forthcoming from Black Square Editions. Illustration: “Pandemic Daydreams VI” by Callie Hirsch. Hirsch who comes from Rockland County, where she discovered her love for nature. MTA Art & Design commission recipient, Hirsh’s art can be viewed at 105 Beach Station, Rockaway, Queens. In 2001 she was invited to show her work in the Biennial Internazionale dell’Art Contemporanea. “Pandemic Daydreams” was created over a three-month period in reaction to the COVID-19 pandemic. Daydreams allow for momentary escape, delving in our subconscious being.