April is National Poetry Month.
That the occasion is marked this year by a worldwide pandemic-fueled lockdown is, to say the least, a perfect recipe for poetry. We asked Petaluma poet and former Sonoma County Poet Laureate Terry Ehret, to reach out to some of the other poets in the area, including Larry Robinson, who tirelessly curates a daily email send of poems, and as such, has received a large number of new, corona-themed poetry from writers throughout the county. With their help, we received dozens of submissions, including brand new original works from five current and past Sonoma County Poets Laureate.
As one might expect, they run the full course of emotion and scope, from the deeply personal and introspective to the pointedly hopeful and judiciously universal. We are honored to present these poems to you now. Thanks to the writers who are doing the important work of transforming this moment into the language of art and rhythm and metaphor and grace.
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NAVIGATION
By Kristi Hellum
Rowing together
Singing for cadence
Across a white capped sea
What is this place?
Unfamiliar is our own home
Rowing together
Muscles gleaming
We dip our oars
Carving into oceanic darkness
Rowing together
The North Star dims
So our hearts steer
Toward the mystic
Who is navigator now?
Rowing together
What brought each of us here?
Galaxies of hopeful light
These stalwart companions
Kindly illuminating the shadow
Rowing together
On an unknown sea
We begin softly
To know the light
Of our own humanity.
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THE PRESENCE OF OWLS
By Crystal Ockenfush
Now you get it
the medieval mind,
the world so suddenly
alien, incomprehensible —
illegible like a rain
soaked envelope returned
to sender.
What did you want
to say to me?
We're out looking
for signs, the dead
crow means …
more than the presence,
the hunger of
owls. Or does it?
Symptoms, a cough,
the breath body praying
to pollen, to a bit
of RNA or the word
you swallowed at the last
minute. Who can say?
The fever, the woman
in the window — can we think
of her other
than trapped or on
display?
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An Angel's Touch
By Jo Ann Smith
I dare not touch my face,
worse yet, not yours either,
Bodhi licked my nose,
things touched with love
really ought to have a voice
a poet's voice
a scribe, who strives
if only for a moment
to touch our hearts with
invisible hands that shout
can you feel what I feel,
if I cannot touch your hand
may I caress you with my words,
connect without contact,
perchance to touch your soul
after all, it is not the touch at all,
it is the feeling touch evokes,
holding in my heart a sensual sense
I cannot hold in my hands
let me feel cool breezes
on my fevered cheeks,
soft raindrops on my eyes
to confuse my salty tears,
and let my arms be open
to an angel's touch
disguised in a poet's words
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HOSPITAL CHAPLAIN
By Ruah Bull
In the other room,
that only masked nurses and doctors can enter,
he hears with the ears of his heart the last breaths of the dying.
The family, in the emptiness of the waiting room, clings to him even though they may not touch.
How do you comfort — in another room, or from six feet away?
Only a presence that is prayer
can fill that distance with the breath of love
that is the one breath,
shared breath,
first and last and living and dying and waiting
and right now.
May the dying one sense the presence of his loved ones filling that almost empty room.
And may they accompany
with attention and awe and broken- open hearts
the work of letting go.
May you be there,
helpless,
and so helpful,
to patients and families and staff and all —
an emptied instrument through which
each breath of Spirit blows unimpeded
a vessel of that un-understandable peace.
-----
Our Chrysalis Moment
By Anodea Judith
This is our chrysalis moment
Where the transformation begins.
Every caterpillar must do it eventually;
Or die,
Never to sprout their colorful wings in the air
And fly.
So like the caterpillar,
We may as well surrender.
Cocooning in our homes
Our world turned upside down.
Inside, we can no longer spread
our vicious disease of consumption
No longer run mindlessly toward our destruction.
Inside there is stillness
Inside, there is rest.
Outside, the air is clearing,
The rains are falling.
You can feel the peace,
Settling on the land at last.
And Yes, there is death.
For there's always a dissolution.
Old systems falling away,
That were already pretty slimy.
It may be frightening
All the uncertainty and loss.
But even in the darkness
Imaginal cells are awakening
Weaving a new web.
Recognizing that this is finally
Our time.
Our time to be heard
Our time to make new sense
Our time to do things differently
And when at last the dream awakens
To its nascent beginnings,
The chrysalis melts away.
A caterpillar no longer,
We spread our tender wings
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