My First Covid 19 Poem March 20th, 2020
Sitting across from me
this Spring equinox
in your little front room
neat the way you want it
neat, where this evening
with a playful formality
we’ve agreed to meet
and you lay your novel down
to ask, ‘and where are you now?’
I’m on my way by bicycle
is where I am
cycling at a leisurely pace
from Letterkeen Wood
on the forest track north eastward
in a damp cloth of mist
that’ll be thinning out somewhere
over the Plains of Mayo.
I’ll go down to Lake Bunaveela.
Stop and walk into the heart
of a shaky raised bog
down a laneway at Keenagh –
all the time listening, looking out,
all the time discarding a thought.
Eventually I’ll arrive
at Rakestreet –
a beguiling name
for a destination.
That’s where I’ll stop.
This is where I am now
drinking a pint of stout
happy as a grig outside
where I sense the sun will seep through soon –
thinking about Humbert’s men,
marching under Nephin,
heading for the Midlands.
That’s where you were yesterday evening you say,
at Rakestreet. Yes, can’t you hear the exotic? Rakestreet .
After all this is over, I promise, I’ll bring you that road.
My 2nd Covid 19 Poem April 4th, 2020
Almost 2000 flimsy pages, dense text,
soft back – it flops onto my desk,
Campbell, Reece and Mitchell’s
biblical tome about the whole shebang
of organisms, living.
I feel ceremony as I turn
to 20 pages of chapter and verse:
the virus. Measured by nanometer,
one thousand millionth of a metre.
Millions gather on a pinhead.
‘Let’s examine the structure’
say Campbell, Reece and Mitchell.
One of them has drawn a simple diagram –
how the caspid memes its way.
But, to reassure you, I find nothing.
Nothing to illustrate how love works.
Nothing to add to a stammering prayer.