Camp NaNoWriMo Day 16: Small Talk With Objects Around the Room: A Poem

It’s Day 16 of my StayHomeRhymeMo challenge to write one poem about COVID-19 every day in April! I never was one for small talk, but maybe this kind is more interesting:

Small Talk With Objects Around the Room

A COVID-19 poem by Lauren Hallstrom

 

I want to know truly how you are doing.

Sometimes I find myself passing by

and forgetting to ask.

This weather you have created is delightful,

ceiling fan. I don’t know how you always have

so much energy to circle back

and redo what has already been done

over and over.

Sticky note, I trust your family is in good health.

I know you and your siblings have always been

joined at the hip.

What do you think of everything

going on in the world?

Have you seen the price of gas lately?

Have you researched no-sew masks?

I must admit, I am one to prefer

the day-to-day.

I like that I know what to ask

and what you will say.

By the way,

Bookend, I envy the way you

hold yourself.

Standing tall, steady, and

in control.

 

 

 

Camp NaNoWriMo Day 15: What Animals Think of Us Social Distancing – A Poem

I’ve read and been intrigued by articles about wildlife taking over now-quiet city streets. Sometimes I wonder what they must think of all of this!

Through My Eye

a COVID-19 poem by Lauren Hallstrom

 

I have made my home

in the upper corner of the porch,

atop a pillar

where they have put spikes to prevent me,

but still I stay.

I have collected each knobbed twig

that was dampened with rain

so that I may twist and weave it to my will.

It is a great view of the world from this perch.

I have learned that the building’s clear partition

that separates inside from outside

is called a window,

through which you cannot fly but merely look.

Through it I can see that the humans are

frolicking about and chattering at each other.

I can see one is leaving now—

a face covering hanging from his ears.

There are fewer people about, lately;

I find myself unbothered.

The trails they have carved in the earth

to travel on have been left nearly empty.

I cannot understand it.

Perhaps the people are hibernating.

Perhaps they are afraid of the world.

When I spread my wings and launch myself upwards

and let myself flit about the sky,

I savor the trees that are forever reaching up

and the rivers that trace every creature’s home.

I see a world draped in color.

 

 

 

Camp NaNoWriMo Day 14: Seven Things I Still Have Enough of – A Poem

I feel a lot more positive today after writing this poem, as compared to its companion poem, “Seven Things I Have Run Out of,” which I wrote yesterday.

We need more positivity in this world. I also know I have a lot to be grateful for, and there are many people who could really use some help right now. Consider checking out the American Red Cross’s urgent volunteer needs page or your own city’s website. I love that you can volunteer from home, which is so important to flatten the COVID-19 curve.

Seven Things I Still Have Enough of

a COVID-19 poem by Lauren Hallstrom

 

I.

Every day is sleep, burrowed in

layers of lethargy and fuzzy blankets.

 

II.

Each time I wake up briefly

and go back to sleep,

there is a different dream waiting for me.

I am falling from rock candy mountains and

competing in my third grade math contest.

 

III.

When I am up,

I have all the time I need.

I can swim through the air in slow motion.

I can wait for my thoughts to catch up.

Time is my bottomless ingredient.

 

IV.

Greasy hair

can be hidden

with braids or top-knots.

There is no need to shower as often.

I call this the rationing of shampoo.

 

V.

There is no limit to open space

here in the countryside,

where I can open the door

and breathe in deep

and run laps around the yard if I like

without ever seeing anybody.

 

VI.

There will always be laughter

over made-up games and bizarre TV commercials.

I can find anything funny. That is the kind of contagion

I can appreciate.

 

VII.

Creativity makes every day new.

In my head, there are worlds building themselves.

Characters are shaking hands and sailing to new islands

not so very distant.