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May brings more quarantine hands working for us each day…

Thank you brave faming hands planting seeds and growing food to feed us

Thank you brave warehouse hands stocking items and filling our orders

Thank you brave postal worker hands sorting our mail and delivering it every day

Thank you brave delivery worker hands making all our deliveries

Thank you brave volunteer hands packaging and distributing food for our hungry

Thank you brave journalist hands keeping us informed in our small world

Thank you brave media and arts hands fueling our Internets and bringing us art

Thank you brave teacher hands teaching our children online while sharing hope

Thank you brave first responder hands for rescuing and caring for those in need

Thank you brave civic worker hands that keep our municipalities running daily

Thank you brave grocery worker hands filling our orders in stores and online

Thank you brave essential worker hands for taking care of all of us everyday

Thank you brave medical worker hands caring for our sick and trying to heal them

And there are many more brave hands to thank,

let’s add to this list,

for all these brave hands

help us through each

precious new day…

© 2020 Michelle Kogan

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Into the future, I stare

pondering
its
vast
unchartedness

pondering
a
new
normal.
Pondering,
I stare into the future.

The Skinny poem format series can be seen at https://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2020/04/look-into-future.html

I also created a #videopoem that can be accessed at YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ev2GSzFFeVU.

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Someday soon I will
shake the hand of my neighbor
and  say, Come right in

Janie Lazo 2020- all rights reserved

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Reaching a breaking point

Experiencing pain, fear

Chaos and confusion on why

Our lives had become unmanageable

Viewing our lives differently

Empathy and empowerment

Reaching out to others

You are no longer alone

by Kathleen Mazurowski 2020

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When I was young I had big dreams

It took me years to understand

that we can wish and hope and scheme

but life never goes according to plan

The only thing of which I’m sure

I’ll need the courage to rise above

the pain and heartache I must endure

while being blessed with joy and love

© 2020 Mindy Gars Dolandis

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(a very late draft from Laura Purdie Salas)

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Today's poem comes from a prompt at Michelle Heidenrich Barnes' Today's Little Ditty. This is from the first week of April, and I'm just finally getting around to it...better late than never? I'm also finally reading Michelle's The Best of Today's Little Ditty 2017-2018 anthology, and it's lovely. And her posts have made me want to read the Patrice Vecchione book she's deep diving into, also! A feast of poetry and prompts this month. I hope I'm not the only one doing a terrible job of keeping up with everyone!

This poem is about empathy and what our hands can do. My poem took an unexpected turn, but I like it as an early draft.

Like most everybody else, I'm experiencing lots of upheavals lately! I have no huge National Poetry Month plans-just hoping to share an imagepoem here each day (or as often as I can). I'm participating in Laura Shovan's awesome #WaterPoemProject the best I can, so most of my poems will come from either that or from the PAD (Poem A Day) Challenge at Writers Digest. Grateful for the distraction of poetry and friends!

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Day 23: These Are the Hands (#NationalPoetryMonth2020)

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Today's poem comes from a prompt at Michelle Heidenrich Barnes' Today's Little Ditty. This is from the first week of April, and I'm just finally getting around to it...better late than never? I'm also finally reading Michelle's The Best of Today's Little Ditty 2017-2018 anthology, and it's lovely.

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After winter scrubs
the branches bare,
newly unfolded leaves
gleam golden green
against an azure sky
and flutter
with the promise
of summer’s
lush abundance.

After these trials
scrub bare our lives,
what new hopes
might flutter
within our hearts
with the promise
of community?

Kay Jernigan McGriff
https://kaymcgriff.edublogs.org/2020/04/22/npm-promise/

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She’s telling me to go away
but she won’t say why.
She doesn’t even want to share
my home-made apple pie.

I see her in the playground;
my hello meets a frown.
She won’t even look at me;
just keeps looking down.

Now she says she has to go;
she’s looking at the clock.
She used to be my closest friend,
solid as a rock.

I wish I knew what happened;
I wish she’d tell me why.
I wish I didn’t want to hide
and cry and cry and cry.

Kate O’Neil

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Come to me future

Come to me now

through this tainted

coronavirus time

Conjure up mystery–

Let my mind slip in between

imagination and land

gently with wonder

Let us walk together welcoming human compassion

like we’ve never seen before

Let us become our earth’s eager caretakers

like we’ve never been before

Let us hold education up high offering her

to all wanting hearts with equal access

Let us wrap our healthcare warmly around all

shoulders within reach of each individual

Let us embrace and honor our diversities,

and school naysayers with compassion

Let us support and encourage creative arts

for all to participate, enrich in, and grow

Let altruistic acts of humanity run rampant,

become common place, and cherished

Let us breathe in hope,

and breathe out possibility

In depths of despair and darkness of humanity,

remind us to breathe, remember, and dream our passions…

Come to me future

Come to me now

© 2020 Michelle Kogan

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Someday soon
I’ll take your hand
and we’ll walk to the pond.

Careful where you step!
A baby turtle, no bigger than a quarter,
is lumbering toward the pond, too.

When he arrives,
he’ll slip into the water
to forage for algae
and insects.

When we arrive,
we’ll sit on the bank
keeping our eyes peeled.
Maybe he’ll climb onto a log
to bask in the warm sun
after his meal.

Or maybe a heron will alight
on the pond’s far edge,
where the brook flows in.
You’ll grow restless
as she tiptoes on her stick-like legs,
uncurling her slender neck,
thrusting her bill
into the murky water,
aiming for a fish.

Time for lunch? you wonder.
Time for lunch, I nod.

Hand in hand,
we’ll leave the pond.
Someday soon.

Draft, © Catherine Flynn, 2020
Posted at https://readingtothecore.wordpress.com/2020/04/18/news-from-the-natural-world-at-the-pond/

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F reely I choose for tomorrow
U ndermining my today
T o change the history of tomorrow
U sing wisdom I have today
R eassures me that tomorrow
E xcites me for the future.

M y future self is unpredictable
E xcept, of course, to me.

by Angelique Pacheco (c) 2020

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the text

saved as a draft

on standby

for days

she changes

words

shifts

her message

an acronym

becomes

a complete sentence

then returns

to 3 letters

with an emoji

her meaning lost

as soon as she hits

send

two blue checks

confirm he read

her words

misread her intention

those blue checks

echo the howl

of his ghost

but over time

she finds

a silent phone

a relief

©2020, Bridget Magee. All Rights Reserved.

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I wander
through the shelves
looking for a story
I lost somewhere
among the stacks
of stories
I devoured.
It’s an old-fashioned
story, with children
and a pony pulling
a cart through
summer mornings.
There might have been
strawberries or blackberries
kissed by the sun
and probably
a rambunctious mutt
bounding through a meadow.
I look for my lost story,
pulling books off the shelves
and flipping through pages,
but no one can tell me
its title
as I wander
through the shelves.

Kay Jernigan McGriff
posted at https://kaymcgriff.edublogs.org/2020/04/15/npm-a-story-lost/

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Your adventuresome disposition

craved more than Egypt, Hungary, Panama

An unchosen, formidable new journey:

Hello Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis

Fourteen months, twenty-two days of living hell,

cane, wheelchair, six doctors, two hospitals

You lay optimistic, courageous,

very much alive albeit functions ceased

The enemy within seized all motor skills,

vocalization, respiration, deglutition

As I watched you slowly deteriorate,

your shining spirit beamed through weary eyes

You drifted off to eternity

I stood beneath a sea of black umbrellas

as we honored a life well-lived and well-loved,
the mother, grandmother, aunt, cousin, friend, acquaintance,

your presence whispering in the April wind

and the angels crying tears of rapture

© 2020 Mindy Gars Dolandis

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My boat rocks.

Turbulent waves of Covid-19

crash around me.

My boat tips.

Fear tightens its hold.

I can’t see the shore.

My boat heaves

I look around

and in my boat -

family and friends

doctors and nurses,

police, firefighters, and EMTs,

grocery clerks, truck drivers,

mayor and governor.

Gentle hands

touch my shoulders.

“Be not afraid,

I am with you always.”
.

And my boat is still.

Sandie Vaisnoras, 2020

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mom, mommy,

where are you…

i want your smile

i want your eyes

i want your hand

to find my hand…

my salty tears blubber my mouth

my salty tears bubble my nose

my salty tears sting my eyes

oh mom, m-o-m-m-y,

w-h-e-r-e a-r-e y-o-u…

…ahhhhh …ohhhhh,

mommy, you're here!

© 2020 Michelle Kogan

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Gramma's hands wiped my tears.
Gramma's hands soothed my fears.
Gramma was my rock, my dear.
Deep inside, I hold her near.

Dianne Moritz, April, 2020

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These are the hands that

clap because we care

New Yorkers in all five boroughs,

a throng of thousands in quarantine, we

clap because we care

Each night at seven for two straight minutes,

on balconies, patios, roofs and fire escapes,

at open windows and doors, on stoops and steps, we

clap because we care

We Cheer and holler, blow whistles,

bang on pots and pans,

clang bells and honk horns,

blast “New York New York”, and we

clap because we care

Giving thanks and support to

first responders, doctors, nurses,

the NYPD, NYFD, sanitation crews,

grocery store and restaurant staffs, delivery drivers,

the MTA, public servants, and all essential workers, we

clap because we care

Isolated but not alone, we roar a

comforting, cacophonous improvisation,

notifying the universe we are still here,

reminding ourselves of our humanness,

our frailties, our strengths

and our unity, as we

clap because we care

© 2020 Mindy Gars Dolandis

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I lost you last month
I didn’t have time to grieve
Lockdown came along
And gave me a reprieve.

I’ve lost you for this lifetime
I’ve gained your help from above
I’m learning a new normal
You left me out of love

I love you in the morning
My sweet gran, Bobonne
I love you in the night-time
When the day has come and gone

And when all is said and done
I still miss you every day
But you’ve given me a reason
To not give up and stay

To be present in the moment
To give love to everyone
I’ll see you again one day
When this life is good and done.

(In response to my grandmother's passing last month)
by Angelique Pacheco (c)2020

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I stare

at the full moon

thinking and thinking

about how to get there.

I want to see the hare.

If I jumped like the cow

I could be there

by now

but the cow

went on over

and I want to stay

and look for the hare.

Is he lonely

way up there?

It doesn’t seem fair

that he’s on his own

year after year

with no one to share,

no one to know

if he’s hurt somehow.

Did he want to make friends

with that springing cow?

Did she even notice

the hare below?

I’ll find a way.

I’ll imagine a stair

made out of air

to a magic design

that can go anywhere,

and in dreams I’ll climb

through space and time

and I’ll visit that hare

in his lunar lair.

And I’ll tell him,

I care.

Kate O’Neil

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These are the hands
that measure and cut.
These are the hands
that fold and iron.
These are the hands
that pleat and pin.
These are the hands
that stitch the seams.
These are the hands
that give the masks
to slow the spread
of this dread disease.

Kay Jernigan McGriff
https://kaymcgriff.edublogs.org/2020/04/10/poetry-friday-and-npm-these-hands/

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These are the hands that open doors for strangers
and the hands that raise in greeting and support.
These are the hands that feed the birds,
Pouring seed from a bag and from my heart.
These are the hands that tie Grandmama's apron
Humbly while cooking for friends and family.
These are the hands that hold the shaking hands
Of people lost in grief or shame or fear.
These are the hands that hug, high five or fist bump
Every child as they leave my class each day.
These are the hands that lift in worship.
These are the hands that clasp in prayer.
These are the hands that write the stories
That encourage others to be the hands.

Tonnye Fletcher (c)2020

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see hope balloons rise,

wi-fi news of tender deeds

patching broken hearts –

share every time you notice

show all the times you care

Linda Baie (c)

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These are the hands

that spin tendrils of air―
gently wafting your way
enwrapping you tight
in ribbons
of care

Cory  Corrado (2020) ©

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These are the hands

that ‘touch ‘ without touching,

r  e  a  c  h  i  n  g

your phone

letting you know―

y      o     u

are hugged

not

alone

Cory Corrado (2020) ©

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These are the paws that will guide you
through the darkness created by selfish children who
don't understand their own cruelty.
The soft, comforting little hands don't judge; they
wait for you, like numbers, or colours, the very
molecules of the Universe, that simply become when
you perceive them, shining forth upon the beauty
that also surrounds you.  The ache recedes when you're with
these friends, but even then, be careful!  Some molecules
are as cruel as children; which is worse?
The paws stay true.

©  Peter Barnes 2020

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These hands
weeding, discovered palms,
and wondered...
Will these old palms
make supple crosses?

These hands
cut long strips
of granite green.
A mind-memory of angle to knot,
thread through, criss-cross.

These hands
delivered simple gifts
to lonely, sheltered neighbors,
a churchless congregation
praying together.

@Margaret Simon, draft

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Two eyes to see the needs of others,
Brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers.
One heart to feel their pain and despair,
One heart to give them love and care.
Two hands to give to those in need,
To be a blessing is love indeed.

By Angelique Pacheco (c) 2020

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He wakes—that sound.

That rasp.—Is it?

It is.

He traces it to the crib.

The baby. Just three months old.

Not breathing right.

Hand to her little face—no fever.

She stirs under his touch, still sleeping.

Breath ragged, rattling.

He is young.

It is his first child.

He goes back to bed.

But

he carries his baby with him.

Lies awake all night

with her beside him

making sure

she still breathes.

-She does.

Long after he does not.

Thank you

for all the nights

you watched over me

when asthma attacked,

Daddy.

© Fran Haley 04/05/2020

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When Mom lay still in a hospice bed
I called my oldest friend, a music therapist
I needed Mom’s favorite hymns.
With piano and voice my friend sent love.

I called my oldest friend, a music therapist
Whom should I send?
Here I am Lord,

I needed Mom’s favorite hymns.
it is I Lord,

I have heard you calling in the night

With piano and voice my friend sent love

I will go Lord, where you lead me

I will hold your people in my heart

© Linda Mitchell 4/5/20 #verselove

Lyric Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Anna Laura Page / Daniel L. Schutte

Here I Am, Lord lyrics © Oregon Catholic Press

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Challenge #3: "Into the Future: Take Yourself There Now" (Chapter 53)

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Challenge #3: "Into the Future: Take Yourself There Now" (Chapter 53)

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For the length of a poem, venture into that place called future, as you imagine it; peer into its unknown terrain, and see what you find.

For more details: https://michellehbarnes.blogspot.com/2020/04/lessons-from-bookshelf-my-shouting_16.html

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Challenge #2: "Lost and Found" (Chapter 37)

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Challenge #2: "Lost and Found" (Chapter 37)

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Write about a time you lost something or somebody.

For more details: https://michellehbarnes.blogspot.com/2020/04/lessons-from-bookshelf-my-shouting_9.html

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Challenge #1: "These Are the Hands" (Chapter 39)

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Challenge #1: "These Are the Hands" (Chapter 39)

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Consider writing about the place that empathy has in your own life—a time you offered compassion to another or a time it was freely given to you.

For more details: https://michellehbarnes.blogspot.com/2020/04/lessons-from-bookshelf-my-shouting.html

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Background image: "the painted world of scott richard" by torbakhopper