Tag: Poetry

Living with Covid 19

Remember the first Jurassic Park movie? My favorite part of the movie was the conversation between Henry Wu and Dr. Ian Malcolm. Mr. Wu stated that the Jurassic Park scientists controlled the chromosomes assigned to dinosaurs and they could not breed on their own. Dr. Malcolm responds with, “Life…uh…finds a way.” And of course, Dr. Malcolm was right.

A similar comment could be made about the Coronavirus. Since Covid made its appearance more than two years ago, governments have tried their best to eradicate it, but the virus won’t quit. Like a dinosaur, Covid is a life form that wants to continue living.

I can’t deny some advancements have occurred, especially regarding testing. Remember when we drove to a specific location and waited for hours in our car to be tested? We were told to immediately quarantine. Then we waited three days or more for the results. Now we can self-administer the Antigen rapid test in our homes, which is definitely more comfortable.

In the past, those who tested positive were required to isolate themselves for ten days. Now we’re told to isolate for five. (As long as we don’t have a fever.)

Looking back, we’ve come a long way. Remember the stay-at-home order of 2020? For weeks we could only leave our home to purchase food. Publix and Target scheduled special morning hours for senior citizens to shop. When we brought our precious commodities home we wiped them down with Clorox before bringing them in the house. During the spring and summer of 2020 we went to extreme measures to make sure Covid would not enter our homes, schools, and places of business.

So here we are in July of 2022. For two years many people have avoided crowds, wore masks, and injected themselves with vaccines and boosters. Yet, the virus marches on. I was late to the party, but I arrived. Three weeks ago, I tested positive.

I’ve heard some folks say, “I tested positive but only had mild symptoms.” I envy those people. Maybe I’m a baby, but Covid was no picnic for me. I kind of knew what to expect because every time I received a booster I spent the next day in bed with flu symptoms. After I contracted the actual virus, I spent four days in bed. The fatigue and brain fog lasted until day twelve. Did I have a different variant of Omicron? I’m not sure.

Like the dinosaurs of Jurassic Park, the Coronavirus wants to live. Unfortunately it can only thrive by living in us. By changing into variants the virus continues to outwit us every six months.

Dr. Robert Bollinger of John Hopkins medicine explains that “all RNA viruses mutate over time, some more than others. Flu viruses change often, which is why doctors recommend that you get a new flu vaccine every year. ” The Delta and Omicron variants are classified as variants of concern because they are more likely to cause breakthrough infections or reinfections in those who are vaccinated or previously infected.

Covid 19 and its tribe of variants reveal the weakness of humanity. None of us can expect to live a life free from trials. The following poem by Annie Johnson Flint helps me see that in spite of it all we can rely on God’s strength to carry us when we are weak. Her poem appears in many hymnals.

God has not promised skies always blue,

Flower-strewn pathways all our lives through;

God has not promised sun without rain,

Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.

But God has promised strength for the day,

Rest for the labor, light for the way,

Grace for the trails, help from above,

Unfailing kindness, undying love.

We cannot see God, but we can see his love for us through the actions of others. I am thankful for friends and neighbors who shopped for me, prepared food, and texted encouraging words. Their kindness spoke to me of God’s undying love during my days of quarantine.

The world has grown up over the past two years. We are learning to cope with Covid as we have with other types of flu. “Life…uh…finds a way”

On Writing

When I allow myself

the time

I pick up

the broken pieces of my dreams

and put them together

in lines of poetry.

Then I feel free

because nothing else matters

writing for the sake of writing

with no agenda in mind.

There’s something to be said for writers

Who never forget who they are

who celebrate the gift God has given them

and give thanks.

Friends

You are there…

when I don’t know where to turn

Amid the confusion and despair,

you are there, my friend.

If my plans are thwarted

and success seems as distant as the furthest galaxy,

you remain in control—steadfast as the rock of ages

nothing shakes you.

If the stars I wish upon tumble into the sea

their vacancy leaves room for you

to extend your hand and say…

“This is the way, walk in it.”

So I place my hand in yours

and know…

Your conclusion is so much better than any I could write.

The Vacancy

Hold the shell to your ear.

You can hear the sound of the surf

Echo deep within.

Something lived here once.

It moved out

Having outgrown the small dwelling.

It moved on

In search of breathing room.

No one knows where it lives now.

Someone lived here once.

The pencil lines on the bedroom wall

Show the heights of a child

Through the years.

She moved out

Having outgrown the confines of this space.

She moved on

In search of breathing room.

And I hope someone knows

Where she is now.

Ruffled Feathers

Nudged out of my comfort zone

I open one eye,

turn my head

and wonder,

what just happened?

Beneath my plump bottom

something stirred my nest

calling me out of my cozy cradle to arise.

Standing on two feet

I see the great emptiness

where I have never gone.

My Father directs me to stretch my wings.

Then comes the push!

I flap and flutter through space

gasping with surprise when

I plummet.

Soon I hear the brush of his pinions.

My Father is near.

He swoops down

catches me on his wings

and carries me until I’m ready

to fly again.

This poem was inspired by Deuteronomy 32:11. Like an eagle with its young, we can count on the Holy Spirit to call us out of our comfort zone in order to accomplish God’s will. Yet, our heavenly Father does not leave us alone. He carries us when we feel weary or inadequate for the task.

Reflection Pond

Like tourists,

we park the car at the side of the road

and hop out for a quick photo.

Before us,

A palisade of pines frame the pond,

and like an impressionist painting,

blurry images shimmer across the water’s surface.

Behind the blades

scattered amid wide green lilly-pads,

pink buds wait for the morning sun to wake them,

commencing the grand opening

when they share their glory

with a wandering soul.

Above the drone of hidden arthropods.

a bob-white announces, “I’m here.”

During the next several minutes,

each flower changes from pink to white

and I rejoice

to be here, too.

Author Notes

We visited Reflection Pond on a camping trip at Ochlockonee River State Park located near Sopchoppy, Florida. A quick photo stop turned into a half-hour visit as Herb and I a watched a water lily open. Reflection pond is aptly named. Time seemed to stand still as we pondered the beauty of the scene. I felt like we had witnessed something special.

More about water lilies:

  • The blooms open in the morning and close in the afternoon. Each plant blooms for three to four days.
  • The flowers grow from underground stems. These stems can stretch which helps the lily adjust to rising water levels.
  • Water lilies are beneficial to ponds because they help control algae and stabilize the water temperature.
  • If your birthday is in July, the water lily is your flower!

Thank you for reading my post. An earlier post entitled Being expresses a similar theme of living in the moment in the Florida Keys. Nature has much to offer if we slow down and take notice of our surroundings. May your summer be blessed with special moments outdoors.

Think About Why You Started, and Keep Going

Everyone has dreams. How many of your dreams have become reality?

Five years ago I started writing this blog. Initially, I wanted to encourage people to pursue their creativity. I started as the Poet on Blueberry Street on April 1, 2016. My first post was very short. I really didn’t know what I was doing or where this blog would take me.

So it goes with creativity. One step leads to another and before you know it five years have passed. I have published one hundred sixty-two entries since 2016. Some of you may have followed me since the beginning. We have shared the ups and downs of camping in Florida, adventures in gardening, and of course who could forget the pandemic?

Throughout it all I’ve weaved my love for poetry, reading, and writing. Today I looked back at some of my favorite poetry posts. In case you missed them, or would like to revisit, click on these links.

If Trees Could Talk and Other Poems (2017)

Poetry a Message in a Bottle (2018)

Fallen Leaves (2019)

Ode to the Spotted Bananas (2020)

I realize I am not a blogger who keeps a specific schedule. I tend to hit the keys when I feel inspired. Creativity cannot be forced, but it can be furthered by allowing ourselves to “be in the zone.” I am thankful for this opportunity to express myself without an editor looking over my shoulder.

In the process of writing this post I discovered a website called DayZero. I was surprised to learn the world’s most popular goals include writing a blog, losing weight, and writing a book. Interesting. How blessed I am to accomplish two of those goals. (Remember, I like to eat bread.)

Whatever your goals, I leave you with this quote from Darren Hardy.

“Starting is not most people’s problem. Staying, continuing, and finishing is.”

In the words of Buddy the Beagle…. never give up.

At home, reading Return to Blueberry Street to my favorite beagle.

Small Beginnings

Arise my barren cypress

Lift your branches high

winter days of darkness

Are now in short supply.

You endured the many trials

Which robbed you of your cheer

Stripped of all your beauty,

you’ve aged another year.

Time will soon restore

the lushness of your leaves

to dance above the riverbank

with every summer breeze.

Arise my barren cypress

Your future is not grim

For countless tiny buds

slumber on each limb.

Dear Readers, A quiet walk in nature often brings encouragement and inspiration to my heart. I have taken many photos of cypress trees, but I did not see the beauty of a barren tree until today. I was reminded that faith is being certain of what we do not see. (Hebrews 11:1)

The Captive

Wet flurries drift downward

commanded by the pull

of unyielding earth

intercepted

the lacy flakes can go no farther.

In quiet submission

snowfall blankets each backyard

painting the world a wintry white.

Giggles break the silence.

The spotless snow…

trampled and squeezed,

rolled into a boulder—commissioned to support a body

pierced with two sticks

each limb raised skyward to flag down help.

Nearing completion, the frozen man

tries to ‘keep his head’ in this desperate situation.

There, above the false smile and carrot nose,

two pleading eyes

look for the sun’s redemption

and the day when all things become new.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading my blog this year. I wish you all a happy and healthy 2021. A new year when we finally escape the captivity of the Coronavirus pandemic. In many ways, I am like the snowman in this poem. Held captive by forces beyond my control. I look to Jesus for redemption and the day when we will all be free.

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