Frost Meadow Review published one of my
pandemic poems yesterday, and I thought I'd share it with you, along
with Frost Meadow's call for related manuscripts.
Frost
Meadow is encouraging poets to write about their experiences during
this challenging time and to submit them for possible publication in a
special online supplement of "Pandemic Poetry." There is no submission
fee, and all poems may be read free of charge online.
According to Frost Meadow Review, "We believe that poetry matters and that we are more
together."
Poets are asked to read the submission guidelines before sending work.
"Poets may submit up to one poem a day for this project in word or PDF
format with the email subject line “Pandemic Poem.” Poems must be
original and unpublished. Multiple submissions are fine but please tell
us if it is a multiple submission and inform us immediately if the poem
is accepted by another publication. Please include a brief bio including
your general location. For the foreseeable future, we will publish at
least one poem a week from these submissions on our pandemic poetry page
on our website. There is no submission fee and the poems will be free
to read online. We believe that poetry matters and that we are more
together. This is our way of helping us all stay connected and growing
together during this challenging time."
______________________________________
So
... if you're a poet and have written any poems related to the Covid-19
pandemic, you might want to consider sending some to Frost Meadow
Review for the editors' consideration. Be sure to follow the
guidelines. There's nothing to lose, and it's wonderful to be part of
this special poetry/community sharing.
______________________________________
July 10, 2020
All Manner of Thing
By Adele Kenny
1.
This morning I woke to a wren
outside my window,
its clear trill vibrant in the
day’s first air, and I thought
about words, how we’ve learned to
speak the language
of Covid—pandemic, quarantine, PPE—and how we
live by the new routines that go
with such words—
the world on hold, everyone six
feet apart.
2.
Socially distant, I stand on the
deck out back and
toss peanuts to the chipmunks and
squirrels. My dog
is beside me. He’s intuitive,
this one, as if he knows
what I’m thinking and thinks it
with me. Cardinals
come, sparrows and doves—all with
bright wings
to lift them—and the red-bellied
woodpecker that
drills its own version of words
into the maple.
3.
Restrictions have begun to loosen
(some worry that
it’s too much too soon, and no
getting away from this
tight knot of knowing, the fear that
rattles inside it). I
have to tell myself that hope can be real. On the street
behind mine, a man sings Don
McLean’s “American Pie”
behind his mask. The sound
carries. Believe, believe,
I tell myself and, like a stuck
song, I quote Julian of
Norwich over and over: All shall be well, and all
shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
No comments:
Post a Comment