Original Poems from the COVID Years
These are some of my favourite poems that I wrote between 2020 and 2022
Why, hello there! What has the week thrown your way so far? I bet you’ve tackled it head-on and risen victoriously, or sidestepped the bullshit with style like the legend that you are. Either way, I’m hoping to bring you something a little leftfield today that just might tickle your fancy. Remember what you did during the COVID pandemic? Me neither. Luckily, I wrote it all down and made it rhyme to keep things interesting. So, let’s dive into some of those buried emotions!
When I write poetry, it’s generally about love or death. Heartbreak or existentialism, to be exact. All the best ones in history are, in my opinion. Why? Because they’re some of the most universal and relatable subjects, which also makes them timeless. My introduction to this ancient art was probably The Simpsons (as I mentioned in my manuscript), which featured a Treehouse of Horror segment based on Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven. A few years ago, alt-pop goddess Halsey’s book of poetry I Would Leave Me If I Could reinvigorated my dark and honest style. Poe taught me a lot about meter, whereas Halsey got me comfortable with prose. Since then, I’ve enjoyed the works of classic wordsmiths like John Keats, William Blake and Dylan Thomas, as well as contemporary artists like Lang Leav, R.H. Sin and Courtney Peppernell. It inspired me to write more frequently, without a filter, and branch out of the stock standard formats. These are some of my personal favourites from around that time.
Antithesis I am the rust, I am the rain, I am the dregs circling the drain. I never thought that I would watch as I destroy myself again. Summer Serenade The winter sun will thaw my frozen bones, Warm my dead skin with its reluctant rays, Shine upon me to melt this heart of stone, Let my blood flow in the cold light of day. Broken Hearts Book Club Between the covers, a world awaits. Writers and lovers speak words with weight. Lusting and longing, keen eyes admire. Singing a song of the heart’s desire. Two Cents We all give our own two cents to a world in a wishing well where it’s rounded down and spent buying a new story to sell. HAPPINESS? How Are People Pleasers In Never Ending Sorry States Ritual I am haunted by a blank page but possessed by an eager pen to channel my demons through ink and exorcise these words I think so I can try to start again like spreading salt and burning sage. Hindsight The bags under my eyes carry the weight of every vision I never saw through. Everything at Once I have seen ancient gods reduced to nameless servants in the close of a weary lid. I have held undiscovered planets in the creased palm of my hand for centuries as a dying wish. I have heard stolen words in improvised languages tell stories of memories to come. I have felt the deaths of days and breaths of newborn nights in each waking moment. I am all that ever was and all that ever will be in my insignificant lifetime. Save Face The creases of my forehead are set deep from furrowing my brow during my sleep. Of all the smile lines and laugh marks I reap, worry is a look that I fear to keep. Malady I dance to the beat of my heart and speak from it in verse, I pluck its strings just like a harp and strum them when it hurts. The words come to my mind like notes And I sing out of key, A minor tone in all I wrote yet I still play with glee. I make music with misery to turn pain into art, Even if no one’s listening when I give them my heart. Darkness Abides by Your Light The sun would rise at night if only you should ask. The stars would dim their light if you gave them the task. The moon would sway the tide to match your change of heart. The clouds would move aside if you thought it too dark. Castles in the Air I complain about what’s not fair while my friends save up for houses, “That’s a lovely home you’ve got there, but it’s not as big as ours is.” “Why would you rent until you die? Don’t you know it’s called dead money? I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, you’ll be broke and always hungry.” “What about if you lose your job, or have unexpected children? How will you afford a grave plot when the rest of us are building?” “You can learn to live with the debt, it’s really the only option,” though I may die with one regret, we all rest inside a coffin. So Low I don’t want you to worry for me when I’m alone. Every heart will sink some time, whether of gold or stone. I just tend to dwell on things far longer than I should. Always coming and going, but never gone for good. I find peace in the quiet and feel moved when I’m still. Even the brightest flower will eventually wilt. I know you’re scared to wonder exactly what I mean When I say this loneliness will be the death of me. I, Myself I divide myself with too many thoughts as if I have multiplied myself. But when I am beside myself I am no longer alone until I myself have died inside myself. So I guide myself out of the places where I hide myself because I have applied myself, allied myself, untied myself from that on which I pride myself. Pried myself free from me and even I myself have tried, but I must decide myself. One-way Window I see myself in everyone else, but never them in me. Consider this, ignorance is bliss until you become we. So Long Life is too short to leave unfin Numb Like the kiss of a hundred needles, I repeat the point until I no longer feel it. And like the blanket of dust on a skeleton, The knowledge of death will not comfort me.
If you enjoyed reading these and would like to see more, let me know in the comments! Better yet, I’d love to explore any recommendations that you might have. It can be poetry or prose, old or new, long or short – I’m open to all. Furthermore, I suggest you follow Poetic Outlaws on Substack if you want fantastic examples and invaluable quotes from some of the best to put pen to paper in your daily feed. Also, if you like horror and gothic literature, check out Mike Flanagan’s The Fall of the House of Usher on Netflix. You’d be surprised how much poetry can still be found in popular culture today.