Tuesday Poem: "Not Syria" by Andrew M. Bell

Photo Credits: Andrew M. Bell

Not for us the swift savagery of the strafing jet

or the murderous melée of missiles,

but the slow and steady creep

of ignorance and neglect.

While an empire rises inexorably 

from the Central Business District,

the small voices of the poor and vulnerable

cry out unheard. 

The 92-year-old widow has her third hospitalising 

bout of pneumonia in the third winter since

Rūamoko shook himself enthusiastically,

like a dog emerging from the Avon river.

“I just want my home fixed before I die,” she says.

Not much to ask for

like peace in Syria.

by Andrew M. Bell

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this poem, as the text indicates, three years after the Christchurch earthquake of February 2011. As has been well-documented, this natural disaster devastated large swathes of Christchurch city central and surrounding suburbs, particularly those suburbs in the eastern part of Christchurch where the least economically-advantaged residents lived. It has taken many, many years to return to any sort of normality, but, even 9 years after that disaster, there are still buildings and areas of land that bear the scars rendered on that day. The above photographs are of a building, not far from my home, that was badly damaged and sits neglected, across the road from a beach simply called North Beach (goodness knows how many beaches around the globe are so prosaically named). Some vandal or vandals have recently gutted this building by setting a fire.

It occurs to me that this global Covid-19 pandemic has brought back to the residents of east Christchurch a strange echo of the eerie, post-earthquake surreality that coloured our lives 9 years ago.

For more information about poet, Andrew M. Bell, see:

https://ambell4.wixsite.com/andrew-m-bell-author/bio

Special Covid-19 Inspirational Poem: "Invictus" by William Henley

Out of the night that covers me, 
   Black as the pit from pole to pole, 
I thank whatever gods may be 
    For my unconquerable soul. 

In the fell clutch of circumstance 
    I have not winced nor cried aloud. 
Under the bludgeonings of chance 
    My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears 
    Looms but the Horror of the shade, 
And yet the menace of the years 
    Finds and shall find me unafraid. 

It matters not how strait the gate, 
   How charged with punishments the scroll, 
I am the master of my fate, 
   I am the captain of my soul. 

by William Henley

For more information about poet, William Henley, see:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/william-ernest-henley

Tuesday Poem: "TradeMe Auction #2569182028: Depression, well used but with plenty of mileage left" by Paula Harris

Even though the poem below is tongue-in-cheek, it speaks to a very real mental health struggle faced by many people in Aotearoa. We live in a beautiful country and enjoy many blessings of a modern, Western, First World country, but many people face daily struggles of many kinds in their lives. Depression is not a blessing, but this poem is. I sought Paula's permission to publish this poem on my blog and share it to Tuesday Poem because I think it speaks to a great bravery on Paula's part and a willingness to speak out about mental health. For so long, mental health issues have been stigmatised, but, in recent years, we are finally starting to have the conversation we need to have.

So, without further ado, here's Paula's poem:

Available immediately, one well used depression, no longer required.

Depression is 30 years old, but currently still working well. Or badly. I’m not sure which way around that goes. Well, let’s go with it’s had one not-so-careful lady owner.

No rust, no leaks, minor surface imperfections. One size fits all. Has had one year of psychologist decompressing it 22 years ago, plus counselling beginning 17 years ago and running for 3 ½ years (this timeframe included the use of antidepressants to maintain daily function). Has recently returned to psychologist and antidepressants (3 months ago), but daily functioning is unpredictable. This particular model also comes with the contact details for the mental health crisis team, which can be used in case of emergency.

Is currently producing crying bouts, feelings of pointlessness, tiredness and apathy, along with suicidal thoughts. Special bonus of poor quality sleep available with this model.

Would prefer it went to live somewhere far far away from me, as I don’t want to risk it wandering home when it gets lost and confused. So, please, no bidders from the same city as me.

Highly recommend that the successful bidder has the name of a good psychologist. And a group of supportive friends nearby. Trust me, I’ve been doing this with friends living distant from me, and it sucks.

Will include two boxes of its preferred tissues (boxes will be unopened and tissues unused) for the successful bidder. As an added bonus, will also include a recipe for chocolate brownies, as you’ll probably need it. It’s a really awesome recipe. You won’t have the energy to make it most of the time, even if you want to. 

Bonus bonus: DVD copy of Schindler’s List.

Prescription meds shouldn’t be shared so, sorry, I can’t include the remaining antidepressants with this purchase. Besides, I’m not entirely sure these ones work that well. 

Reliable and guaranteed to fuck you up or your money back. If you’re not happy with your purchase, then it’s working as expected. You’re welcome.

Photo Credit: Murray Wilson/Stuff

You can read more of Paula Harris' poetry at:

http://paulaharris.co.nz/poems/

Special Covid-19 Inspirational Poem: "Have You Earned Your Tomorrow" by Edgar Guest

Is anybody happier because you passed his way?
     Does anyone remember that you spoke to him today?
This day is almost over, and its toiling time is through;
     Is there anyone to utter now a kindly word of you?

Did you give a cheerful greeting to the friend who came along? 
Or a churlish sort of "Howdy" and then vanish in the throng? 
Were you selfish pure and simple as you rushed along the way, 
Or is someone mighty grateful for a deed you did today?

Can you say tonight, in parting with the day that's slipping fast,
     That you helped a single brother of the many that you passed?
Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said;
     Does a man whose hopes were fading now with courage look ahead?

Did you waste the day, or lose it, was it well or sorely spent?
     Did you leave a trail of kindness or a scar of discontent?
As you close your eyes in slumber do you think that God would say,
     You have earned one more tomorrow by the work you did today? 

by Edgar Guest

For more information about the poet, Edgar Guest, see:

https://poets.org/poet/edgar-guest

Special Covid-19 Inspirational Poem: "How do I love thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

For more information about poet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, see:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Barrett_Browning

Special Covid-19 Inspirational Poem: "If You Forget Me" by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine. 

by Pablo Neruda

For more information about the poet, Pablo Neruda, see:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pablo_Neruda

Special Covid-19 Inspirational Poem: "Phenomenal Woman" by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. 
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size 
But when I start to tell them, 
They think I'm telling lies. 
I say, 
It's in the reach of my arms 
The span of my hips, 
The stride of my step, 
The curl of my lips. 
I'm a woman 
Phenomenally. 
Phenomenal woman, 
That's me. 

I walk into a room 
Just as cool as you please, 
And to a man, 
The fellows stand or 
Fall down on their knees. 
Then they swarm around me, 
A hive of honey bees. 
I say, 
It's the fire in my eyes, 
And the flash of my teeth, 
The swing in my waist, 
And the joy in my feet. 
I'm a woman 
Phenomenally. 
Phenomenal woman, 
That's me. 

Men themselves have wondered 
What they see in me. 
They try so much 
But they can't touch 
My inner mystery. 
When I try to show them 
They say they still can't see. 
I say, 
It's in the arch of my back, 
The sun of my smile, 
The ride of my breasts, 
The grace of my style. 
I'm a woman 

Phenomenally. 
Phenomenal woman, 
That's me. 

Now you understand 
Just why my head's not bowed. 
I don't shout or jump about 
Or have to talk real loud. 
When you see me passing 
It ought to make you proud. 
I say, 
It's in the click of my heels, 
The bend of my hair, 
the palm of my hand, 
The need of my care, 
'Cause I'm a woman 
Phenomenally. 
Phenomenal woman, 
That's me. 

by Maya Angelou

For more information on poet, Maya Angelou, see:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maya_Angelou