Pandemic Poem from New Zealand + " This is the time to be slow"

 

Pandemic poem from New Zealand.

 

“I'm normally a social girl

I love to meet my mates

But lately with the virus here

We can't go out the gates.

You see, we are the 'oldies' now

We need to stay inside

If they haven't seen us for a while

They'll think we've upped and died.

They'll never know the things we did

Before we got this old

There wasn't any Facebook

So not everything was told.

We may seem sweet old ladies

Who would never be uncouth

But we grew up in the 60s -

If you only knew the truth!

There was sex and drugs and rock 'n roll

The pill and miniskirts

We smoked, we drank, we partied

And were quite outrageous flirts.

Then we settled down, got married

And turned into someone's mum,

Somebody's wife, then nana,

Who on earth did we become?

We didn't mind the change of pace

Because our lives were full

But to bury us before we're dead

Is like a red rag to a bull!

So here you find me stuck inside

For 4 weeks, maybe more

I finally found myself again

Then I had to close the door!

It didnt really bother me

I'd while away the hour

I'd bake for all the family

But I've got no bloody flour!

Now Netflix is just wonderful

I like a gutsy thriller

I'm swooning over Idris

Or some random sexy killer.

At least I've got a stash of booze

For when I'm being idle

There's wine and whiskey, even gin

If I'm feeling suicidal!

So let's all drink to lockdown

To recovery and health

And hope this bloody virus

Doesn't decimate our wealth.

We'll all get through the crisis

And be back to join our mates

Just hoping I'm not far too wide

To fit through the flaming gates!”

Author - Jan Beaumont, Auckland NZ

THIS IS THE TIME TO BE SLOW

 

This is the time to be slow,

Lie low to the wall

Until the bitter weather passes.

Try, as best you can, not to let

The wire brush of doubt

Scrape from your heart

All sense of yourself

And your hesitant light.

If you remain generous,

Time will come good;

And you will find your feet

Again on fresh pastures of promise,

Where the air will be kind

And blushed with beginning.

 

©JOHN O'DONOHUE

From his book, Benedictus