a palpable absence ~ hay(na)ku

a palpable absence

finding nearly empty shelves inside
a store with a clerk outside
counting customers as they enter
to find themselves nearly alone, leaving
half-satisfied to pass empty buildings,
cars less frequent than the few pedestrians,
to arrive home, present in my absence

Today is Day 10 of National/Global Poetry Writing Month, and the prompt for
The Perfect Seven Lines, from Frank at dVerse Poets Pub
is simply to write a seven-line poem.

The prompt for napowrimo.net is to write a hay(na)ku – a variant on the haiku,
with a three-line stanza of one, two, and three words, sometimes chained
to create a longer poem – so I have edited this to create a hay(na)ku.

a palpable absence

counting customers
entering the store

to find
I’m almost alone

on finding
nearly empty shelves

to drive home

empty buildings
on empty streets

arriving home
present in absence

Image source: artoflivingguide.org

No Way

No Way

We walk in place,
pace a fiction we place
upon ourselves. No collective
intended here, intentions
of isolation our recourse
when we have everywhere to go
and nowhere to accept us,
except as carriers of contagion,
contained out of necessity.

This poem is inspired by (Poet Girl Em) Emily’s Way.
Although she has been posting less often, Em always provides thought provoking poetry.

As one of the last states to do so, Missouri’s governor finally issued a statewide stay-at-home order, yesterday. Our city and county have been “stay-at-home” for more than a week, with “limited gatherings” in place before that. The governor had hesitated to issue a statewide order, instead relying on localities to better gauge the needs of their communities. An example of how well that was working could be found around Lake of the Ozarks, a resort area in mid-Missouri, where cities waited until 4 days ago to limit gatherings to no more than 10 people.

Today is Day 4 of National/Global Poetry Writing Month.
While this poem is off-prompt, but I’m sharing it at

Image source: morguefile.com

Fresh Air Walk During a Pandemic

Fresh Air Walk During a Pandemic

There was rain that would not touch me,
followed by sunlight that surrounded me
but kept a respectful distance.

Even pollen seemed deferential.
Skirting the edge of the trail,
passing hikers offered a simple hello.

The birds treated it like any other day,
their distance a product of instinct,
mine a matter of discretion.

Cedar branches swayed in the breeze,
flinging leftover rain droplets,
a reminder that things could be normal again.

This is my poem for Day 2 of National/Global Poetry Writing Month.
It’s off-prompt, but I’m sharing it at

Also shared with Open Link Night #263 at dVerse Poets Pub.

When Will I See?

When Will I See?

Different, this distance
in time of sickness. Neighbor
more distant than new moon
beyond my reach.

Within sight again,
soon enough, will it taunt me
with its presence, my neighbor
still out of sight?

This is my second response to Poetics: Now I Can…, from Mish at dVerse PoetsPub.
She offers the haiga shown above, with a quote by Mizuta Masahide,
“Barn’s burnt down, now I can see the moon.”

transmission remission ~ video poem

transmission remission



avoiding infection

               behavior correction

new orientation

               social suspension


               social recession

full sanitization

               social reintroduction

COVID-45 ~ video poem


It’s simple, really, your method of bending
the base instincts of the masses.
Convince them that yours is the one true reality.
Smother them with promises, but deliver the opposite.
No one in their right mind would replicate you,
yet the pool of hosts open to contamination
by your vile presence grows exponentially.
If only they would wash their hands of you.

Surrounded, as your are, by sycophants,
the only thing missing is a crown.

This is my response to Poetics: “Bartender, I’d like to close out my tab-oo,”
the prompt from Amaya at dVerse Poets Pub.