Pandemic Poems Plus One: From Wuhan to Bucha and Beyond

By Michael Sykes

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669840480

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COPYRIGHT © 2022 BY MICHAEL SYKES.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

As Years Advance" was published by Whitefish Review

All of the Above" was published by Northern Contours

Rev. date: 11/11/2022

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

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Dedication

For my family and friends, whoever and wherever they may be.

Contents

Preface

PART ONE

Wuhan

Life is a Vacation

Pandemic Poem, 2020

Being Human

This Bag

My Own Private Opiod Crisis

I dreamt I had insomnia.

Like memory life

Killer Asteroids

Relationships

Artificial Intelligence

Ransom Wear

Launching a Boat on Dry Land

Climate Change

The life lived trails behind us like a ghost

All of the Above

The Dividing Line

Pandemic Poem, 2021

Choosing

Mimicry

Me and my Duct Tape

The Great Gravity Builders

Breakthrough Sonnet

The Missing Card

Prophecy

We obviously live in the moment

This Page Intentionally Left Blank

Un-American Activities Committee

The Dark Mind

Pieces

Poem for the New Year, 2022

Free Reign

Bucha

Going West

As Years Advance

Mortality

I know now how I’ll die

Evening Prayer

PART TWO

The Path of Totality

PART THREE

Prayer

About the Author

Preface

The majority of these poems were written between March, 2020, and the present. I was in Mexico February/March as usual when the news started to filter in, actually in Mexico City after being in Isla Mujeres, Zihuatanejo, Puebla, Oaxaca, and back to Mexico City. I was planning on one more week over to Morelia, Patzcuaro, and Guadalajara. I had a ticket back to Reno from Guadalajara on Volaris March 10. But the world was lowering, the gates were closing fast, and I wisely scratched the last week, ate the Volaris ticket, and used some remaining frequent flyer miles for a free one-way ticket from Mexico City to Reno. Then the waves rose up and came crashing down. But I was in the far northeastern corner of California, in the high desert of the Great Basin, where social distancing is a way of life, socialization a choice. I saw it coming like Naomi Watts saw the impossible, and I lay low, writing like a madman through depression and hopelessness towards an open field of exaltation and the promised land. I’m still writing like crazy as this book goes to press. I’ll be writing from the grave if I remember to put a flashlight, pen and paper, in the coffin. Some other work written before March, 2020, has been sprinkled in here and there when it seemed appropriate, but only a little. (I’ve been writing since I was 14 and keeping a journal since 1972, so this is just the tip of the iceberg.) I thought I’d pass this manuscript around, or at least a few poems here and there, to get some publication credits, but there’s not enough time and I’m not getting any younger, not yet. Besides I’m lazy and could twiddle my thumbs procrastinating before sending out time-sensitive work when I could really go on writing, which is all that really counts: To keep on keeping on and do what you love, teach your children well, embrace those you love and even those you don’t, be generous, kind, compassionate, and do the Work.

PART ONE

Wuhan

I dreamed of Wuhan last night.

It resembled an enormous Quonset hut

several thousand feet across at its mouth.

I could just make out the inner walls near the front,

then the interior descended into a darkness

that was darker than the deepest night.

The floor was solid earth without defining marks.

It had a guttural odor of old feces,

burned garbage, cooking smells of unknown origin.

I thought there might be an end to it,

a great wall or sudden plunge into the depths,

but no sound emanated from inside.

It felt completely dead, abandoned.

And then I saw moving figures, shifting shapes

They began to come toward me as I shivered

with a fear I’d never felt before.

I thought they would come closer into the light

but the more I looked the fainter they became

and soon the walls closed around them,

the ceiling collapsed with a groan into the earth,

a cloud of dust and decay rose out

of the entrance and billowed up, obscuring the sky.

I turned to flee, to run,