Sorry. It's not the most popular of topics, and perhaps not the best way to introduce myself here in #TheWritingClub... but this poem is a contest entry. And we're all going through the same things anyway, though with various feelings and beliefs. We all hate it, though for various reasons. Some of us hate each other now for new, various reasons...

I digress-- as a poet only though, not a person.

#ViralPoetry Is Now a Terrible Pun!

I wrote it anyway, my pandemic poem. I made a commitment about 12 hours ago, in my POWER-UP DAY POST, that I would publish one more piece of content before the end of the day -- and that I would leave at least five substantive comments during my daily #curation walkabout.

I nailed the comment objective! The rate and quality of my engagement isn’t generally a problem, but I’m trying to find my content creation rhythm and I wanted to accomplish both parts of my goal... so I struggled into the night to do exactly that.

I finished my poem, which I actually think turned out quite well, and I wrote this superfluous chatter to overshadow said poem and push it down the page... weird, huh? Totally unnecessary, unlike my tagging three people I think may have poetry inside them: my girl, @sydney.potts; and two prominent songwriters here on Hive, @steevc and @juxtamusic. No pressure at all... it's just the rules.

If you want to participate in this contest, there's still some time left. Go check out the ORIGINAL POST for more details and to read past winning entries.

So Who Wants to Read a Poem?

Well, you're in luck! I have one for you... and it's now around 2:30 in the morning where I am, so my day is not officially over and I'm chalking it up in the MISSION ACCOMPLISHED column! Victory elbow! Celebratory foot slap! One round of Russian Roulette!

Shh... you can opt out. But you'll need to sign eleven waivers and memorize the following:

ORWELL’S LOST VOLUMES

Something stirs in us-- and wants
only to stretch out, as life once did,
into the universe-- worlds beyond
the newsreels and the meter sticks.
(Late, starved… you want Chinese?)

“Please,” our heavy eyelids say now,
punctuating the otherwise silent spaces
where faces once spoke whole volumes!
Shh. Stay home sweet home, OR ELSE
(the wolves will get the sheep to kill you).

The year was 2020.
And 21, 22, 23, 24...
And more, so forth.
And the end. (It was!)

Boom: that's my depressing poem. At least we have each other (virtually, in absolutely stunning 4K) and our merciful masters (so smart, so sexy). Can you imagine a world governed for good, for real?

In any case, it's a genuine pleasure to meet all of you and I appreciate that you would take the time to read my poem. You're simply the best (better than all the rest)! :P