1. Pandemic Bell

This year the bells lost their hammers,

no call to Christmas mass or carol service,

just the silent ring of frost and corvid’s clamour

before it pecked the eyes of a much too early lamb.

No jingling shop doorbells, no one-horse open sleigh,

just the tinkle of baubles on Christmas trees,

the twinkle of lights in windows, a spark of hope

at Yuletide for a happier New Year’s Day.

We wished for a change in the weather,

the tide to turn, the sun return,

and one day we will be together,

more sensitive to warmth of smile and touch’s burn.

2. Hope beckons

The light was refracted and weak. A lilting pin-prick; watery like the blue-tinged top of skimmed milk that failed to give any pleasure or sustenance.

Clawing with nails bloodied from gnawing and keening, I traverse this intrusive, prickled landscape unimagined by Dante, himself.

Gasping, I force life into lungs sodden with grief. Sparking the ignition of cognition that had been rendered useless by trauma.

The impotent clicking stirred emotion dulled by the freshly realised fragility of the human.

This year could be left behind, a new hope beckoned. 2020 loomed and it could only get better.

3. “We Didn’t Start The Fire”

A red sky belies the burning

of the red country.

The sun is a brazen orb;

tendrils of heat lick the

fire’s flickering fingers

entice them further

out into the outback.

Flames build into towering walls;

a tsunami of rage sweeps away

forest and habitat,

settlements and homes.

Families stand knee-deep

in crimson-stained waters

and a billion charred carcasses

pay homage to cool waterways

where bush animals once drank.

Australia burns like every year

except this year

there’s a madness to the heat

and an impotence

to our reactions.

4. Division

Colin Viducci infiltrated the world, causing death and destruction wherever he went, as a secret agent his training was rigorous. He burst onto the scene and went from unknown to notorious. He was skilled in creating division, a division he caused by trepidation.

He smiled while executing his plan flawlessly, a darling of the media, he dominated every channel, and fooled everyone with his statistics.

“Welcome to tonight’s edition of ‘Fight Night’. What about the outlook for Colin Viducci or ‘Covid’ Mike?”

“I reckon in 21, he’s done.”

“Thanks Mike, here’s hoping your prediction is correct!”

5. Still the Trees Bloomed

Still, the trees bloomed into leaf, snails crept,

albino blackbirds dug in soil. Jackdaws patrolled on roofs,

gulls drifted. In a corner patch of yard,

strawberries emerged. The world is less, now,

and more. Impenetrable, undone.

Still, the moon rose, and fell; the truth is

it circles, catches onto a curtain, yellow grass.

A wooden fence. It is an incomplete goodbye:

throwing pellets at snails, unseeing

squirrels on a fence, sparrows in an unwavering sun.

6. i wish you were here

 so where are you now? you’d say,

and I would tell you about the rickety buses—

me nearly ill—but oh, the beauty

of tea fields, fluorescent green, and the kindness of a man             

who collected us in a storm;

and I’d say, i miss you, and the phone would go quiet,

and i’d know you were crying.

I wish you were here, so i could tell you our travels

are going fine, that masks are only sometimes;                                

I wish you were still here, so I could tell you a lie,

that we are okay, even when we’re not.