Branches Abound

Hot and sultry, early June, sitting on my doorstep, late afternoon, watching the traffic flying by: skylarks, melodious, up high; swallows above the stable, diving around the sky; buzzards in tandem, cruising above the dark woods; rooks, darkly purposeful, circling over the pines; wood-pigeons, fat and fast, flying noisily by; two pairs of wild geese landing in the paddock; low-flying blackbird dashing across my field of vision; bumblebee, bluebottle, ladybird buzzing about the apple tree. To say nothing of the that on the ground: magpie striding decisively; a gang of crows on the path, conspiratorial; fifteen guinea fowl in haste, holding their skirts, their rasping calls jarring; yearling pea-hen, tame, hand-reared, pecking my bare toe; two little partridges scurrying by; a pheasant in his finery; a pair of collared doves, courting prettily; five hens, four black and one gold, busy-bodying around; two cockerels, one young, the other magnificent, strutting self-importantly. Oh so bus...

Back then, I couldn't understand. Why so many tins, mum? Towers of carrots, beans and soups. Spaghetti in tomato sauce. She was shaped by war and disability. Rations and depletions. Unreachable shops. The anxiety of uncertainty. Now I'm shaped by the virus war. Rations and depletions. Unsafe shops. The anxiety of uncertainty. I understand, now, and worry. Look at my own tin towers. Just ahead of the panic, Stores drying up, fear building. Ashamed of how I mocked. Unable to say sorry, To say that I understand. Complacent no more. by Adrian Image by Ti Wi via Unsplash

Unprecedented Unprecedented Unprecedented Present distress repeated, repeated recent disease breathed present unprecedented, sent in coughs. Cough, cough, cough. This disease sent on the air. Cough, cough, cough. Unprecedented present breathed in unprecedented disease breathed out unprecedented hand-washing unprecedented deaths dent the present. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe out. Dented breathing. Cough. Present deaths unprecedented. Enough. Too many deaths. Too many people. Too many families. This time Covid19. Another SARS disease present. Unprecedented but not unexpected 2020. Sue  Foster

Hidden behind plastic shields and masks they smile at me but only with their eyes, there is love in each iris, lash and wrinkle wink. Who silently steps in the space between being neither here nor there? He watches her laboured breathing as tubes that had filled her lungs with life are now removed. I’ve breathed in and out without a thought for sixty-seven years but not now, I needed a machine but not anymore. Alone now and strangely calm - this is how it ends, the final cut. He looked at her gravely and slides beside her under covers of night. I feel his presence as a chill - wintery, I’m not dressed for this journey. A lantern held aloft in the forest of firs underfoot pine needles and snow the smell of resin and the crack of footfalls on icy ground. He smiles and I find myself smiling back a new doctor without a mask, weary eyes that have seen this all before and see too much I am weightless as a white feather drifting skyward. Ian Hartley

How much better it is to use a hanky or tissue than to propel germs, bacteria, viruses. How much better to keep that hanky up your sleeve then to wash it in 30 degrees or to compost that tissue for bugs and worms to consume making soil to grow food for health. Sue Foster Photo by Diana Polekhina via Unsplash  

The sun is shining But lying a fate that awaits for some of us. An insipid virus waits Ready to pounce Unannounced. Some will survive Some will not We do not know if this is our lot. In the meantime The sun is shining Barbara Wright (photo credit: Daniel J. Schwarz via Unsplash )

Waiting patiently, Post-covid chest In West Suffolk hospital every two months. Physical barriers To recovery I face, with mental and financial scars cutting past my breath. I seek reassurance From other patients, Stangers to me- To lessen my symptoms We laugh and recall. Conspiracy theorists I say, should live with my cough And pain to re-judge, I wish it was. Bryony

This year my world grew smaller Whilst my health grew stronger Time to sense the air Stare out at open sea The waves’ rhythm is sensation inside my skin Intention to connection As the wide world opens up in my spirit Thoughts crystallize Like a layer of frost on the red berry And the variety of the weather of my desires Merge into a single raindrop The many threads of the spider’s web Honed to become one smooth stone What I choose to do is as unimportant as Which song the blackbird sings How many times the dog barks Which leg the cat washes first The woodland path, the desert trail, The mountain climb, the meadow track All lead to the homestead with a fire burning in its hearth This year my world grew bigger Whilst my health grew better Unhooking my soul from the thinking mind I take my raincoat down from its peg Put it on And go out into this miraculous world Sarah Caddick

Only wild reeds resonate As the breeze crosses their beds Motivating memories Of woodwind in Suffolk Reds Halyards hitting muted masts A Wherry waiting to waken A Hepworth holds its dignity Whilst wistfully forsaken Vacant is the vestibule Lost of anticipation Still steps tantalising Leading to frustration Malted beams over empty seats Staring at a silent stage No tautophonic tunings Musicians waiting to engage No bustle at the bar Drinks in the intermission The terrace now so solitary In summer a perfect position So until this pugnacious problem This intruder that impedes our needs Is controlled to a certain degree We’ll listen to the rustle of the reeds. Hugh

Nature flourishes; society’s fabric hangs, this spring, by a thread. Green fronds of bamboo peer over our wall and wave at me through the glass. Spreading her palms wide, Fatsia Japonica plays the drama queen. A small fishing craft manoeuvres its way back home to harbour’s safety. The black cormorant with horizontal plumb line flies directly home. Billowing white clouds recall lazy days, laid back, dreaming, on the grass. A small patch of blue parts the clouds high above me, lifting my spirits. Cerulean skies, like a vast ocean without visible limits. Pink, turquoise and grey offer us celestial colour therapy. Irrepressible, waving tamarisk defies winter’s harsh pruning. Copying nature, we wave from our balconies, applauding heroes. Julia Duke

C onfined    C ontrolled   C oerced O ppressed O rdered        O stracised V iolence     V iolation     V icious I solated        I gnored        I ndignant D iatribe       D epression D eath C aring            C loseness    C ourtesy O penness     O ptimism    O neness V irtue           V alidation    V aliant I ndomitable I nvincible    I ntimate D ecorum      D ignity        D elight Ellen Bateman  

This bus, a carriage for the carless Empty upstairs, the driver Playing his childhood game of picking up passengers Like the ‘wheels on the bus’ Me, conversing with a masked woman. Muffled words prompting empathic nods, About missing, about loneliness, about life, Just moments of speaking Breaking the boredom of lockdown, In temporary connections, Meaningful and meaningless, Just beginning, to be familiar again With the art of speaking, The art of listening, Just on this journey, Just on this bus. Jan Scott

Some we lost, for some it was days, for some it simply never went away. Three years of changes, yet no change at all.  It’s like the infection put up a wall. Now 2 million people whose lives have been changed, life plans on hold, p ermanently re-arranged. Anon, For Long Covid Sufferers

My own weight on the chair feels firm on firm foundation Collapse is not an option Reflecting on those lines A simple chair gives rise to heartfelt reassurance and collapse is not an option The touch of hand on hand so absent and so longed for but collapse is not an option Reflecting on those lines I sit with vivid memories which touch my heart to singing so collapse is not an option These past months steep my core with deepest contemplation while collapse is not an option Reflecting on those lines I touch these pages fondly My journal holds my feelings Collapse is not an option. Lynne Nesbit

All of a sudden, I am awake and the sea is licking round my feet. A wall of muddy grey fringed with white assaults my mind and spirit jostling me from sleep. A wave has broken. I am alive. Felix stands on the sea’s edge; hardly a split second’s pause before he is stumbling forward, fearless into the waves, embracing the ocean, saying yes, yes I will, yes to his new friend. I have been sleep-walking, a spectator, unable to grasp this new role, the forgotten skills of grand-parenting lost in the wreckage that is Covid. Standing bemused in playgrounds, waiting for the light to dawn. Suddenly, I am woken by the waves, remembering what life consists of, remembering how to say yes, remembering how to say no, remembering what makes me who I am. Child of the sea. Julia Duke

Weighted with weariness worn down by worry I search the skies with longing. Fashion me with feathers float me up high cushion me on your magic carpet and let me ride above clouds. The lark vanishes. Lightness of spirit, more a song than a bird. Clothe me in quills, speed me on soaring wings, lift me above the limits of my chronic fatigue. A seagull floats, gently drifting on air currents in effortless motion. Dress me in down, soft as snow-white geese, yearning for family that call to me like seabirds from across the ocean. Julia Duke

Piecing together all our hopes and dreams, joining the broken fragments of our lives, managing the pain of another loss, full of joy when finally together, society’s fabric hangs by a thread. Julia Duke

Unexpected darkness descends With a decrepit desire for long absent affection, clutching at thin wispy ends with diminished thoughts and caged responses my deserted smile departed. Jill

My friend I noticed during lockdown the class in shops a mask turned quiet and shy. Our only contact during stay at home was texts on your phone he was most alone. Jase went to the woods in his black hood he came back with a ruck sack. His sackful of leaves from different trees he started to draw and I looked in awe. He's now an artist with lots of commissions through natures' editions no hospital admissions. Archie

Behind the window, my gran she clasps onto life in the home with hugs unknown. I peer through the glass, inside she despairs the care assistant stares I think I swear. *****y covid-19 and plastic screens daily visits with my mask and wall of glass. Gran looks paler, the care home her jailor I can't say I love you but kisses I blew. I visited again, on Sunday morning until her death and last gasped breath. No chance to say goodbye, In the bed she did die Undignified end for gran my best friend. I think 'gran' every day, thoughts in my head It's helpful I find to write down my mind.  Susie