Poems in a Pandemic: The Unexpected

by Daniel Goldberg

Spring is oblivious to human difficulties,
Why should she care about our cares,
Forsythia and Daffodils usually bloom
Their sunny yellow smiles.

But this year, the Forsythia bloomed
…….And she was sad,
Not the sunny yellow of yesteryears,
Even the Daffodils seemed
Not to smile, but bowed their heads.

We mask our sadness, our boredom,
Our restlessness, our loneliness.
Eyes meet eyes, but not our grins.

We live in the large, the unfathomable,
The pinwheel of the Milky Way,
Our home, vast and mysterious;
Yet, it’s the little things that trip us up,
The unseen, the reshuffled deck,
The unexpected cosmic curveball.

Elemental forces appear, like four
Galloping chariot horses,
Thundering towards us, unwelcome.

Yes, I think it’s time to wash our hands,
Dream of better times, love, care, smile.

Ekphrastic May: Cotton Candy

Members of the Guilford Poets Guild are writing ekphrastic poems this month, poetry inspired by artwork hanging in their home.

Poem by Daniel Goldberg
Painting by Abraham Albert Goldberg (the poet’s father), 48″ x 33″.

Cotton Candy

Upon her birth no name was given, but
I always called her – “The Cotton Candy Girl”;
Forever, she had her place of honor
In the entrance hall of my parent’s home,
Just beyond the doorway threshold,
Watching all the comings and goings,
The guests, the parties, the children growing.

Like a sphinx she stood, gazing out silently,
Her blue eyes always in rapt contemplation,
Her Mona Lisa smile always hidden
Behind her pink cloud of sweet confection,
Her crown of golden tresses, silhouetted
Against summer’s rhododendron leaves.

By my father’s hand she was given birth,
Not in brush strokes, but in smooth enamel layers,
Brought forth with creative spark and fire,
Somewhere in the faded memories
Of the long forgotten past,
Standing watch over life and death;
To me, she was always, just there.

She has come to live in my home in Guilford,
Familiar as ever, one to the other,
And like the welcoming Island Colossus,
In her hand she holds a flaming pink torch,
Lighting the way to hope and promise.

My mind is now drifting, to apple crisp
Septembers, the Guilford Fair, the Flying Wallendas,
The colorful whirling lights of the dizzying midway,
Oxen pulls, steak and cheese, sweet Cotton Candy.