Senryu – Alone
We are not alone;
bemoan, we are still at home,
we cannot atone.
2021©DSCoremans
Sonnet – Each To Their Own
Each to their own. Alone. Dog with a bone.
Never give in; a sin, where to begin.
Draw lose or win. Too thin; take on the chin,
watch your tone. A stone. The duke wears a cone.
One small request; impressed, under arrest,
break yourself free. A bee; climbing a tree.
A spending spree. Agree; counting to three,
off of your chest, a vest. Just not impressed.
Exposed shoulder; colder, stone or bolder.
Scream and shout, getting out, I have no doubt.
In faith devout. A scout, divert your route.
Never told her; hold her, never scold her.
One day or never, you think yourself clever;
support is severed, whatever the weather.
2021©DSCoremans
Cinquain – Broken
Give us
a chance to say
all that we hold within
or hold us still within silence:
broken.
2021©DSCoremans
Author’s Note
What does ‘Support’ mean to you?
For some it may be the parent that pushes you to be more than you are; for others the partner who works tirelessly so that your family may thrive; for others it is an external influence that allows you to flourish instead of just scraping by.
My family fall neatly into that latter category, a family in need of external support to do even just the basics. My brother requires care 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and for the past 18 months the provision of that support has fallen entirely upon the shoulders of his family members; myself, my brother and our father. Our father has also required support, as over the last year he has battled and beaten cancer for a second time within five years, but not without a tremendous physical toll to his health.
As the world has been brought to a halt by the impact of the Coronavirus, my family have been largely left without support, at home for this entire time. Each day feels that little bit harder than the last, and seeing the rest of the world awaken anew as they begin to relax restrictions across the country is, rather than hopeful, a frank and taunting reminder that for us nothing has changed.
Stripped of the care package that was in place for over fifteen years we are now at the mercy of the bureaucratic nightmare that comes with reestablishing a care package for someone with complex care needs. A process that we are told could drag on for many months more, taking our self-isolated exile from months into years, with no end in sight.
With no true alternative…we remain at home.
“What is home? My favorite definition is “a safe place,” a place where one is free from attack, a place where one experiences secure relationships and affirmation. It’s a place where people share and understand each other. Its relationships are nurturing. The people in it do not need to be perfect; instead, they need to be honest, loving, supportive, recognizing a common humanity that makes all of us vulnerable.”
Gladys Hunt, Honey for a Child’s Heart: The Imaginative Use of Books in Family Life
When I wrote the Sonnet “Each To Their Own” in May of 2021, I was beginning to reawaken after months of repressing as many of the negative emotions that came with over a year of isolation as possible. The poem itself was supposed to be a playful, string of nonsense words that were more of an exercise in poetic metre than in meaning. Yet as I read it over today the nonsense words are a cross section of everything that was happening from my perspective while stuck at home.
The final line in particular “support is severed whatever the weather” was difficult to read as it brought home the magnitude of just how long it has been since things have been normal and as we prepare for the beginning of another academic year without any external support I am on the brink of being overwhelmed by the magnitude of all that needs to be done, and all we have had to do during our time at home.
I truly hope today that I am not still writing about isolation this time next year, but at present…I truly fear that this may be our reality.
Triolet – The End
The end is coming
for some, not all;
towards us running.
The end is coming;
the air is thrumming,
as we slowly fall.
The end is coming
for some, not all.
2021©DSCoremans
Recent Poetry from #FoDiByLi
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