In Silence We Wait by Wet Ink Books

In Silence We Wait Editor Richard M. Grove

Firs t Edition

This book is part of the ongoing, HBP, Poetry Pandemic Project.

Hidden Brook Press www.HiddenBrookPress.com writers@HiddenBrookPress.c om

Copyright © 2021 Hidden Brook Press Copyright © 2021 Authors and Photographers All rights for poems and the photographs revert to the authors and the photography. All rights for book, layout and design remain with Hidden Brook Press. No part of this book may be reproduced except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopied, recorded or otherwise stored in a retrieval system without prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

In Silence We Wait

Editor – Richard M. Grove Cover Design – Richard M. Grove Front and Back Cover Photographs – Richard M. Grove Layout and Design – Richard M. Grove Inside Photographs – Ann Di Nardo and Christopher R. Grove Typeset in Garamond Printed and bound in Canada Distributed in USA by Ingram, in Canada by Hidden Brook Distribution

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Title: In silence we wait / editor Richard M. Grove. Names: Grove, Richard M. (Richard Marvin), 1953- editor. Description: Poems. Identifiers: Canadiana 20210133465 | ISBN 9781989786307 (PDF) Subjects: LCSH: Poetry, Modern—21st century. Classification: LCC PN6101 .I5 2021 | DDC 821/.9208—dc23

T h i s b o o k i s d e d icated to Joy f ul H o p e s M a n if ested.

“Hope i s t he t hi ng w i t h feather s t ha t pe rche s i n t he s oul and sing s t he t u ne w i t hou t t he wor ds and ne ve r s t ops at all.” – Emily Dickinson

“Hope i s be i ng abl e t o see t hat t he re i s l ig ht de s pi t e al l of t he dar kness.” – De s mond Tut u

Table of Contents Preface from the Editor Richard M. Grove – p. 1 Photographers: Ann Di Nardo – p. 6, 7, 10, 11, 28, 29, 34, 35, 52, 53, 54, 55, 70, 71, 76, 77, 96, 97. Christopher R. Grove – p. 18, 19, 24, 25, 40, 41, 46, 47, 60, 61, 64, 65, 84, 85, 90, 91, 102 Alphabetical Listing of Authors by Last Name O.P. Arora – p. 80 Marsha Barber – p. 72 Nancy M. Bell – p. 32 Ariane Blackman – p. 75 Peter Bloch-Hansen – p. 63 April Bulmer – p. 58 Maria Caltabiano – p. 86 Patrick Connors – p. 43 Chip Dameron – p. 57 Maya Daneva – p. 22 Germain Droogenbroodt – p. 94 Deborah Golden – p. 88 Elizabeth Greene – p. 74 Kim Grove – p. 8 Betsy Joseph – p. 73 Shane Joseph – p. 20 Richard Harrison – p. 69 Rhoda Hassmann – p. 89 Shireen Huq – p. 66 Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias – p. 44, 98 John B. Lee – p. 27 Lisa Makarchuk – p. 48

Jayanthi Manoj – p. 56 Blaine Marchand – p. 83 Elizabeth McCallister – p. 95 Chittaranjan Misra – p. 100 Aju Mukhopadhyay – p. 38 Marion Mutala – p. 78 Ann Di Nardo – p. 8 Antony Di Nardo – p. 62 Roger Nash – p. 23 K.V. Raghupathi – p. 14 Kathy Robertson – p. 12 Basudhara Roy – p. 3, 36 Jaydeep Sarangi – p. 26 Sunil Sharma – p. 59 Ram Krishna Singh – p. 92 K.V. Skene – p. 30 Carol Smith – p. 42 Giti Tyagi – p. 101 Mark Walker – p. 103 Brian Way – p. 50 Anna Yin – p. 17

Preface from the Editor: Early in 2021 it struck me that the transition from 2020 into 2021 was a bit of a different shift than the shift of other years. Somehow the entire world was placing a great significance of hope to the clock ticking into a new year. There is no doubt that the last ten months of 2020, with the covid social restrictions and greater and greater global lockdowns has created a unique significance to this annual turning of the calendar page. For me, I seemed to be a bit blasĂŠ about the pot-banging, hoop-dadoo event. Perhaps that is because my last ten months were not all that difficult compared to other months or years. My heart goes out to everyone that had a difficult time with the social cocooning and lockdown restrictions. For me it was simply a year of more writing, editing and publishing than ever before. With three new poetry books of my work on the 2021 horizon, all with different editors and different publishers and a new novel, with the first ten thousand words under my belt, 2020 was simply a busy, busy time. Along with all of those office activities it was a year of building international relationships like I have never done before. The internet, Zoom, Skype, WhatsApp, all opened up my personal and my professional world. Twice a week Zoom church ser vices* and occasional church lectures** supported my spiritual growth. Because of my 2020 appointment to Poet Laureate of Brighton and a confluence of events I was invited

to do a Webinar about my poetry and writing process for a university in Bangladesh, hosted by, now friend, Professor PhD Shireen Huq. Along with a Zoom presentation for a local Rotary club and Zooming with friends around the world I was, to put it simply, very busy. So many things have opened up over this last year that all I can be is grateful for this past 2020. A wonderful opportunity of being invited to participate in â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Hearth Withinâ&#x20AC;?*** an Indian poetry reading series hosted by Dr. Jaydeep Sarangi and Dr. Basudhara Roy opened my world even more. Because of this international broadening of my life I collaborated with Basudhara Roy on a poem about entering the new year, so here it is below. *Hosted by: http://firstchurchtoronto.com ** Hosted by: https//www.christianscience.com/christian-healing-today/lectures-online ***The Hearth Within: https://www.youtube.com/watch?fbclid=IwAR3xeJzNAH07SmNq9oa5e3kBxZoXwsYDI RTWl8022vjJkHIbHqYjm_zpDsk&v=sdiGmdqYRGw&feature=youtu.be

By Basudhara Roy – India Richard M. Grove – Canada

The Sun, The First Glorious Sun of 2021 Tai, your picture shows you reclined on a snow covered picnic table, drinking in the sun, soaking it up like a sponge while the sun, in turn, seems to be drinking in Kim, a warm chai on a chilly day. That tree in the background, covered in a fresh blanket of bright snow, is lapping up the sun too even as it hugs its whiteness tight like a proud brass-buttoned coat. I have never seen snow but once in Yumthang, the Valley of Flowers, at our country’s hilly fringe. I was twenty-five and tendrilled with the yearning to know snow, I realized I wasn’t exactly prepared for that wonder of white stretching around me like love’s seamless dream. When I tried to shut my eyes, the white still seeped into them so even my dark was now dressed in a drape of light. Funny what that snow can do to you!

Your pictures, however, sent me more snow than I have ever seen before! It is there, a lazy cloud, sprawling over everything as it looks for a place to snooze, filling every corner it finds, every curve, every fold, and here, continents away, my skin grows cold anticipating its need for heat. But you, it seems, are good friends with it. You let it lie about as it pleases, while here in my sun-drenched home in Jharkhand, I am always putting winter away into a box and stuffing it in the attic to be opened every ten years or so. This book is meant to foster a joyous transition from 2020 into 2021. I hope you enjoy this book and pass the link on to your family and friends worldwide. As you might remember, in 2020, we published the first stage of the Poetry Pandemic Project with four special issues of Devour: Art & Lit Canada. These special international Panku poems are all still available as free downloads at: Special Panku Issue #1 – https://issuu.com/richardgrove1/docs/devour__panku_special_edition__1_-_72dpi Special Panku Issue #2 – https://issuu.com/richardgrove1/docs/devour__panku_special_editioin__2_-_72dpi Special Panku Issue #3 – https://issuu.com/richardgrove1/docs/devour__panku_special_issue__3 Special Panku Issue #4 – https://issuu.com/richardgrove1/docs/devour_issue_09_-_panku_special_issue__4

The Title: I love divine synchronicity. The title of this book came from the poem â&#x20AC;&#x153;Silenceâ&#x20AC;? by Mark Walker. You will find it as the last poem in the book. It comes from this line: In silence we wait, / for an answer. I was truly waiting in silence for the inspiration of what the title of this book would be when Marks poem arrived. It literally arrived by email as the last submission. The divine synchronicity of silently waiting for the title to be given to me was such a gift from divine Mind. Thank you Mark for the answer to my prayers.

The Photographs: Before I close I would like to publicly thank my dear friend Anna Di Nardo for her fine photographs that come to us from her cocooning in Quebec. Also a thank you to my brother Christopher Grove for his photographs. More of his work can be found at: https://pixels.com/featured/winter-shoreline-at-presquile-christophergrove.html?fbclid=IwAR0uDBD4HWEh6HHGqrL08WlYu6SXTevRHFqMcJ 4r2xVk4yxepCEd7I8siTo

Hugs to you all with the expectation of an even better 2021. Richard M. Grove (Tai) HBP Publisher HiddenBrookPress@gmail.com

Ann Di Nardo

Anna Di Nardo annamdi@icloud.com Sutton, Quebec

Dear Tai: A new year has just begun and with it the hopes for a brighter future. Let us hope this far that good lessons have been learned and taken to heart. The biggest being the need for respect of this little â&#x20AC;&#x153;blue marbleâ&#x20AC;? to quote a dear friend and with that respect of all things will fall into place. Sending warmest hugs your way. Love Ann

Kim Grove kesgrove@gmail.com Ontario, Canada

Perfect Vision 2020 Used to mean perfect vision So how do we see the good? Maybe in the emails of comfort and care Or with the masks that covered our mouths but hid our fear That said we love our neighbour Of zooming across countries and continents Bypassing race and rumours of hate or distrust Homes refortified with love and kindness Appreciating family and friends who refused to be swept away by media hysteria Virtual visits while admiring nature's vast surroundings with earplugs in place listening to outpourings of compassion and care. Maybe 2020 has helped us focus Readjust our lens to see a little more clearly what matters in life.

Ann Di Nardo

Kathy Robertson kathyrobertson0234@gmail.com Ontario, Canada

From Darkness to Light It’s better to light a candle than to curse the darkness. —William L. Watkinson I light a candle this New Year’s Eve of twenty-twenty amid a blustery Canadian winter filled with a promise of hope and reparation— emerging from ashes of death and despair— to welcome a new dawn. The flame flickers among shadows shimmers off walls casting light on uncharted future.

Newfound lessons of resilience, patience, courage sustain me with assurance that we are not a divided people living in isolation but a global community united by a common foe. I embrace the radiance of the rising morn with a conviction that love and laughter will return andâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; just as the candle illuminates the darkâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; so will we.

Dr. K.V. Raghupathi drkvraghupathi@gmail.com Andhra Pradesh, India

Transition Too long have I never before lived through the lockdowns and pain that have quickly passed like the nimbus clouds. I wonder! It is winter now. Gloomy winter with the temperature dipping where this bitter frenzy rests frozen but resurrected as â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Strainâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; variant. The winter sky is wild, the leafless trees are brown with sorrow. I am an ostrich trying to hide from the predator Corona. Will the battle soon be finished to be won against the invisible enemy? Will hope sweeten as the Spring surely bring new promises, with multi-hued flowers? Will the terrible pass with the blooming of slow loveliness Spring? Birds with their damp feathers in cities perching on faded rooftops and dusted treetops, quiet cattle chewing the cud in winter shadows, unmasked stray dogs and lousy pigs lounging waiting for a smooth transition. Will the terrible pass with the blooming of slow loveliness Spring? I sit in my solitary house surrounded by wintergreen fields and looming coconut trees that have been standing for a long even before my arrival. I feel the colourless coolness of the winter breeze.

Transfixing my eyes at the whispering, wilted, falling, tumbling leaves searching for answers for the pandemic I wish for smooth painless transitions that leave me and the rest of humanity better than before. Without them, the meaning is insignificant. Feared, someday the trees would be replaced with concrete structures, songs of birds with honking. Will the world be the same again? Will the terrible pass with the blooming of slow loveliness Spring? Raw mangoes in summer, apples in winter I ate with my mates. We played in the sand and built small houses with our small imaginations, our bodies grew just like our imaginations, our hands reached tall branches, flitted like butterflies and shouted like langurs, We played cricket, football, kho kho, and marbles for fun on unshaven groundsâ&#x20AC;Ś Those were the days we spent making paper rockets and hurled, paper boats in the runnels to reach imagined destinations, We stayed outside catching fireflies, butterflies, and beetles until the sun escaped from the advancing night and those blinking little stars were the only lights to guide our way. Those summer breaks spent chasing crabs on drying riverbeds, our bodies mud pressed in warm water together. All our thoughts concentrated on an evanescent summer.

No more tuition hours because we felt educated in play enough together all-day in the jocund company of birds, dogs, monkeys, butterflies, moths, and trees. We returned home late in the evening wiping the mud out from between our fingers and toes, our clothes dyed with mud designs to the cold words. Conversations dwindled in titbits with warmth and love, walked with the fun of girls and the weak on pitted roads. We grew with our growing imaginations with fun and play, watching the stars, sharing our hopes, our fears, and our scares. But now all that is lost for our children and grandchildren, they are just on a roller coaster ride. Will the world be the same again with the passing of the virus? Will the terrible pass with the blooming of slow loveliness Spring?

Anna Yin anna.yin@gmail.com Ontario, Canada

The End of 2020 For what should I thank you? The last week of the year, snow brings this dreamy white Christmas. Trees in our front and back yards bloom with white flowers... I open the door, welcome the pure new world: a tough year with lockdowns finally should pass, feeling bittersweet, I return inside. By the closed window, with a book and a cup of teaďź&#x152; I ponder on this white world. I recall all those days masked on our journey, from the very beginning letting go of all the gatherings to wine glasses clinking at virtual parties, from panicking from vicious rumors to learning to hang on to hard truth, from divided arguing to fighting together, What adventures have 2020 brought! In the night sky beyond the clouds, we search for stars, reach for hope. Some tours are doomed to detour, some doors are destined to reopen. Like snow, things fall then melt. We shall get through all the hardship and ordeals, we shall fill the new year with sparkling stunning moments. With an uplifting willpower, I open the window, welcome the cold fresh air.

Christopher Grove

Shane Joseph shane@shanejoseph.com Ontario, Canada

A Different Christmas I have held that each Christmas would surprise me. Apart from the sameness of the season with traditional carols, decorations, gifts, and Santa Claus, there are also differences from year to year that provide nuance: a green vs. a white Christmas, a rainy vs. a dry one, a celebration where some family members are permanently absent, a natural disaster somewhere in the world or at home, or one where illness decks the halls. This Christmas has all those nuances bundled into one package delivered by a rather cruel Santa. The first creepy feeling was the Christmas music in the mall where I work. It begins around Dec 1st and plays continuously as the crowds increase daily until madness reigns on Boxing Day. This year, the music played but the crowds had vanished; there was the odd senior, masked beyond recognition, trooping into the few shops that dared to remain open, while younger shoppers were hitting the cyber-waves with a vengeance, making Amazon rich beyond imagination. The mad rush to book winter getaways, where my staff scrambled to get space on crowded planes, was gone; now the only travellers were those who had to take a trip to see a dying relative somewhere. The premier announced a lockdown for the entire province. We were suddenly out of bounds to our family, some who lived on the other side of town. Contagion was rife in everyone’s minds. I’m sure people were even scared to have sex, scared they’ll breath contamination on their partner.

I walked to the beach yesterday, one of my favourite spots. The winds were strong, the surf was up, the sky grey, and not a dog was around. A couple passed by and I wished them a Happy Christmas. They looked surprised; then their pre-pandemic humanity surfaced long enough for them to wish me back and hurry on, tightening their masks around their faces. This was a year where we launched new books but lost our readers for they were only available to us over the fragile link of the internet. It was also a year in which creativity was asphyxiated due to the lack of contact, travel, and exchange. And at the end of this week, I too will head off into a new chapter when I retire, facing up to the fact that I cannot work in “pandemic tourism.” I came of age in the travel business when we hugged the Other, traveled through difficult terrain, engaged with different cultures, all that helped shape and broaden our views of the world. The new restrictions have taken the romance out of travel for me. Next year, I need another game. As a sprinkling of snow fell last night to bring a semblance Christmases past, I am marking this year as a significant one in that parade of Yuletides I have had. Christmas2020 will never be forgotten for the unique revelations it provided – which in the end, are gifts of a different kind.

Maya Daneva m.daneva@utwente.nl The Netherlands

Four Panku lockdown so happy to have you at home just for myself *** pandemic snow my son makes snow angels to play with *** travel ban no longer concerned about my credit rating *** abandoned campus all my students fit on my kitchen table

Roger Nash roger_nash@hotmail.com Ontario, Canada

Fall 2020 Migration Canadageesecormorantsducks loonsswans, all swirl above the lake, intermingled by sunshine and a common call. In the breeze, chairs on the dock tug to rise in companionship, though chained well back. The call too high to be heard by us, who insist, each year, summer will go on forever. Still, a call of our own we hear clearly enough: Covid-19 is here to stay, whether summer’s finished or not, at the beginning or end of a spike of hot weather or fall or curve or wave or crash or rat-a-tat-splash. And, though we can’t fly like birds to some virus-free island or continent or world or tattoo and strip joint, we migrate, consistently and endlessly, between wearing masks and leaving them off, between social distancing and not. In our true element: not clouds and air, but seasons of ditheringly decided indecision, contented discontent. The birds’ll know when to come back. And us?

Christopher Grove

Jaydeep Sarangi jaydeepsarangi@gmail.com Kolkata, India

Happy New Year Coming When you have come braving the erratic storm I welcome you, Come. When you love me clinging to the troubled times Come, I trust you, new year is a valued pigeon I know that you will stand with me in my home of thoughts I am not alone here, will be aloud with the wind. The Moon and the lonely terrace exchanges words. They will meet up after a sweet spell of January rain. I may meet the stars many a times In these long summer afternoons. We have oceanic love, love for all. Rain is emotion, making the trees green. I am nobodyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s slave, not a banana, I am not a thing to be sold in a town fair. I write only two lines, so many others write Thousands and thousands words. I reach my home After so many houses with a couplet of new year love.

John B. Lee johnb.leejbl@gmail.com Ontario, Canada

Watching Geese Take Flight from the Bay at Sundown the geese go lifting off the still surface of Long Point Bay letting the water shiver in their wake like wrinkled silk and they seem to skim the darkening mirror dropping their shadows let drift like black scarves of lovely women flirting with the lake and they are returning to the dream hold where theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll take their evening rest talking lowly as they go like loving voices slowing into sleep and this a sad communion seems a lonesome farewell to the sun mulling the sky like the warming of wine that final stain of autumn gloaming lavender soaked in blue oh hear their breathing wings as the candle breath of sundown bends the soul to shape the body from within when water holds the contours of a vase both by a pouring in and a pouring out of the consciousness of time

Ann Di Nardo

K.V. Skene kv.skene@bell.net Ontario, Canada

What we disremember as overstressed Toronto sidewalks grow accustomed to our feet the tight-shouldered dodge the oncoming masked and iphoned turn and text a simple action requires no rehearsal and mutes the aggregation fear pulls us together apart look how quickly our hearts beat backward who we are is where we come from and now is always in-between our words what was between choice and chance means nothing more but simply is what we want to disremember

the leftovers of silence while our gods become our gods only because we want need them to be exalted for nothing at all and into our dystopian times their words may come go become love ours for longer and longer un-moments

Nancy M. Bell emilypikkasso@gmail.com Alberta Canada

What to Say? Well, what can you say about 2020? It was an interesting year? For sure, but not in a good way January to March brought dire warnings About some mysterious virus Then Wham Bam Slam The whole world went crazy Spring morphed into summer The latest fashion statement, being masks and latex gloves Social distancing became a buzz word As did the â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;new normalâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Whatever that is supposed to mean Summer brought more dire news Mass deaths in nursing and care homes ICU beds becoming prized real estate For those with Covid clogged lungs Summer melted into Fall Same old, same old Everything shut down, businesses failing Lack of leadership So, what can you say about 2020? It brought out the worst in some people And conversely, the best in others As we struggled to deal with losing loved ones Amidst conflicting reports of Covid numbers And what the latest restrictions were and who they applied to

The best of us continued to look after those less fortunate The best of us kept on keeping on Front line hospital workers fought the good fight Those who provide us with the necessities continued to open grocery stores and pharmacies. EMTs and paramedics continued to answer our calls for help Those in animal rescue continued to go out in adverse conditions To bring in stray and abandoned animals All of the above risking their own health for the good of society as a whole The advent of the Christmas Star on the night of Winter Solstice Was perhaps a promise of better things to come As the longest night passed it gave way to the returning of the Light The last seconds of 2020 flickered away in the light of a full moon Shining brilliant on blue-shadowed snow Northern lights dancing overhead Welcoming in the new. Stark and beautiful etched on the sable sky Writing promises of better things to come Entreating us to keep holding on to what was good about 2020 And releasing that which was less than pleasant. There are no guarantees of a speedy end to the pandemic Only hope and love that we continue to nurture in our hearts And strive to be the best that we can be as we go forward To navigate 2021 with heads held high

Ann Di Nardo

Basudhara Roy basudhara.roy@gmail.com Jharkhand, India

Answers I am up much before the sun today, my eyes having refused all night to trade ache for sleep. The sky above me is a foreboding sea, sombre grey as it mirrors this pavement my restless feet trace in hope of salvation. Around me, the world mostly sleeps, a few faithful souls beckoned to duty or prayer while some like me seek passageways into an inscrutable soul. The air overhangs with the smells of yesterday, constant in its depths to what it has received while lonely dogs saunter, musing quietly on human ingratitude. I walk, more to claim myself than this unclaimed street that stirs under my heels to awakening and just as I turn the

corner, weighed with questions, I am drawn into a rare mystery. In the womb of the Eastern sky is an ecstasy of light. The sun, pouring his liquid being into the night's emptiness, has touched her sanctum of want and from that depth now, flowers burst into life. Crimson streaks of joy ripple through her shape as rays penetrate deeper, breaking her hymen of the dark, till, impregnated with gold, she shines resplendent, her fulfillment distinctly marked in the contours of her form. I gaze in awe at the love that silently fuels my rise, at this primordial mirror that ushers breath into the world, at the wonder of a promise kept each day. I raise my face to the sky suddenly full of answers now, the sun steadily rising in my soul.

Aju Mukhopadhyay ajum24@gmail.com Pondicherry, India

Time Is: a new year narrative The year passed by to remind us that our optimist Scientist President said That India would be a Nation Great by 2020 by Technological excellence; We have failed him. Only Digital Development is raising and carrying us In the air like balloons; it helps the big business tycoons and online jugglers Bypassing the small traders, farmers and daily laborers sunk in their sacks. The year passed bullied by Corona virus worldwide; masked humans hid In homes or shanties with fears and hopes. Who could guess That before the onset of the year Covid-19 would break out in Wuhan Carrying a secret message of conspiracy in our ears! Who could or would guess the designs of the Dark Horses Binding the world by their belt? The earth was dug deep, mountains dwarfed, rivers dried To extract minerals, evicting the sons and daughters of the soil Destroying wildlife and forests in our part of the globe; Future becomes hollowed for all upcoming generations Country isn’t developed, few capitalists only are fattened Powerful Politicians dance to grab everything; Awards galore sans qualifications adore them. The mightiest President of the richest country shouted and threatened all His departure is still in suspense, hanging in the balance Future has become more uncertain: Stephen Hawking said, “Time travel is not possible, and never will be . . . We have not been invaded by the hordes of tourists from the future.” Sri Aurobindo conceived Time as the “Eternity of the Eternal.” Mortal Time steps ahead towards the future leaving all nincompoops Under illusion on the roads they built; they wait bewildered, It seems that time is lurking with motives sinister.

But the future is so miraculous, incredible and so dangerously sweet That we stand bewildered as it unfolds at each stage of human feat Our Holy Scriptures recorded happenings miraculous; God is praised for his grace allowing a lame to cross the mountain And enabling a mute to become a bavard A dead was raised from his grave, leapers relived. Haven’t we seen in the year gone by with how much patience and resilience Humans stood their ground with resolute faith and courage, How much they cooperated to overcome the horrendous attack By the Corona viruses which killed almost two million people worldwide And one and half lakh of them in India! Don’t we remember how the horrible World War’s massacres Seemed to end the civilizations but mostly they recovered in few years? Aren’t we witnesses to the revival of Nature innumerably in spite of all Ruining acts and devastations caused to her by the humans! Men are incorrigible! They rise up from the dead again and again; All fairs and cinema theatres have begun their repeat shows All entertainments are flowing through their veins Most share markets and business houses are roaring again Play grounds are full. Who can arrest the flow of their glorious destination by Divine grace! Men are there every catastrophe to face And to move ahead in every New Phase Time is ever neutral; it is! All objects around it move like all living things.

Christopher Grove

Carol Smith carol_j_smith@hotmail.com Ontario, Canada

The New Republic And the rain descended and the floods came and the winds blew covid, and beat upon our home, and it fell not for it was founded upon a rock And the rain descended and the floods came and the winds blew covid, and beat upon the Great Republic and great was the fall of it for it was founded upon slavery. And the people fought against racism, against injustice, against inequality, and built a new foundation: a foundation of Love to withstand any storm. And the rain descended and the floods came and the winds blew and beat against the New Republic and it fell not for it was founded upon Love.

Patrick Connors patrickjt.connors@gmail.com Ontario, Canada

New Oh-one-oh-one twenty-twenty-one the day we made sure 2020 hasn't won. I woke up not quite right in the head ready to shave last night off my tongue unearth the mysteries of sweet gone bitter wondering why I didn't expect this result. The New Year has arrived not fresh and clear as I would like but neither am I. I will try to find the light of calm inside the heavy darkness and go from there.

Collaborative Poem Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias – CCLA Presidente, Cuba Richard M. Grove – CCLA President, Canada

2020 into 21: Trump into Biden A new era for US and by extension for Cuba and further into the world, our expectations are focused on the now from yesterday on. Biden’s speech weaves promising threads of hope and reassurance for many, including us on our island 90 kl south of Florida. This inaugural event plus the Cuban vaccine about to be dispersed island-wide will be the beginning of the answers to our knee-bent prayers for recovery, and a dawn of relief for our macro and our hole-in-pocket personal budgets.

We see in Bidenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s words the gossamer of hope a semblance of truth the expectation of unity. Let us pray he does not speak with rhetorical lies, spilling more brutality and measures that try to choke us. Let us pray he honors the rebuilding that Obama started: A new era for both sides.

Christopher Grove

Lisa Makarchuk lisamakarchuk@sympatico.ca Ontario, Canada

Passing of an Age as horizons unfolded 2020 passed away leaving carnage behind of crosses, coffins and corpses covered with carrion of broken promises unfulfilled dreams our mounds of hope shattered by Covidâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ambush and yet, irrepressible elan arises not as pollyannish fervor but by searing through politicized ignorance and petty opportunism with outbursts of medical sacrifices generous in effort leading us through our dark-tunnelled walk eyes set and determined to reach the light at the end once more to run together on beaches

to swim with fishes to love, to dance with sunshine and stars to swing in hammocks to surrender in glorious confusion to scented waft of mariposa splendor while bearing witness to an agonizing birth of a new world for all.

Brian Way btwway@gmail.com Ontario, Canada

toast him well for a new new year or, 13 ways to divorce this covid partner “...all women should sleep with a dagger” – Othello V iii toast him well for a new new year then drip some henbane in his ear while he caresses his morning lover cut the brake line on his jaguar while he sleeps in a drunken state nose a hat pin thru his candied pate while he dallies in the lurid clubhouse spread some semtex on his big bertha while in business he touts his lie and spin crush shards of glass for his tonic and gin while he sings his aves loud in choir cast a dark spell from mesos grimoire while he reads a poem to your pretty daughter put three mad vipers in his warm bath water while he volunteers at the long-term care wash your hands and launch nine arrows thru the air while he waltzes wild in the ingenues bower hire a sanitized assassin with a big sig sauer

while he and his pals fish at the chalet cut a hole in their boat with a frame tariĂ¨re while he ignores all restrictions by word and deed a seven-foot ranseur is really all you need while he jogs in a charity race cross town hire an uber-chariot to run him down while he sips away at his evening scotch have amazon send him arsenic-in-a-box while sports on tv keep his ego fed wear a mask and bring a sharp knife to bed so in joy say â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;farewellâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; to the covid plague then dance him over to the edge of the crag

Ann Di Nardo

Jayanthi Manoj jayanthimanoj2000@yahoo.com Tamilnadu, India.

Flow On Through these covid currents of uncertainty, When gushing muddy waters of anxiety Rush madly from past year into untravelled terrains of the New Year, The sediments of novel patterns wordlessly settle on the riverbedsâ&#x20AC;Ś I silently sail like a fallen leaf from the routine tree. I flow with the river and wherever the current would go I may slide to the other side of the shore wrinkled and torn Into a green new world, viridian, verdant and full of light. I will not drown in doubt, disbelief or boredom. I promise to help in my small ways, to stay hopeful, braving the troubled waters breathing in, breathing out, with masks and gratitude Staying responsible in my thought, word and action Sharing resources and lighting up smiles Holding each one of us in silence, and prayer, Just living it through and allowing it to pass, as it may pass in its time. I ebb, I rise, I dip, I silently flow With the river.

Chip Dameron cdameron08@gmail.com Texas, USA

Sometime Tomorrow I will welcome friends, laugh with friends, embrace friends when we meet and when we departâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; positive outcomes, no need for negative ones. I will exchange smiles with strangers who say hello, cashiers in shops, mothers holding hands with children, none of us hiding from COVID-19 behind masks. I will go to new places where others live and work and eat in restaurants that locals recommend, where coronavirus is nowhere on the menu. I will finally take my grown son into my arms and hug him as freely as the day is long, when SARS-CoV-2 is just a harmless mouthful.

April Bulmer aprilbulmer.poems@gmail.com Ontario, Canada

Lab Results The technician wears a plastic shield and mask over her face. Her hair is yellow and brittle. She asks each patient at the lab whether they have symptoms of the coronavirus and whether they have travelled to China lately. When it is my 90-year-old mother’s turn, she simply says, “no.” I can hear her voice from a cubicle now. Her doctor ordered a heart test. I have never pondered my mother’s heart: its ventricles and chambers. Only its rare blood type: Rh negative. A woman drives into the lab on a red scooter. She is missing her teeth. Another woman is reading a passage on her cellphone; I hear the word “Jesus.” Some believe the deadly pandemic began in a wildlife market in Wuhan. Bats and snakes may have transmitted the illness to humans. Signs of infection include fever and cough and difficulty breathing. At home, my mother disinfects her purse and the soles of her shoes. She washes her winter coat on a gentle setting. I hear her run a bath. It sounds like the din of prayer to Kuan Yin, maybe, goddess of compassion and mercy.

Sunil Sharma drsharma.sunil@gmail.com Maharashtra, India

Sprouts on the burnt-up soil New beginnings, old endings, in series uninterrupted â&#x20AC;&#x201C; life. Old endings, new beginnings, in-between spaces, liminality, thresholds â&#x20AC;&#x201C; continual. An ongoing cycle of finish, exhaustion and replenishment, well, human spirit, evolving moving ahead, despite odds many! 2020! It was the year of Corona that travelled free and crossed borders, unbidden. The virus dominated, paralyzed and convulsed the entire planet; ruining millions of lives, causing death and misery and pain. Masks were out, real, and the already-distanced grew socially-istanced; new lessons learnt from the pandemic, some positives and the world drew close, closer and the power of Covid-19 understood by a ruling class, crass and cynical; the world finally became a virtual family of Homo sapiens, undivided by the political constructs and divisive tools like racism and xenophobia! Hope sprang forth like a fresh brook within each tired heart. Vaccines got discovered and are on the way to reclaim lost ground. 2021! It heralds cooperation and communal values and respect for nature, climate, the earth, our valued partners in this short journey. Let new songs sprout from the old words and tired soil! Humans are a single family and can overcome, refusing to be defeated. â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the New Anthem of a revived humanity!

Christopher Grove

Antony Di Nardo dinardoa@me.com Ontario, Canada

The Day After I didn’t know, but it made no difference— When I found out, the day was done. It rained cats and dogs howling at the skylight— The sun that day never had a chance. I think of calendars when I need them. I think of angels when I find them. Let’s stop at nothing and face the New Year. Or let me re-phrase that— Let’s read the instructions and get it right For just this once. You can’t tell me where the sun is when it’s dark By pointing at the sky. You can’t see your shadow after the lights go out. It’s that simple. Such information exists to give us something to say— Something more to put into words. Latin poets knew that. Hollywood knows that. Now I know it, too.

Peter Bloch-Hansen blochhansenp@gmail.com Ontario, Canada

We Lift Our Downcast Eyes Shut down, Locked in, Authority’s grip Tightening all around our freedoms, Forced to rediscover ourselves, Re-assess what matters, What’s essential and what frivolous, Learn new and rediscover old skills Pastimes and simple pleasures, We carry on – Bubonic plague, West Nile, Ebola, Spanish flu, Swine flu, Bird flu, SAARS, Our human body defeated them all. Now, Shuttling through to take our shots -And like the shut in citizens Of fabled Zion City Crying, “We are still here!” We lift our downcast eyes again Toward a hopeful spring.

Christopher Grove

Shireen Huq dr.shireenhuq123@gmail.com Bangladesh

songs of spring (The title has been inspired by the following line “Where are the songs of spring?” from John Keats’ “Ode to Autumn”. ) The firecrackers exploded outside my window. I gasped as the thousand geometric shapes amber yellows , malachite greens, ruby reds danced in wild ecstasy across the midnight blue . I heard the cacophony of voices each saying something the other couldn’t hear. All raised together chattering, shrieking, chanting “Gone! The year is gone! Gone the Evil, gone the Curse Gone, Gone, Gone!” The Demon has Exited!

It came when the Gulmohur lit flames in the trees and black-eyed girls wove the fragrant beli in their braids to welcome the joyous new season while boatmen sang on the river Padma sunlight glistening on their sunburnt backs, and the world was crazy with joy! the Demon came thenâ&#x20AC;Ś the Gulmohur was still alluring in the trees the breeze still kissed its petals the beli still smiled coyly from behind the leaves nature basked in her pride they waitedâ&#x20AC;Ś and waitedâ&#x20AC;Ś for the girls to come and sing to

the colours of spring but the girls huddled at homeâ&#x20AC;Ś terror-stricken while the Demon danced in frenzy and sang the song of Destruction! spring merged into summer summer into monsoon monsoon into winter. days lengthened to months, and now a year! The year is gone everlasting Hope has raised its head again soon the earth will be renewed soon the girls will dance to welcome the spring soon the boatman will sing on the Padma again!

Richard Harrison rharrison@mtroyal.ca Alberta, Canada

Christmas Poem 2020 When this story was born, people were afraid where they once felt joy. People were shunned where they once felt welcome. Even a mother about to give birth was sent away to give birth among animals. What future could there be in such isolation? And now we are afraid where once we felt joy. Doors are closed where they once were open to greet us. But in the story, the mother gave birth, and the animals were kind. The story is still here, 2000 years later, and never was there a better time to sing of it again and remember we are sent into the world to praise what we have, no matter how little it seems and offer each other only love.

Ann Di Nardo

Marsha Barber m2barber@ryerson.ca Ontario, Canada

Corona Symphony, 2021 We hibernate in our warm house, blinds pulled down, we expect less of ourselves, try to adjust to a strange new world, search for order, throw out papers, sort books, vacuum, dust, bleach counter tops. The days are lengthening now. We watch for robins, first spring buds, bulbs that survived snows, frosts, driving winds. Soon daffodils will overcome us with their radiance. The aroma of coffee freshly brewed suffuses the house. We look out the window from our dark home into the faint gold light, then clear off our kitchen table, and, against all odds, make a little space for hope.

Betsy Joseph Texas, USA

Letting Go “Everything Must Go!” the neon sign exclaimed. Weeks earlier it had read “Going Out of Business,” a milder signal of sadness, perhaps a sigh of resignation. But “Everything Must Go!” now proclaimed urgency and a certain finality to passers-by, the exclamation mark adamant in tone. In this decluttering culture so many embrace and endorse, letting go can become a frenzy or a selective meditation. We empty out closets, garages, and cupboards— everything must go! We clear out drawers, empty the history on our computers. We shred now unwanted or duplicate photos, perhaps breathing more lightly upon releasing accumulation that has gathered over time. But why stop here? Why not also begin the journey inward, deleting needless clutter that makes for a heavy heart: grudges that continue to rise, the bile reminding us of their presence; harsh words whose sudden sharpness prick the conscience with a startled sting; long-standing regrets that hover and shadow, ghostly lingerings which catch us unaware. Which is to say, all of these should go— the physical belongings that oppress our space, the painful memories which no longer serve. Bid kind riddance and let them leave.

Elizabeth Greene egreene4@cogeco.ca Ontario, Canada

Lockdown 2 We’ve gotten used to whipping masks out of our pockets, Taking off gloves to sanitize our hands, Accustomed to puzzling out faces Through masks, long scarves, sunglasses, pulled down hoods, Weaving our way past shuttered stores, We navigate essentials—flowers come later. Astrologer Susan Miller says the times are changing. Meanwhile, we’re ever more aware of beautiful eyes.

Ariane Blackman hello@arianeblackman.com Ontario, Canada

Bear Island Here, the earth consumes reindeer skulls, whale bones There, men with knives and guns seek blood in the coldest of times Where birds of prey pierce the lightness of doves Where great white bears hunt solitary sacrificial fish I pray we hold to softness under the soft curve of mountains Free of banshee fogs, sodden cliffs lashed by frantic squalls When the earth needs cleansing let there be soft rain

Ann Di Nardo

Marion Mutala marion.mutala@gmail.com Saskatchewan, Canada

Nothing to Laugh About It was nothing to laugh about and at first, I thought I was being punked. You would think an author would love the idea of being in isolation. Time â&#x20AC;Ś lots of it. What we had on our hands. Days and nights of it. Alone. Perfect writing weather. An office, a computer, quiet, thoughts, ideas, galore. Inspiration everywhere! Once, I wrapped my head around the fact that my busy social calendar and past fun filled life was gone. Instantaneously! Imagine returning from a wonderful trip to Ottawa, Ontario for 1 week and then nothing. Nowhere to go. Locked in. I could not even play my favorite new rave and fastest growing sport of pickleball, a game like Ping-Pong but played on a court with a paddle and plastic whiffle ball. This year- It will be known as the year of the Covid 19 2020, just like the Chinese zodiac which call it the year of the rat. It was an unknown experience. A pandemic, unlike any other. And new to most of world. Masks, masks and more masks and social distancingâ&#x20AC;ŚStay- 6 feet away, baby. Wash your hands!

Time, yes, precious time. Dig your heels in baby and write. So that is what I did, completing four book projects. I even wrote a few songs and recorded them and made homemade cards to send out to friends by snail mail. I survived this pandemic. Am I the same? Surely not. In times of distress if we do not learn or take away something valuable from COVID 19, then what can I say, none the wiser. However, I adopted my mom Sophie’s philosophy on life, “Make hay while the sun shines, create your own fun and be grateful for small blessings.” This philosophy served me well and still does. Your life is precious. Take charge and be responsible for living an adopted covid lifestyle. The new normal. And all I can say is, hang in their baby. The vaccine is on its way.

Dr. O.P. Arora arora.omp@gmail.com New Delhi, India

Light up Your Heart Soft quivers, sweet whispers Hope heralds a new dawn Straighten your spine, no more shivers Life comes hopping to your lawn… Wake up, bathe in the bright, balmy rays Shed your fear, open to the sunlit sprays Darkness is tired, damn it to the caves Light up your heart, don’t dig up the graves… Eerie silence, man’s wear in the year last Scared, he lost his zing and the blast looked blankly at the sky, aghast depressed, defeated, prayed for the divine dart… Two thousand twenty-one, heavenly bliss drove the dark year out, didn’t miss Rise, awake, look out for the divine kiss Your stricken soul, needs a rainbow swish… Rejuvenated, you fly high on your wings Give your sagging spirit a chance to sing Deck your soul, felicitate the New Year Cheer up, call your beloved, your heart’s dear…

The sky is still blue, earth green Breeze whispers through the leaves gleam Dew drops sparkle on the blades of grass Roses hide the thorns from the eyes of the lass… Nature has decked itself for your joy It has summoned beauty to seduce the coy Clouds juggle, shape myriad paintings in a glance Some scary though, in most hot damsels dance… Laughter rings in the air, echo the majestic pines Earth romantic, on the sky sweet her lascivious eyes They date at the horizon, embrace and greet Kissing passionately, enjoy the New Year treat… Happiness trots and prances the entire globe Entices the low spirits, raises its ravishing robe Coaxes man, skeptical, to shed his scare forget her absence, transitory, his friend forever… Rivers dance and play, tease their banks Waves rise and fall, say their grateful thanks The frail boat of life, drenched on the way wobbling though, enjoying the refreshing spray…

Love anchors the ship of man’s life shaky though at times, it sustains his fife Nature too, like a teasing beloved, gleefully tickles and prickles man, playfully… Hesitating to the call of the birds’ splash Their chatter echoes the universal symphony They too exult in passing away of the twenty twenty Uncanny sounds turn into the Cosmic bash… Go, go, lie down among the pleasing posies Kiss the full moon under the starry skies Munch those crispy Lays and savour French fries Get seduced by the muse of the murmuring streams… Rejuvenated, run to the nearest brewer Bemused, look at the agile squirrel for an hour Astounded, challenge the mighty fall for a saucy shower Mesmerized, meditate on the beauty of His healing power

Blaine Marchand blainemarchand@hotmail.com Ontario, Canada

Mezzotint 1. Light to dark This year has left impressions, a metal plate roughened by pressure, pocked marked by indentations where inked pooled, leaving dark tones staining days, nights, dreams.

2. Dark to light The new year beckons, the slate scraped, enhanced by metal tools, is polished ice. The moon against the pigment of night white, delicate as lace, imprints fresh snow with light.

Christopher Grove

Maria Caltabiano caltamaria@hotmail.com Quebec, Canada

Survived to Hear the Music Covid-19 muted the instruments of our daily sounds: our voices trumpeting joy at gatherings, groups of friends; chatterings, crescendos in waves, in concerts, in stadiums— muted, mourning the loss of the music of hugging— that high-pitched cheer of being near. AD 2020 under siege, surgical masks the emblem of every nation’s flag, draped dark the world with distancing enforced in various shades of fear. And yet one music just kept musing: your own breath breathing rhythmical drumming to sepia coloured dreams—

a nuzzling at the neck a million little kisses ticklingâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; eliciting staccato notes of laughter and giggles, oh so dear! And when you awakened 2021 was here in its usual winter white. You were ashore alive! having drifted on icy waves of isolation and survived to hear the music of this and other rhymes.

Deborah Golden deborahg@edu.haifa.ac.il Zichron Yaacov, Israel

Gathered in Pierce the gloom, he sent pink flowers and loopy leaves we share delicate company

Rhoda Hassmann rhoda.hassmann@sympatico.ca Ontario, Canada

House Arrest The weights I ordered on-line are purple matching the purple yoga mat in my basement and the purple sweatshirt I wear while exercising I’ve caught up on all my New Yorkers reading on my stationary bike though I’m still a month behind on The Economist even if I skip all the Covid articles I’ve figured out how to game on-line grocery ordering so I can get the pick-up time slot I want I can still buy bagels at the Indian kosher shop and it’s good to know cannabis stores are essential I’m learning to love my new grand-dog via Skype hoping if we ever meet in person I’ll be able to treat him politely I’m glad I’m a senior so the cleaners are still allowed to come in and I get five minutes a week to talk with three-dimensional human beings

Christopher Grove

Ram Krishna Singh profrksingh@gmail.com Jharkhand, India

1 – TEST Lonely December aren’t I immune? antibody test before boarding uncertainty continues no silence helps virus more mighty than gods in politics don’t know if I can meet children before the year-end to celebrate birthday or continue journey in flurry living each day a grace

2 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; THIRD WAVE I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t recognize the bright new star in the sky: a beacon of hope they say a new age begins on earth the virus mutates scaring millions post-Christmas repeat events no vaccination could change astro-calendar of universal revenge remains of prayer now wrapped in gift box, held up shipping delays no burial, no third day total lock down, here and there

Germain Droogenbroodt elpoeta@point-editions.com Spain

Crossing Winter carries out its cold, lashes with hail and northerly wind the bare branches of a frosty December. Pale and bleached, hangs the moon on the dome of the night a mirror of time, tired eye, between the neglected silverware of the stars: Change for the crossing from year to year.

Elizabeth McCallister elizabethmccallister@sympatico.ca Ontario, Canada

It’s the Little Things I look out the window see the sun cleanse the house across the way bleach the siding a crisper shade of white The rays dissipate the chill seeping through the cracks. It’s late December, four in the afternoon I didn’t expect the sun to show off its mid-summer’s brilliance.

Ann Di Nardo

Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias cclacubanprez@gmail.com Holguín, Cuba

Tunneling Through the Mist Into 2021 I am bound for Holguín from my sweet hometown of Bayamo, in a purring as-good-as-brand-new 1958 Chevrolet. Eight passengers packed and masked, some drifting off, heads nodding, some perked and alert, chatting. Our vintage automobile speeds in and out of the chilly all-engulfing mist, deluxe interior padding claiming the trip’s fare is more than fair. At the highway checkpoint a group of green masks and white coats: we must disinfect hands and shoes and have our temps taken before entering the city. Still dark, back into the car tunneling through the mist.

To my right a red-blue sky announces the sun is waking, rising majestically from a drowsy hill-lined horizon. A young man gasps wow and captures the wondrously unique moment on his cell. There are pic-poems everywhere you turn. Golden light dances off palm fronds. He stores the sunrise, I emulate in written expression. ItÂ´s good to know that in the middle of all these covid tension times people show such sensitivity. COVID19 tries to travel with us but it does not define us, it does not dehumanize us.

Chittaranjan Misra chittaranjanmisra@gmail.com Puri, India

In Real Terms In absence We are references to each other. Even away We exchange smiles, talk In real time The unreal called virtual. The black glass Nullifies our presence in a moment. Nothing changes our ways We interact within a world Of four to six inches diagonally All ‘apps’ ease our living Food to medicine door delivered The world lies in our pocket. Our moving bodies in videos Are safe, require no distance, social Or otherwise while conferencing. We are references to each other In our absence. Better leave this surrogate world Turn our backs to wishful images. Let our words, buried yet behind masks Break their silence, May our tongues be free from the trap of templates. Let’s present each to the other Unwrap our love That never can be quarantined. The world would answer with love.

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Giti Tyagi giti@aol.in Ambala, India

Happy New Year! A Message of Love… Another year has passed Leaving behind its burden of lessons Some hard, some even painful! Now, a new year begins Bringing possibilities of progress And of realization! Let the truth be your master and guide We aspire for the truth and its triumph O Truth, may thy reign come upon earth! Let yesterday’s realization be a springboard To leap forward for tomorrow’s achievement Let us prepare ourselves for the new life! A new light has appeared on Earth The future is full of promise Let the New Year be filled with love and joy! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

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Christopher Grove

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Mark Walker markwalkermw@icloud.com Ontario, Canada

Silence In silence we wait, for an answer, a touch, a gentle nudge perhaps, to a world we cannot see beyond you or me or time or space, And in its place A world so clear and bright There is no night For even the dark sheds light On clouded views, The quiet muse, Toward a higher right. So when fears enthral Be Still, Above all, And wait, in Silence.

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