I think we’ve all been dealing with this pandemic and all around strange time in the world right now in our own ways. One of my favorite things has been getting the occasional poem from my dear friend Kristofer.
Personally, Going Nowhere is my favorite, but they’re all good.
RUNNING DRY
The day is simply number whatever
In an era of weak germy control
Yet I am running dry in living’s blur
For one hundred and eighteen days feel dull
Two hundred and sixteen years since one named
Alexander Hamilton died on this date
And boy, we can sure his shot that had flamed
With hope for a better livelihood fate
But no, we are stuck in a tornado
Of irresponsible illness and shame
Thanks to a coronaclypse with gloom’s glow
And dire division among kindness’ flame
So instead of feeling just so helpless
Feel satisfied and work that facial mask
And respect social distancing’s with bliss
While running dry with no filled bottled flask
An anarchy of arrogance and greed
Makes hope feel like it is running dry
But I shall hold on to humane love’s seed
With faith in truth’s grace through all weathered sky
A coronacoaster of many suns
And moons as well as rain clouds in-between
Would have any wanting no hot dog buns
But something to feel in life’s quick-paced scene
One hundred and eighteen days is so long
And running dry may be people’s patience
But don’t give up your shot to be so strong
Like Hamilton for better is wit’s sense
Running dry may be the grassy hills in today being the season of summer
But burn your courageous compassion’s hot flame, and just be kind and not a bummer
-Kristofer Peterson-
GOING NOWHERE
It is day one hundred and nineteen, yeah
And like Hamilton writing those papers
For the new nation with his wit’s blah blah
I am not going anywhere with fears
No pandemic or divide will stop me
From writing what I think within my mind
So yes, I’m going nowhere with this glee
With creativity that’s blunt and kind
A mask may cover my one face these days
But it will not silence my sense’s one shot
To spread wit and inspiration through craze
So know, I’m going nowhere with hope’s clot
Shakespeare has his sonnets and great plays
And George Lucas has the true Star Wars plot
But I am going nowhere with writing’s daze
That fuels me not a tad, but a whole lot
My hands are cleansed and sanitized often
But I am going nowhere with my rhyme
That can be clean, dirty, deep, and with spin
No matter the case, I have all hope’a time
Syllable, word, statement, and full stanza
Makes my head infected with wordy germs
But unlike corona’s quick agenda
I am going nowhere with my scribed terms
With a face mask and hands clean and ready to rip any thinking onto paper
Know that still one hundred and nineteen days in, I am still writing and going nowhere
-Kristofer Peterson-
FRUSTRATING FIESTA
Day one hundred and twenty is right now
And the feeling around here is one of
Confusion with the constant reckless pow
Of directions for society’s cove
City, county, state, federal all at odds
In terms of guiding what all can do from
Yesterday to today to tomorrow’s pods
And it’s due to peeps who’s acting so dumb
So yes, it’s a frustrating fiesta
That makes living a true yuck to the fuck
And no ideal happy agenda
But holy crap on a cracker of muck
So people, treat now’s directions like school
And don’t be a bad apple in life’s tree
Since being ignorant makes one a fool
Yet, one’s rudeness affects livelihood’s glee
Therefore, wear your mask and social distance
And so respect this coronavirus
For it is no hoax, but pain with grimace
That can lead to one catching a grave’s bus
Yes, life’s adventure may be so sideways
Thanks to a pure frustrating fiesta
Full of contradictory newsy daze
When we should all follow sense’s agenda
So do not be an Aaron Burr in a world of Alexander Hamiltons with your life’s flame
For a soul’s selfishness’ frustrating fiesta makes the world as a world feel sorrow’s shame
-Kristofer Peterson-
