Three Poems

By Gerry Fabian

Negated Carnival

The dancers have stored their shoes
even though their feet tingle for action.
The musicians place their instruments
in the corner where they will gather dust.
The vendors wheel the carts
into cold, damp, poorly lit sheds
and then slowly fiddle with the locks.

But the people –

The people sit inside their homes
like poorly carved statues
and gaze out windows
into the vacant streets
while waiting to wake
from this artificial nightmare.

Lazy Sunday’s Gone By

As I sort through
my contacts’ list,
I find names and numbers
that no longer exist
for my current time frame.

Some have suffered
from distance and space;
some have frozen
due to changing conditions
and some
are like a lazy Sunday
when so much
should have been done
if only I had
the slightest prodding.

Night-Blooming Jasmine

A chilled glass of wine
as the sun sets
on a late spring evening
where the warmth
of the ending day
and 500mg of naproxen
have alleviated the arthritis
so that the gnarled hand
holding the glass
can bring it to the lips
with just a slight
token tremor of pain
belie
the ravages of winter.

R. Gerry Fabian is a retired English instructor. As a poet and novelist, he has been publishing his writing since 1972 in various literary magazines. His web page is https://rgerryfabian.wordpress.com 

For the first poem, ”Negative Carnival,” I was saddened by how many events that in some cases had been held for years and years had to be cancelled due to the virus and what effect it would have on both the participants and the spectators.  The second poem, “Lazy Sunday Gone By.” I found myself in isolation on a Sunday cleaning out kitchen drawers when I came across and old address book.  As I paged through it, I thought about all the names and what their current relationship to me had become.  Finally, ”Night-Blooming Jasmine.,” is about how the winter isolation of Covid, finally gave way to the ability to at least sit outside as Spring approached. 

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Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
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Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
21 days ago

In the last poem, the images of the scent of night blooming jasmine and the gnarled hands–they work so well against each other. And the taste of wine, such a gift, this sensual response to the moment, riddled with paradox as it is.

Sarah
Guest
27 days ago

I loved this, particularly this line – some
are like a lazy Sunday
when so much
should have been done

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