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2022 Contributing Writers Pandemic Poetry

Coronavirus by 2022

Written By Lauri Cherian

990,000 deaths
In the USA
They all mattered
Someone’s best friend, lover, parent, sibling, child
Lost to this world
Passed to another
A goodbye whispered through radio waves
Traveling at the speed of light
Electromagnetic waves from a painful distance
To a heart that is breaking
Wanting to say so much
When it comes down to so little
“I love you…”


Lauri Cherian has been an educator of English as a Second Language for 25 years. She enjoys acting in community theater and writing short stories and poetry. Her poem, Courage (2021), dedicated to health care workers during the pandemic, won honorable mention at the Texas Mental Health Creative Arts Contest.

2021 Contributing Writers Pandemic Poetry

Just A Reminder

Written by Sheema Huq

Whether you happen
at all to be
wearing a WW2 Gas
mask or
an astronaut’s outfit
or have
a mixing bowl over
yer head.
Please remember to
take it off
before going to bed!


Sheema Huq has had a long career working in retail and social care. Sheema has been, by and large, a rhyming poet and spoken word artist for many years also. A good friend transformed four poems into classical songs, and Sheema produced and performed in 3 poetry shows at a London Theatre.

2021 Margaret Price Pandemic Pandemic Staff Contributors Poetry

With the Band

Written by Margaret Price

One bar, or two, or maybe even three.
You sit and beat on barstools keeping time
To jazz or blues or even bad Bad Company
Drink beer and smile to say: “I’m here. I’m fine.”

“My boyfriend’s there. The drummer with the band.”
That charm you use to keep lost souls at bay.
Most times it works, but still will they demand
Concession that the world still spins their way?

Unwelcome? Yes! And almost never meant.
Be gracious, girl, it’s just a compliment.


Margaret Price is a mother, lawyer, and occasional scribbler.

2021 Contributing Writers Pandemic Poetry

Heat, transferring

Written by Tamiko Dooley

She peeks in the window.

He’s busy; surrounded by colourful bricks.
Inside it’s warm, and the fire keeps out the
Cold January frost.

He spots her and beams –
And rushes to the pane.
He knows by now he can’t dash to the door.

Two hands meet on the glass –
Hers: shrivelled, wrinkly and well-worn
The hand that fed, clothed and bathed me;
His: chubby and pen-stained, still
Alternately clinging to my legs and pounding the floor in frustration.

For a moment the world stops,
And these two souls, two sides of me
Collide. Gently.
She tells him silently
How much she misses him,
And he does the same.

The icy glass begins to warm under their palms
Until it’s time for her to leave,
To stay safe,

To stay apart.

Long after she’s gone,
The handprint remains there,
As warm and comforting as the promise of Spring
And brighter times to come.


Tamiko is a half-Japanese mother of two, born and brought up in England. She speaks several languages. When there’s no pandemic, she’s hired as a wedding pianist from time to time.