National Poetry Month 04/2020

Stuck Inside Your Big Old Brain
(Buzzing Like A Lazy Bumblebee)

This is the story of how I got here. My only goal was to fill the world with carefully crafted phrases, words to invoke benevolent-sometimes sad-spirits within, words-loosely-connected-by-imaginary-thread, a wish to unlock from their cages in my mind to be teased apart by you my precious reader.

These poems were originally written on Twitter: morning, noon, and night, from the chilly and humorless first, to the last warm and pollen-rich day of April thirtieth. These poems were written during the pandemic of 2020. A viral strain known as Covid-19, a virus that seemed like a bad flu, having exponential growth, is very easy to transmit by airborne contact, and as of this writing, is complicating the health and destroying the lives of people across the globe. Three-and-a-half million people worldwide have contracted the disease, with two-hundred-and-fifty thousand deaths reported, though most scientists studying this pandemic would probably admit that is a low-ball number.

The governor of our state was wise enough to call for a locking down or self-quarantining of most employees. This includes me, and so I’ve been mostly-trapped inside my quaint, ninety-year-old home with my charming wife, and our three adorable animal friends. This poetry is a testament to feeling only-slightly-caged. Themes I’ve recognized in this work includes: the inability to heal from the immensely huge amount of extreme violence I witnessed and was its sometimes-target. The shame my parents, and society-as-a-whole, have used to stunt my spirit has stained it completely with an indelible mark. And last-of-all, there is great guilt inside of me from rising out of homelessness and poverty to that of someone with the security of fitting into the lower-middle-class.

I suppose I took on this project to keep from losing my sanity under this quarantine. I have found that a routine makes the bad times seem less so. I strive to keep myself busy, but I must admit, writing three poems a day was not always easy, and now that the month is through, I’m happy to go back to lazily studying Latin, drawing my pictures, and reading the Oz series, quietly, comforted by my precocious dog, Bonnie. To answer the question why should you read these poems? I don’t know. I hope that you do read them, I think I’ve twisted a phrase rather cleverly on a few instances. You be the judge. I also hope you enjoy them, as I hope you can enjoy your time on Earth; everything has a tendency to change, but these words shall remain similar as I’ve left them on May fourth, 2020
–Ana Cranberry

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