I am lost floating,
surrounded by a cold
white mist. blind and searching
for my missing soul. searching for
the one who has stolen it. were you
the one who stopped, fleetingly? were
you the one who tenderly kissed my lips
when once they were red with love, then left
me lost in the pale moonlight? or was it me?
have I let this translucent magic slip away
in my shadowed desperation to have one
second more? to feel one second more?
what I cannot find, cannot hold,
cannot see to set me free to feel
again. where have I gone?
did I ever exist? will I
ever be again? or
am I merely a
endless mist lost
on a soundless, colorless
journey to nowhere?
©️ 2018 Joan A. Evans All right reserved
who am I?
I ask myself,
searching for clues
have we met?
in the mirror,
I must be.
wonder if anyone
there is no one
If I were lost
in a crowd,
would I be found?
am I merely a
mirage of my own
a colorless chimera
on an endless path
am I even a human
others can see?
or a ghostly
bloodless and cold,
never to be.
how did I get here,
wherever here is? …
it was an ordinary day,
march 13th, 2020.
i’m in new york city.
we learn it was the
epicenter of the
the first case
no one told
us we were in
the midst of
what i was about
no one else did.
as it rapidly
this city. no one
no one. no one.
not a one!
why would they
be? look who
was at the helm!
disbelief washed over…
in december i wrote geez, favorite writers. so, so sorry!
wow, was I wrong back then. I didn’t know how bad i was.
i never thought i would not be okay and well
for another three months. that’s the way my
body behaved. by march, finally, I was fine.
then came something called coronavirus.
so i was put on home lockdown. it was
nyc. the epicenter of what eventually
turned out to be covid-19. we were
surrounded by apocalyptic horror.
most of you know the rest. i’m
still here. but writing from
home. been in lockdown
for ten months. that’s…
there’s a scream deep inside me
it’s silent sitting somewhere deep
since the evening of january sixth,
the year twenty twenty one
an insurrection, a rebellion, a
piercing riot, razor-sharp, tearing
through me like a knife
I cannot erase the images
from my mind… of terrorists
desecrating the center of our democracy,
the icon of our democracy by a mob
tens of thousands of seditionists,
thugs, white supremacists, congressmen
yes, congressmen sent by the once
president to overturn our election.
a swarm of hateful, rabid,
maniacal, violent, raving, bigoted,
filthy, foul-mouthed subversive anarchists
crashed their way into the People’s House,
your work nor
clapping and replying
as I usually do. I do apologize.
I’ve been dealing with some crazy
medical issues that are, right now,
very painful. It’s been pulling me apart
in ways making it difficult to concentrate…
brings about brain fog, snark, and bad decisions.
So this is my way of promising I will soon get back to
reading all of your work I’ve missed (and clapping too)
during this way-too-long period I’ve been MIA. I haven’t
forgotten you. Just busy fitting my body parts back to working
order, including my brain…
we live a good life up here on our wires.
we’re a small community with warmth and
friendship. we pride ourselves on our versatility.
my name is Chip and I try to lead by example in all
things good. I’m the one all the way over on the far right…
the one that’s a bit overweight. we settled in a spot here in new
york city where we are an eclectic mix of all types. down below, we
watch our human counterparts going about their days as we go about ours.
they go to their churches, their synagogues, their mosques…
his arm encircled her waist,
slowly turning her to face him
as Ravel’s Bolero began to play.
they stood gazing at each other as
they swayed together rhythmically,
their moist bodies fitting perfectly as
one, skin to skin, luminous in the soft
glow of candles casting sensual shadows
on bare walls. with one hand sliding on her
back, his other caught her leg as she raised it
to his waist. he moved his muscular thigh under
it as he effortlessly leaned her back, letting her long
hair brush him softly rocking in a three step sequence —
down, up, down…
I’m not sure how this “10 things” got started. I’ve read several very interesting ones but I’m afraid I’m not all that interesting. So it’s taken me forever to put my words to paper. I’ve made procrastination into a fine art.
ONE: I was once a child.
I was born in Mt. Vernon, NY but was moved very shortly thereafter to New Jersey when my father sold my grandpa Joe’s very lucrative diamond business he inherited from his father. My grandpa, a well-known character in the field of diamonds throughout the world, died suddenly at 50. My father, despite his…
by education, I’m a clinical psycologist, PhD. by vocation, I’m a writer with the heart of a poet. by avocation, I’m a connoisseur of human folly. cats rule.