by David Riddell


covid tyranny 
stormtroopers, with long stemmed,

only feel what you 
don't want to hear,

health experts tell you
that you must stay safe,

but Father Washington
you're all mixed up.


sanitise, sterilise,
wash wash wash,
collect sinners in a paper cup,

you tell me that you're a holy man,
Sister Robinson
you're all washed up,

this soapbox virus
a world wide opera
collecting teardrops in a tin pan,

a blanket vendetta
a silent mantra,

what crisis?

if you have to believe
in something,
believe in this........

breathe in, breathe out, breathe out, breathe out

This poem has a resonance to the supertramp album cover of Crisis, what Crisis?The cover image is of a single male reclining on a lazy-boy chair under a bright umbrella, and a small table with an inviting drink. This is in colour. Behind this small window of incandescent light is a much larger black and white picture of utter desolation. The world is falling apart. Interpretation? Mental illness hides behind a facade of ‘I am OK’ on the outside but inside I am a total mess. Coranavirus also is wrecking havoc, worldwide. Some of us refuse to believe it. Some of us suffer deeply because of it. Some of us think we have the answer. The rest of us just say ‘I am OK’…………..breathe in, breathe out.

David Riddell is 68 years old. He is married to his lovely wife of 43 years and has four adult sons. David has been writing poetry for nearly 20 years. His writing inspiration comes from personal experience and from listening to music. He likes to play with words, particularly words which hold double entendre. David also has a strong interest in Theology, Australian politics and Christianity.

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