Poetry soothes our soul, captivates our imagination, and makes us think. Check out the February poems from our wonderful poets.

Is What I Have Enough?

What does it mean to have enough,

Is it a home filled with so much stuff,

Or that you have a really  large family,

With many branches on that particular tree?

For me, you see,

It means unexpectedly,

Hearing from a good friend,

A little laughter at the conversation's end,

Being able to see the joy through pain,

A note from someone thinking you'd never see again,

The surprise of finding a long lost object,

Or hearing from an old boyfriend you'd never suspect,

Was now single and asks you on a date,

Who looks so handsome you might consider as a mate,

This, my dear friends you may appreciate,

As the simple life is really the best,

Although I do have yet another request,

To have a great meal and don't forget bed rest,

As I am not looking for fame and fortune anymore,

Living a full life means being satisfied for sure,

With just getting up in the morning to  saying hello to the cat,

Believe me right now, that's where it's at.

I am so happy just to be alive!!!

~Carol Ostrow, author of Poems from My Pandemic Pen    

Set it free and yourself

Don't cry because its over
Smile because it happened
No matter the loss of a dear one or something else
Don't just let it go set it free
Keep the memory in your heart
The ache has to subside
It is in its place
You can move on and set it free and yourself

~Madlyn Epstein Steinhart, author of Put Your Boots on and Dance in the Rain

Keeping Track

How many times in my life

have I tied my shoes?

I remember how it started

with 2 bunny ear loops

pulled through very small grommets

on a very small shoe

and that first feeling of independence.

How many red lights have I waited at for change?

How many did I cross anyway,

after the flashing stopped?

How many times should I not have raced against traffic

and to go where?

How many boxes of tissues

have I bought?

How many were used

for colds, allergies, tears?

How many orange boxes of Wheaties

have I carefully opened

and poured out

to hear the sound of hard dry flakes

hitting a porcelain curve?

How many tips have I left?

How many times did I miscalculate,

in either direction?

How many times did I ascend

the Met steps?

How many pieces of art have I seen

very high, very low

and most right in between?

How many doorbells have I rung?

Answered?

Ignored?

How many texts have I sent

versus how many I have read?

Who is keeping track of everything

and letting it get too routinized

and yet still so out of control?

How many stanzas of the National Anthem

have I sung?

How many times was I standing?

How many breaths did I miss

while laughing so hard it dug crevices into my face?

I know how many times

I have moved. mourned, married and given birth.

How many hours have I spent daydreaming,

twisting reality into neat tight braids?

How many 2am dreams

have been forgotten

even after they felt like truth?

How much time have I wasted

and how much time do I have left?

I will live each day

until I can no longer count

and leave the rest

to the statisticians.

~ Nicole Freezer Rubens, author of The Long Pause and the Short Breath…Poems & Photos & Reflections on New York City’s Pandemic