Uplifting poems to brighten your mood
Poets from Nikita Gill to Steven Camden share a selection of uplifting poems to lift the spirits in trying times.
When times are tough, poetry can be just the things to keep our spirits high. Here, Ana Sampson explains how poetry has come to her rescue in hard times, particularly during the Covid-19 pandemic, and we share a selection of uplifting poems from poets including Nikita Gill, Paul Cookson and Steven Camden.
Ana Sampson is the compiler of two stunning poetry anthologies She is Fierce: Brave, Bold and Beautiful Poems by Women and She Will Soar: Poems of Freedom and Wanderlust by Women. You can find all of Ana’s books on her website here.
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As the pandemic began to unfurl around us, I stopped reading. I found myself frozen, except for my scrolling thumb. I know I wasn’t the only one. The children were home, charging around stickily with a maelstrom of toys strewn in their wake, always hungry. There was still work to do – my own from the boisterous house and my husband’s, troublingly, still onsite in London. It wasn’t only lack of time that was preventing me escaping into a novel, though. For all the people declaring that Lockdown was the perfect time to finally tackle War and Peace, there were several who, like me, couldn’t focus their skittering attention enough to make it to the end of a paragraph.
Poetry came to my rescue because it was nourishment that could be quickly snapped up while stirring a soon-to-be forcefully rejected lunch or running a bath. It was a swift ejector seat from the panic of the present to somewhere – at this point, anywhere – else.
Everything is uncertain and unsettling. The least terrifying track I’ve found through the weeks of Lockdown is to focus, myopically, on today. Count the wins, savour the coffees, forgive yourself the frayed tempers, stop counting the crisps, and don’t raise your eyes to cast a speculative glance into next week. Here, some of our poets share uplifting poems for this uncertain time.
Love in the Time of Coronavirus by Nikita Gill
Today, we stockpile empathy.
We supply love and good energy.
We sing to each other across buildings.
We say ‘I love you’ through social distancing.
Do you know that writing letters
to our friends is back in fashion?
And that we finally have time to read more books,
whether historical or fiction?
My cousin told me she hadn’t seen
such a blue sky in her city before.
My uncle went on his first walk in the woods.
He heard a bird sing since the first time he went to war.
Even in sickness, this world
is allowed to be beautiful.
And we are still allowed to love it,
for there is always room for hope.
This is just me checking in
sending you the moon as a poem,
praying and wishing for us all
a speedy recovery.
And if nothing else,
There will always be poetry.
We will always have poetry.
This Is An Incitement by Chris Riddell, illustrated by Chris Riddell
Don’t settle into inertia
As the ash falls on your head and shoulders
Soft and ankle deep at your feet
Take up your pens and brushes
And make Art.
The ancient dragon of greed
Coiled tight around their hoards
Don’t understand Art.
But the snake oil minions
Who whisper in their ears as they sleep,
They fear it.
Art can capture the souls
They bought and paid for.
If you want to slay dragons,
Make Art.
Clap the Carers by Jackie Kay
I want to say thank you to Janet
for keeping up my mum’s spirit
And thank you to Margaret Anne
Who always does the best she can
Who sorts out the medicine
Trolley meticulously and
Thank you, Marie,
Who last Sunday on Mother’s Day
Had a lone piper into play
And all the women and the men
Were wheeled out or walked into the garden
For ten minutes of fresh air while the Piper played
And When this Battle is Over
And thank you to Cherry for
Making my mum part of her family
And looking after her like she would her own mother
And thank you to Richard, who back that day, aeons away,
On March the 10th put the Home into lockdown
The first in the country –
Which at the time was outrageous to me
And thank you to Clare, team manager of all
For her kind and calm demeanour
And to Monique with her shock of blonde hair
Who always makes my mum laugh
With a merry quip or a teasing joke
And thank you to kind-faced Reuben
Who cleans my mum’s room and puts a wee nip in her coffee
And to good-natured big John who checks regularly to see she’s OK,
And to everybody
Every single Carer in a Nursing Home, Care Home, or in someone’s home
Up and down the breadth of the country
Across the land and out to sea
To France and Spain and Italy
For treating all our mums and dads
Our daughters and sons, our brothers and sisters,
So kindly; for knocking your pan in
Gieing it laldy, going above and beyond.
I want to say merci beaucoup, gracias, grazie
You’re one in a million.
On the Sunday after Mother’s Day, I want to say
Tapadh leibh, thank ye, thank ye,
And in Sign, I do believe, it is like blowing a kiss, like this, like this.
New Every Morning by Susan Coolidge
Every day is a fresh beginning,
Listen my soul to the glad refrain.
And, spite of old sorrows
And older sinning,
Troubles forecasted
And possible pain,
Take heart with the day and begin again.
Let No One Steal Your Dreams by Paul Cookson
Let no-one steal your dreams
Let no-one tear apart
The burning of ambition
That fires the drive inside your heart
Let no-one steal your dreams
Let no-one tell you that you can’t
Let no-one hold you back
Let no-one tell you that you won’t
Set your sights and keep them fixed
Set your sights on high
Let no-one steal your dreams
Your only limit is the sky
Let no-one steal your dreams
Follow your heart
Follow your soul
For only when you follow them
Will you feel truly whole
Set your sights and keep them fixed
Set your sights on high
Let no-one steal your dreams
Your only limit is the sky
No Man is an Island by John Donne, read and illustrated by Chris Riddell
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine
own were: any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind,
and therefore never send to know for whom
the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.”
Kindness by Nikita Gill
And maybe it is easier to learn kindness in these times.
When the whole world is like a small child with a fever,
trying her very best to make herself feel better.
Maybe we find our unity in the near-losing of everything.
Where we have no choice but to depend upon each other.
This is what it takes to realise we are in this together.
A man helps someone he dislikes because they are in danger.
A neighbour delivers groceries to everyone ill on her street.
Old friends forgive each other and stop acting like they are strangers.
Maybe this time, this is what the revolution looks like.
People helping each other despite their differences.
Understanding truly, that without the aid of others,
we would be all alone in this.
There Will Come Soft Rains by Sara Teasdale
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools, singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
Across a Room by Steven Camden
I know he hasn’t noticed me
watching as he stares out
Sitting in his bubble
he rarely speaks in class
I wonder what he hopes to be
watching as he stares out
it’s like something is calling him from
outside through the glass
There’s something washes over me
watching as he stares out
A feeling that we could be close
That never seems to pass
He’s hypnotised me totally
watching as he stares out
I’d love to ask him what he sees
I’m just too scared to ask.
Everything Is Going to Be All Right by Derek Mahon
How should I not be glad to contemplate
the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?
There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.
The poems flow from the hand unbidden
and the hidden source is the watchful heart.
The sun rises in spite of everything
and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
watching the day break and the clouds flying.
Everything is going to be all right.
Walking with my Iguana by Brian Moses
I’m walking (I’m walking)
with my iguana (with my iguana)
I’m walking (I’m walking)
with my iguana (with my iguana)
When the temperature rises
to above eighty-five,
my iguana is looking
like he’s coming alive.
So we make it to the beach,
my iguana and me,
then he sits on my shoulder
as we stroll by the sea . . .
and I’m walking (I’m walking)
with my iguana (with my iguana)
I’m walking (I’m walking)
with my iguana (with my iguana)
Well if anyone sees us
we’re a big surprise,
my iguana and me
on our daily exercise,
till somebody phones
the local police and says
I have an alligator
tied to a leash
when I’m walking (I’m walking)
with my iguana (with my iguana)
I’m walking (I’m walking)
with my iguana (with my iguana)
It’s the spines on his back
that make him look grim,
but he just loves to be tickled
under his chin.
And my iguana will tell me
that he’s ready for bed
when he puts on his pyjamas
and lays down his sleepy (Yawn) head.
And I’m walking (I’m walking)
with my iguana (with my iguana)
still walking (still walking)
With my iguana (with my iguana)
with my iguana . . .
with my iguana . . .
and my piranha
and my chihuahua
and my chinchilla,
with my groovy gorilla my caterpillar . . .
and I’m walking . . .
with my iguana . . . . . .