Below are poems from Andrew Smith's Online Poetry, which is on every Friday at 1PM.

The theme was 'Lockdown'.

Health & hazards

From my driveway, I hesitate, glancing left

then right, judging gaps. I turn out

once it is safe. Daffs are springing up,

bobbing yellow in the sun, oblivious to

the Garden City lockdown.


The streets are quiet, but I stay on high alert.

Someone approaches from a hundred yards away.

I nudge to the pavement’s edge; the woman

aims for the opposite side. I tread the grass

verge to be sure, smiling as we pass.


At the crossing, I avoid pressing the button,                                   

unnecessary anyway given the dearth of traffic.            

A man draws near on his mobility scooter

and I trace a wide arc of avoidance,

walking in the middle of an empty road.


Leading into the woods, the path is less

than six feet across. I hold back, giving way

to a cyclist, then nodding at the jogger who waits

for me. Reaching crossroads, I choose the broad

bridleway, keep my distance from dog walkers.


I spot a family ahead, slow toddling legs

and usually I’d be into overtake mode. Instead,

I dawdle, consider options, divert to a smaller

track. It’s quieter, but no room for passing.

When a couple come my way, I step off


into the trees, pausing to let the pair go by.

I pause. I look up into the canopy

bursting into fresh green.

I breathe in,

I breathe.

Sarah Evans



My stomach

Has been churning,

My brain


Anxiety heightened,

Sleep lessened.

This evil virus

Has come as a bolt

Of lightning

Down on all of us.

The longest time

In all my girls' lives

Without seeing them.

Stay home,

Save lives,

The mantra.

Repeat, repeat.

Charlotte Palmer



I want to write a poem ....

But outside people are dying

While I stay safe at home.

Death is everywhere

Politicians are lying

Pretending to care

I put my pen down again

All I sense is grief and pain.

I know words won’t come

Until this plague is done.

I want to write a poem ....

Cecile May Raw


Here's my take on (current) lockdown life.

Garden City

City life is in lockdown,

stores and cafes tightly closed,

shoppers snaking in two-metre-apart

queues for loo rolls, pasta, flour.

I pace dead streets,

passing others at a measured distance,

their eyes down,

expressions masked,

my chapped-clean hands thrust deep

into out-of-danger pockets.


Back home, my garden remains open

to the hop and chirp of courting birds,

the come and go of squirrels

and neighbourly cats.

Bulbs burst forth

from spring-thawed soil and

weed seeds drift in unhindered,

insects buzz and swarm,

life remaining wild and disrespectful

of manmade rules.


Sarah Evans