Best Confinement Poems
I have the rhythm of a winding road
how do I consign myself to being confined...
rows of poplar pillars prop
the rendezvous canopy beneath we meet
—I self-cajole on ooh-la-la afternoon
yellow eyes; daffodils watching
lean into gossip groups nodding
a prodding breeze instigating deep-freeze—
I am a sweet weed in this place of sway and betray
with a stranger I stroll my arranged betrothed
height of his black top hat challenges trees
much like Corinthian columns
guards of an aisle I must walk —dear God! must walk
trepidation trips down my bridal spinal column
tiger eyes; lilies watching wish they were me
dare they dream they could uproot their roots like me
wish they could wedding waltz like I must —like I must
but their envy-leaves remain embrace-less
—I envy lilies’ empty arms of yet unmet love
daffodils; empty-headed —laugh
they try to read my mind to fill their own
what do I care their curdled thoughts lemon tart
and orange lilies’ brocade brimstone
what do I fear of fire-breathers burn of words
undergrowth feels square heels of my lace-up boots
post impression grows more expressive than first—
beware French tongues of sundew and burdock burr
marriage-carriage rolls in ruts to Versailles
where my coerced corset of hooks and ties lie
rhythm of a winding road dies in minuet strangle-hold
I am on poetry confinement
I can’t go here or there
I am chained to poetry
I only have words to eat
Set me free poetry
I only have time to rhyme left
I am on poetry row
I am getting the poetry chair
I leave my muse to you
The clock of freedom ticks away, and Anne
acknowledging nearing fate
takes one last look around...
https://ibb.co/f90jqhh
Kimo
SOLITARY CONFINEMENT
As the door swings from both sides
And the windows unvariably vibrate
exercising, my right to be alone
I furiously type, my muscles ache
Coming in last would be a mistake
exercising my write, “to be alone”
Finding a clock in this place called home
Hiding it in my secret wardrobe closet
exercising my right to be alone
Taking slow sips of coffee, t.v. drama,
A solitary epitome of garden song
exercising the writ of execution
to be alone
sounds like a plea of insanity
i won’t wait for your answer
shh...
7/2/2017
I'm concerned now
with only solitary things
the stinging course
of an unwiped tear
and a small blonde curl
wrapped in plastic
never lengthening
a fleeting smile
forced from cheek's hollow
its laughter drowned in a meandering brook
that doesn't babble
just drifts aimlessly
to where a leafless tree seems
to haplessly scrape its bank
in unwelcome companionship
I find I prefer the dead blue of skies
to the changeling grey
where too many shadows wait
for aching recognition
and I know I'll never sleep again at night
because I can't censure with my eyes closed
nor control my emotion's line of sight...
springtime touches earth
breaking shackles of restraint...
sings of winter’s blues.
© Harry J Horsman 2013
For every minute that she had count
The days dimmed beyond the trees
She spoke of bloomings and lily seeds
For the deer beyond was not on mount
The day forward was paramount
Above the clouds appeared gusty
The day beyond was foreseen
She could not speak of her account
Drinking from thy decayed spout
Drowning myself in the motionless vision
Escaping from this enclosure
Leaving this den with precision
Taking my steps on the clovers
The day I saw was envisioned
Just an illusion caused by overexposure
Thoughts running rampant
Memories chasing through,
Dreary and Lonely
Soul standing alone.
Basking in this solitude
Dreaming of the need,
To be a part of the whole
Seclusion is the paid toll.
Despairing concentrations
Never making sense,
Loneliness abides me
Among the world a mess.
Strength draining through
Hope flowing out,
In a crisis that I call for
Redemption is not found.
this house is a prison
these windows are taunting
this weight on my shoulders is daunting
my voice inside my head is haunting
memories leave tears on my face
tears start to burn and leave blood in their trace
im isolated in deep space
solitary confinement
deep sorrowful assignment
the stars are in allignment
my world is coming to an end thats what the peace sign ment
heaven sent, me hell, world upside down call it hell bent
half my heart is left, the other paid rent
i have half a heart but im completly broken, take a hint
one way street no reason to resent
choises made, makes my brain fade
heading to your heart, call it a crusade
my love is broken, hell made
took every single wrong road, ... well played
epic fail, blood red is the best shade
through the light and through the dark
blood red will always make its mark
love the pain and hate the pleasure
nonconformality at its greatest measure
love is lost and found like great treasure
trust turns to tradgedty
lies are truely ravishing
my heart is cold and wandering, the walking dead emotionless traveling
chilling ice adorning my flesh is lavishing
in a strange twist of fate my mind bears my captivity
trapped inside my thoughts from which i cannot escape, stranger thoughts than activity
forever fading my sanity
at the sacrafice of my vanity
my last resort, to escape has been taken from me
this prison is maximum security
love is lost, friends betrayed
family estranged
adrinaline caged
adhd enraged
locked up tight
strait jacket restricted helplessly bound try as i might
blind folds corrode my sight
exiled and exausted drawn out distressed vigil put to the test
sick to my stomach and too tired to rest
i sit in my cell, of isolation
my mind is cramped of desolation
these words are a demonstration
as a last resort, to far gone to ever undergo restoration
i lay solemnly suffering from loss of articulation.
Within the mind we are confined;
the body shuts us in.
And sadly sometimes humankind
throughout its thick and thin
has suffered serious disease
that tests our mortal grip
on evolution’s risky seas
to keep afloat our ship.
These illnesses that sweep the sphere,
pandemics they are called,
can cause our lives to seem austere
with daily doings stalled
when staying home becomes the norm
while ‘sheltering in place’,
and time is spent in altered form,
which some find hard to face.
Yet if our point of view we change
to vaster span beyond,
confinement needn’t be close range.
With fancy’s magic wand
we see we’re quarantined as well
inside the Milky Way,
confined in solar system’s shell
by Goldilocks’s sway.
The universe can furthermore
be added to the scope
with stellar regions by the score,
in cosmic envelope.
And lest we limit our own role
within a greater plot
to play a part of nature’s whole
on pale blue earthly dot,
neuronal networks of our brains
have quite a kindred look
to grand stelliferous domains,
galactic paths they took.
So, though confined the present seems,
still myriad may be
our future starry-visioned dreams
come true we’ve yet to see…
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * *
Inspiration was derived from the COVID-19 pandemic…
A further inspiration derived from the article in Science Alert titled “Study Maps The Odd Structural Similarities Between The Human Brain And The Universe”…
Heart had been emptied by the past
Of the love that didn't last
So, I guess forever is just a lie
Coz everything ends in goodbye
Then, love forgets me
As I forgot how love was
All I knew was pain
When someone left me under the rain
Days went on by
There came a new Hi
All I thought was the One
He, Don't deserve my hand
And solitary became my home
Darkness is my light
As lonely as the sad song
My life went on
Compassion sings in velvet vibrato violin strokes, thrumming upon
an ivory frame suffused in dulcimer tones of need.
Half deaf we echo broken words, sharp jagged phrases, defining
the borders of empathy, binding the reach of the heart.
Compassion lays bittersweet trails on the tongue, late fall berries,
bursting in a celebration of triumph and sorrow.
Half starved, we feast on spoils, too drunk on victory to discern
the salt-sweet retch of blood from the bitter poison of lies.
Compassion streams in surreal ashen hues - the rose tainted
glow of golden wildfire skies. A sanctity of devastation.
Half blind we stumble backward, peering through filtered lenses
at remnants of truth, polarized illusions of light and shadow.
Compassion has a feel to it. Silken swirls, brushing coarse burlap weave,
abraded, fraying strands writhing and twisting to knots.
Yearning for touch, we seethe. Flames of passion spent in bursts, numbing
balms of hatred, clutches of greed, belie the cold of our isolation.
Compassion carries a scent. Ancient and innate, its musk permeates
with an overwhelming fear for the suffering of another.
Senses blurred, anointed, incensed, we shed our stigmata of tenderness,
cowering in the purloined stench of our pernicious sanctimony.
Compassion has a secret seed, bound to the strivings of our soul, nurtured
in endless streams of hope, rooted in the sustenance of courage.
Correlations confound conclusions. Half deaf and blind we crawl, fragile
unadorned. Braving thorns, we guard compassion’s trembling stalk.
©Ilona Rapp 2017 All Rights Reserved
CHALLENGES OF CONFINEMENT
politically correct
never disrespect..
EVER
another’s
preferences or
ideas. Why draw lines?
all is love and love is all
afterall… and boundaries
blur until we hit a
psychotic brick wall !!!
lost
you realize
it won’t swing you
as far as the nearest
window of freedom
a tower, a tour, a tempest
the poor, pathetic forgotten
ones. Like a beautiful given
tense with no language to live
I brush against your face and
your lips as sworn enemies
of distasteful nemesis
cease to exist
until
there is no more sand
to strike upon
to admit I have
lost and you have
won
© Kim van Breda—29 December 2015
Picture a man and a woman naked side by side,
chains wrapped loosely around their necks
attached not to each other, but to the familiar horned beast that towers over them.
To others it appears obvious they could easily abdicate, however the couple does not view the same landscape
They stay comfortably bound to the monster they recognize
what may come to their surprise
they are their own adversary and their own allies
rather than escaping habit they CHOOSE to stay enslaved
not living but surviving, one foot in the grave.
Its not that they are unable ,they know they can be free
they are just so accustomed to not being able to breathe.
They are hoping that they can illustrate their own reality,
create their own light, dreaming of freedom
whilst still believing the chains are skin tight.
The rainy season arrives
Today we have a gloomy and surly weather
It makes me feel heavy and depressed
Spaced out
Fed up
Finally retreat to a confinement
To avoid being wet out
The bustle and hustle of the outside
Being blocked out
An inner self is left
I feel somewhat alone and lost
Am l really alone
Of course not
I then think of my loved ones
I then think of God
Who is ever ready to attend to us