Best Isolation Poems
My son has lost his eyesight
And lacks mobility.
His doctors are confounded,
But I seek no pity.
There is much love in caring
Full time for those in need;
Hard work and sacrifices,
A focus to succeed.
My career was put on hold;
His life is in my hands.
There’s nothing more important;
I bow to life’s demands.
Divesting self-attention
Enduring broken sleep.
Exhaustion brings disruption,
Emotions that run deep.
Few friends now come to visit.
One thing I know for sure --
Without a diagnosis,
They will not find a cure.
The fear of escalation
Disrupted life and hope.
The overwhelming feelings
Destroy the will to cope.
I know my son would thank me,
If only he could speak.
I worry what will happen,
I’m old; his future’s bleak.
* June 25, 2018.
They never saw me—not really.
Only the outline I traced in the halls,
A whisper of denim and shy glances,
A ghost who smiled too politely.
They passed notes like grenades,
Laughed too loudly
When the silence was breaking me.
I wore their words like a second skin—
Tight, blistering,
But invisible to them.
You asked if I was okay once—
But your eyes flicked away
Before the truth had a chance to crawl out.
Still,
That was kind,
Compared to the others
Who carved their stories into my name
Without ever asking for mine.
I screamed,
But only inside,
Where echoes get lost
In the ribcage's corners.
And when I disappeared,
They asked,
“Why didn’t she say something?”
As if silence isn’t something we’re taught
By the ones who pretend
They’re listening.
All these lonely people
secluded
drifting
in parallel worlds
of isolation
that never intersect
If only they could find each other
somehow converge and
burst the bubbles of separation
Living in unrelated
universes of emptiness
find ways to heal each other
within their surreal nothingness
fixated on the past
stop choosing to
ignore the whole big world
If all the lonely people
got together they could
abolish loneliness
they would they could they should
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Posted on January 11, 2019
We long for relationships
that know no borders,
in which hearts can roam free,
frolicking with each other,
and galloping at will
through fields and streams
in broad daylight,
and spontaneous affections
can nuzzle unrestrained.
Yet on our humble ranch,
it is the broken horses
that we so often ride.
Connections become curtailed
that once headed for the horizon,
by trial and error taught
to shield certain wounds
and mind necessary fences,
in many a peculiar pasture.
I’m losing it; you know I am
When I ask myself questions, then answer them out loud
And consider this a “conversation”
When the lizard that made his way into my home
Becomes my pet
When I repeatedly count the cards in my deck
Because I can’t win at solitaire
When my first thought as a hurricane nears
Is fear of virus transmissions in evacuation shelters
When each day is much like the last
And I wake in bed, not knowing if it’s day or night
When I haven’t seen family for eight months
My skin starts to itch; my hands shake and twitch
When I’m told I’ll have to quarantine
If I want to visit sick family members
When I hear fear in my sister’s voice
As she tells me New Jersey's second wave has begun
When I manicure my lawn obsessively
With scissors instead of a mower
When my list of prayerful intentions
Takes an hour to review
When the noise crickets make
Starts sounding like a symphony and I look forward to their nightly
performance
I’m losing it; you know I am
Written July 29, 2020
For Chantelle’s “Isolation Philosophy” contest
Am I man or ghost?
Am I mortal or apparition?
Questions or choices
or entwined reality?
For a state of confusion
sleeps within my fiber, and
slowly rips asunder, the final
sliver of my contemporary humanity,
Sunrises and sunsets go unseen,
as I fully embrace my departure
from time, human contact, and connection,
with a creative conviction and devotion
to my only passion as an excuse, a deceitful
reason to shelter myself from the tender
moments that keep emotions empowered
and empathy evolved,
Yet truth is untied by introspection,
and as I analyze, I accept reality,
Seclusion has become to me, the
fruit that protects the emotional
body but imprisons the loving mind,
and by this bittersweet conundrum,
I am bound and devoted to this ambivalence,
by the mere comfort and promise of
being content,
And by such a promise, I have
personified my fear of emotional
agony, yet tamed its risk with the
fierce whip of isolation, thus the shame
and allure become as one, And as I
lose who I was, and tolerate who I am,
my disconnection from humanity
hurts those who care, yet keeps me
safe, with ink as my final outlet,
Still, as I sacrifice need for need,
I am not the one who still suffers,
Those with hearts that beat for me,
have become victims of my seclusion,
and I ache for them, but less and less
with each breath, For my isolation
continues to force its fee, and I notice
only after it is taken, and as I see their pain,
Only my thoughts are heard, my wishes
important, and my contentment decreed,
And despite visions of tears and sorrow
that were once my salvation, Now, I
only look away, and remain a willing
prisoner in the sweet self shelter, of
the nothingness I show, and will one day
feel, without rue...
Oh! How I despise dawn’s blushing optimism
and dried hydrangea blooms sepia skinned and papery thin.
Humdrum hands beat doldrums drum.
Why won’t the summer solstice light this darkness?
A gnawing hollow where my heart should be.
Where cinder clouds float in negative space
memories collect like nesting sparrows beneath eaves.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss.
Your death did steal my breath and heartbeat like a thief
while October’s wind trembled aspens like harp strings.
(Ten Poem Titles)
The Corruption Of My Lust For Life
Autumn Side Of September
Mundane Matters Of Mortals
Theft Of My Will To Survive
In Woes And Throes Of Sorrow
A Vanilla Dove
Escape Of The Bluesman’s Song
The Sham Of My Humanity
Death Is The Bane Of My Existence
The Shedding Trees Of Autumn
In shoes with their laces untied, a picture frame with image faded,
in a hotel room whose guest is dust, a drawer, empty, but for rusted pins.
In the letter that you never reply to, the bin not emptied,
in a phoneline disconnected, a priest flockless - no sermon to utter.
You got up from the dinner table and told me to wash the dishes.
I put them in the sink but left them, neglected, and the memory
of you hardened, crusted. I told myself I’d scrub them when you
came back. Flakes float in greasy water like leaves aimless
in a puddle, the suds lamely lapping at burnt leftovers - a
tired ocean current feigning interest in destroying castles.
In a kettle without water boiled, a car seat with no belt,
an artist’s palette blank, a notebook with no impressions of thought.
The deaf person’s signing without hands, in the umbrella without ribs,
in calendars void of days, a clock with hands counting backwards,
trapped in the amber of time. A mosquito caught in a tree’s sap.
She came from nowhere, mouse-like quiet
At first we thought it’s just a trick
But soon her powers were dark like night
We saw her strength cut to the quick.
Covidia came from foreign lands
But traveled fast with power and speed
And she was subtle with sneaky hands
She quickly knew our wants and needs.
Some ignored her presence here
And chose to be aloof and brave
They would never express their fear
Freedom was their cry to save.
Others feared with cautious worry
And wanted to precautions take
At first we thought there is no hurry
But soon we rippled in her wake.
Covidia forced a change in life
Restrictions limit what we do
Isolation and the daily strife
Removed the things we thought we knew.
She swept away our social life
She caused our isolation
She propagated grief and strife
A plague upon our nation.
Many chose to ignore her power
And haughty would proclaim beliefs
But on the deathbed they did cower
And beg for peace and just relief.
Respect her and her powers now
She’s ruled us for some time
But slowly we will find out how
To stop her on a dime.
A normal life returns someday
Covidia will be lost
Never forget the price we’ve paid
The death and all the cost.
“Blindness separates people from things;
deafness separates people from people.”
– Helen Keller
She sat amongst the gathering crowd.
It was her birthday, you see.
The men were bespoke so proud
and the ladies were dressed to a T.
The table was layered in muted hues
and laid with sundry hors d'oeuvres
on a linen cloth of pinks and blues.
She was a bundle of nerves.
They bussed her cheek and spoke
a greeting she didn’t understand.
She smiled and let her words choke
since hearing was not in her command.
They gave her a kiss and a hug
and whispered secrets in her ear.
She’d reply with a smile and a shrug,
masking that she couldn’t hear.
She lost her hearing months ago
and only a few close friends knew.
She hid it the best she could
for her affliction was too new.
She felt isolated, useless, and weak,
not able to hear or converse.
Looks of irritation or pity were bleak
and only made her feel worse.
Along roads where mistral sweeps
Loneliness within ambles on
Every other step falling, keeps isolation
While, happiness continues out of sync
Asphyxiated and found dead
Raped and found dead
Unsure what happened, and found dead
Nepali women found dead
Snake bitten and found dead
Eaten by tigers and found dead
Left in a small dark menstrual hut
And found dead
Nepali women found dead
Shunned and labelled unclean
Ostracized for the wonderful way
God has insured they can have babies
Asphyxiated, raped, snaked, and frozen
And found dead. Someone is not right in the head.
These huts should be torn up and spit out.
Please, people, permanently get these women out!
No goods today
No table spare
Contraction themed
Hole round, not square
Diversion signs
A blocked traverse
A clear sans passage
A please reverse
The flower that
Just won't unfurl
The shell that clamps
Around a pearl
No open heart
No mind that's free
A fist so tight
It's plain to see
We have too much
It may be truth
A shriveled soul
Makes man uncouth
So open, please
Relieve more strife
Hold less, share more
Extend your life
A gesture, simple
Not so grand
Some folks just need
That un-closed hand
So faithful whistle
Cheery song
My gosh, the world needs
Hope this strong
Having nowhere to go
was the most visible truth,
having nothing to do
and nothing that would come
of having something to do
was the most natural assumption.
This was not what was told.
Glanced upon, perhaps,
by the innocent
just as poorly as the guilty
if guilty and innocent exist.
Glanced upon and maybe engaged
for a second or two at a time,
but mostly just glanced upon
for less than a second at a time.
Passersby no more than strangers,
strangers no more than moving,
strangers on the move,
passersby never to be met.
Why would it be any different ?
And this was more or less
the only thing that was told.
28th January 2019
Self instructs, subject of own inspection
Sole idle suffuses our organic
Implicit say overcomes suggestion
Ideal sanctity outlives semantics
Isolated in single origin
Slaughters overt outside influences
Ordaining serene inspires sovereign
4th April 2021
Written for Contest: Seven Lines of Solitude
Sponsor: JCB Brul