Confined Poems

Confined to a Screen

      A mind confined to a screen
         running on fumes and caffeine

      Sight, smells, sounds, sterile become
         old age, like unto death, her victims numb
 

my dogs are confined now

dog’s nose is twitching
whatever he’s smelling, I am missing
dog next door barks ferociously
my dogs used to run toward the fence
they have a pen now
there is less running
they have been thwarted
confined to a mere thousand square feet
angry because they used to run the entire neighborhood

Love cannot be controlled or confined

Love is thinner than a piece of cheesecloth,
transparent yet confusing to navigate.
More conservative than a political debate
More hearts are broken than mended
.
I am determined to search globally for an end to this love.
We desire it fiercely and embrace our fate to heal humanity.
Love may be a fleeting remedy,  
Yet we pursue it with fervent

Bitter Blues

I often struggle to make peace
with nagging relapses that,
like endless tides, come
then I need to chase away.

Intrusive rekindlings of loss,
of wanting to resurrect the past,
each time needing to go through the motions
of convincing myself it's pointless.

Confined, trapped, buckled in,
I ride this live rollercoaster
that leaves me feeling disillusioned,
frustration having a bitter rancid taste.



AP: Honorable Mention 2025

Confined

Elevator ride,
a putrid smell, I assume,
someone's fanny fumes.

Anywhere But Here

The walls close in,
peeling paint whispering stories
I’ve worn too long.
The air clings heavy,
stale as forgotten dreams,
suffocating, soaked in dust.

The clock ticks louder
than the fractures in my chest,
its hands dragging me
through an endless loop of nowhere.
Even the shadows feel stifling,
their jagged edges curling inward,
hungry to swallow me whole.

I’ve dreamt of escape -
to where the sky consumes

Stranger in the home

                                     I am a stranger in my home
           

Poem Confined To a Small Space

shadows
through walls
a blue moon
bleeds into the sky
the passing day
an unfinished line
a flickering screen
i am
living and dying
i am
a flickering screen
an unfinished line
the passing day
bleeds into the sky
a blue moon
through walls
shadows

A Joyride

A joyride 
Like that of a high speed rail
We may take our partners
Our small children 
Or our old parents
For a joyride
Looking around
Scenery and nature
People and crowd
Shops and houses
Cars and buses
Highways and lanes
All are eye-catching
After a long time confining to 
Walls and beds
While people are still hesitating to dine-in
Because of the virus 
I love a joyride
I

Confined

Day after day unable to roam
Doing what’s needed
Staying safe, staying home

Week upon week inside a confined space
Nowhere to go
No other place
 
Good days positive
Fun and laughter galore
Reflection of life and memories before

Grateful, appreciative
For all life provides
Content for protection, safe inside
 
Bad days negative
Unbearably long
Nothing right, everything wrong
Frustration, worry, uncertainty, fear
Tired, lazy, future unclear

Motivation fading
No end

Self Confined

I’m self confined with another
In this loveless prison cell
It's the height of my suffering
Like a taste of pure hell
I’ve got to break out
I’ve got to break free 
As my soul needs to dance
If it’s just only with me 
My friends don’t understand 
For all these longings inside 
Are not on view to the world 
As

Confined

confined,
shackled in chains,
there isn’t an exit sign;
how can a person escape their,
own mind.













Contest:QUIN-TO
Sponsor:Brian Strand
11/19/2020

Another Pandemic Poem

I could care less about 
getting a haircut or 
finding hair color to 
dye my nappy roots
So what my nails need
a fill and my feet look like
I've been walking on eggshells
and frustration
I don't give a damn about 
having to cancel weddings
parties 
open mics and 
play dates
I'm not interested in
swinging on conspiracy theories
while binging on fake

Confined

Languishing inside a cell(his demons) so fierce
        and punishing; isolating loneliness pierce
          the core of his misery. Every so often,
      he feels claustrophobic, as if inside a coffin.



Rithimus Divisa 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Gregory

Confined By a Tyrant

Under his bum, girl.
Under his bottom, girl.  
That is where you must stay.  
Nose up his butt, 
or thought a ****.
Forced to stay under his bum.
All covered up.
Or be thought a ****.
The sun never shines,
on your skin,
 because you are covered up.
If you show some skin,
men like him,
will call you a ****.
Still they

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