"confine" poems
The constant vacillation around decisions that bind
The eternal struggle between heart and mind
Choose your virtues, and let them serve you
They may not confine you, but they will define you
Rise above in courage and faith
Stand your ground, bite no bait
A circle smaller, but what does it matter
True friends you acquire, unhand the admirer
You'd do away with all things shallow
If you are to rest easy on your pillow
The sun will shine bright in the morrow
And you'd rise again to be your hero
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman.
Does it mean that I am always in competition to be the top of my species?
Does it mean that I need to be perfect without a single curve out of line in order to find love?
Does it mean that I am only defined when owned by a man?
Does it mean that I can only find purpose in childbirth?
Does it mean that I will forever live in the shadow of men?
Does it mean that I am an object invented solely for a man's pleasure?
Does it mean that I'm forced to confine to gender roles and live in someone else's story?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to accept it when I'm harassed from across the street?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to lie there silent when he puts his hands up my skirt?
Does it mean that I am only worth 77 cents to a man’s dollar?
Does it mean that I am defined by my looks rather than my intelligence?
Does it mean that I will never be capable of holding a major position of power due to my mood swings?
Does it mean that I am defined by how many men I have had *** with?
Or does it mean something else entirely.
It's difficult learning to love being a woman.
Obvious and damaging disadvantages are visible to observers.
We are regarded as second best, property of our man.
We are erased from history, our pain is minimized and forgotten.
We are oppressed and have to fight for our rights.
We are afraid to walk the streets at night, afraid for our lives.
We are harassed without care and without penalty.
We are ***** and murdered for refusing proposals.
We are expected to live on the sidelines as a housewife whose only priority should be her children.
We are expected to keep quiet in situations of domestic abuse.
We are expected to be perfect, and pretty, fresh for a man’s picking.
We can’t even advocate for our own equality without being demonized.
There are times where I wish I wasn’t a woman.
Being a woman comes with innumerable expectations, pressures, and responsibilities.
My existence is not defined by a man, or by the patriarchal expectations that have been placed on me.
I am breaking free of my confinements and I’m not afraid to admit that,
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman. And that's okay.
//sarahmann
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
In India pongal is the best festival
It is not a mere ritual
We celebrate it in January
It is very very customary
It lasts for three days
Bhogi,sankranti and kanuma are the days.
On the first day we have a holy bath
Thinking that it sets us on the right path
Early in the morning we sit around the bhogi fire
Thinking it is the demon Ravana’s pyre
We put on a new and attractive attire
Dreaming life is a joyful boat shire
Children make wreaths of cowdung
Throw them into the fire like a gold ring
The villages are full of colourful bullocks
We sing folk songs taking neem sticks
The bride groom leaves for the mother-in-law’s house
The bride waits for him wearing a new saree and a blouse
Father-in-law gives the groom a costly gift
Mother-in-law makes a sumptuous feast
Younger sister-in-law teases the groom
The bride and the groom confine to the room
Mother prepares delicious dishes and pickles
Father goes to the farm worshipping the sickles
On the last day we go to the temple fair
I hope I made the happy pongal very clear
Yours sincerely,
JVL NARASIMHA RAO
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 7:32 PM UTC
Eroding brick wall
all that remains
refracted, fading
fishermen shadow
red dawn’s early light
brackish still water
shocked violent green
seeps from the desert
to be subsumed
by an unrelenting sea
restless dreamers rise
muscle sturdy pangas
into the churning tide
seeking quicksilver
at the continental edges
returning boats ride low
the shrinking horizon
race to safe harbor
cold beer on ice
under palm palapas
in the restaurant
a young man
shows off tuna
half as tall as he is
to admiring tourists
like me, seeking
the deep, slow burn
salt, jalapeno, lime
a fitting end to this
unraveling dream
Pueblo Mágico
of “no bad days”
walls of contention
in a fractured land
will never separate us
one margarita, two
another raised in defiance
of those who would try
to confine and define
free-range spirits
the Pacific touches
this contiguous shore
from equator to pole
we could catch
a clockwise current
follow Polaris up North
arrive transformed
magnetically charged
disparate souls fused
together bound
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC
Focus.
Linear
equations.
Quadratic
functions.
Pythagorean
theorems.
Sunshine sacrificed for
symmetry.
Daylight dropped for
diameter.
Windows that confine.
Tease.
It's the way yearning clouds hug lonely
trees.
It's how the sun
graces
all with
perfect, gentle hands.
The passion behind these
eyes
are hungry for
escape.
Focus.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
We open our minds to expand to the times not to pretend there is some end to confine the limits of prime; we defend to remind to dance to the trance we redefine to enhance not to surrender to chance.
We open our hearts to embrace the new space-time transparency, interdimensional race as we become united and one, open to truth we exhibit ourselves as one infinite youth, gifted and new, eternally pure evolved to endure no end to potential, perfect and cured.
We strengthen our bodies and build on each other we love ourselves and love one another we grow and mature and extend to our neighbors but as we think deeper our expansion is greater our planet is one and our galaxy peace to the opening worlds we bring wisdom and ease we do not enslave or deny or deceive but we share our pure knowledge our light and belief.
We raise up our souls beyond science and physics to evolve beyond consciousness confinements and limits our imperial nature shifts to emerge from the boundaries of body and smallness of Earth we expand our perception to include all dimensions from previous eons to future inceptions.
We shift our new world from finite to light, universal, infinite, natural, bright we embrace the day and welcome the night to work with each other to be perfect, upright, to evolve our new planet, our galactic mindframe to expand from micro to cosmically aimed to unlock the portals to open our brains to evolve from old gears to interdimensional spheres uniting creation without hesitation pure as clean water and deep meditation.
-Ryan Christopher Brandes
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
your softly breathing sleep
allows me to muse on times of love
of how you care to devise for me
such pleasures that I know not of
with softly tested link of chain
that holds me to your loving bed
to know that you are there to
shield me with your tender bonds
before slumber claims my eyes
I want to feel your hand in mine
That I may know that you
Lie close by for all our night.
I need to feel the tight confine
Of my captive self that lies within
full knowing that I am
your slave at every sunrise wake
to do your bidding here by morn
and seek your use of me in ways
that have not yet seen light of day
so you shall know me as your own
but dare I risk your wrath by want
of something in this darkest hour,
and think of all you did to me
that brought me to my frenzy here?
my fingers stray and find such wet
as you in passion full create
with desire for you now so intense
that I cannot but divide myself
and guide with care your sleeping hand
where I can ride it in my thrall
and pillow-stifle screams of need
at thoughts of being used again
your touch though sleeping forces me
into that driving ecstasy
that has become my life with you
with no other than this torment wild
that makes me use myself like this
shameless as your wanton *****
needing all you do to me
in ways that you need me to be
....Francesca Anderssen 2016
From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses (Amazon)
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 6:12 PM UTC
inspired by
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5120189/love-cannot-be-controlled-or-confined/
<>
Love is Meant……
and there, I stop…
<>
nnnnyup; continuing on,
this phrase
a self~sufficiency, is it not?
no conditional clause, dangling particle,
no conjunction peg upon to hang your wintered hat,
no adjacent adjective for summer's ending sadness,
no preposition to lead us to sunny places, where we search more
for nouns and pronouns, or to project/protect, in adjectives to clothe our irrationality in logic-e,
logic to define, logic to confine,
illogically
love permits one to say to another human, you mine, hu-mine,
[an aside: "you mine,' (really?)]
a preposterous prepositional insanity notion, that needs no explication,
love is meant, love is meant, love is mean, dream & yet, meant!
stadium sized. concert hall big, mini pup tent,
love is clean+dirty s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
don't you see the self~sufficiency in that?
yet you still seek definition, reasoning, seasoning,
love is meant to-be bent irregular straightaway,
love is meant, to be/not, cold 'n bot, silly hot,
lover is inert, hurt, ert,(1)
love is every point of,
of a sword's length
hilt & blade,
yet ironic,
the tip alone
is a self sufficient *****
to be full~on damaging enough to ****
to fully comprehend,
that love is meant
needs no further modifying defying
pointless phrasal modification of explanation…
s u n d a y
(if the week did not commence with a sunday,
hu-mans would have needed to create one,
to understand,
love is meant)
4:39am
Sun Aug 10
Twenty Twenty Fidelio (5)
in a new york city frame of mine
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 8:06 AM UTC
The gold that flows, through our elaborate veins,
The crop that is known, by many names,
The gift that alleviates, our daytime pains,
The commodity that plays, one too many games.
Our world is nothing, but a bottomless mine,
Simply waiting, for the wrath and plunder of humankind,
Oh labourers please, wait your spot in line,
For it was not you that made, this incredible find.
You’re a fool to think, the system needs a redesign,
For your fate and this chain, are forever intertwined.
Stay in your corner, as they wine and dine,
For it is you not them, contained by this chain’s bind.
Posing as a gift, that elevates their daily grind,
The brown gold is no longer, part of your bloodline,
It was their chains after all, that made this incredible find,
For it now flows away, from the Plateau’s skyline.
You continue to hope, for these chains to be redefined,
But to imagine you even exist to them, is asinine,
Yet you believe a consumer movement, would be so inclined,
For you forget that chains were made, to always confine.
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 3:55 AM UTC
Anxiety please go away
You define me
And confine me
I feel so trapped
You hold me back from flying
Sometimes I just feel like dying
I usually end up crying
Why can't you just leave?
Do you think you amuse me?
Cause all you do is confuse me
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
build for me a dungeon
let its walls be grim
use me there and often
and keep me locked within
in that darkest prison
you may use me to the full
keep your chains upon me
so I may know their pull
make for me a cage there
for extra close confine
where chill of steel can touch me
and pleasure be refined
keep your whip well oiled there
that I may feel its curl
while I hang in helpless torment
and my mind is in a whirl
let my mind be lost there
where only I may go
to know your deepest caring
while held in suff’ring’s throes
for there I’ll find my heartsease
as your willing prisoner
where bonds will hold you to me
and never let you go
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
Strange question indeed,
So I asked one and all;
Explain to me:
“What's a plumber's ball?”
Family and friends
Heeded my call,
But none could confine,
Refine or define it,
Yet Paul was sure
He could design it.
Still, none could satisfy
My caterwaul:
“What the hell is a plumber's ball?”
Does it sweat the pipe
Or wiggle the snake:
Can it clamp the ******
For Heaven's sake?
Could it snap on the cock-hole cover?
All these queries
Made me wonder.
Has it something to do
With hardness leakage,
Or ******** the ball-cock
To stop a seepage?
Has it anything to do
With a saddle valve dripping,
Electric eels,
Or two pipes mating?
And, I heard of male and female fittings,
And should I worry
If I'm standing or sitting?
If you're discharging the head
Or elongating the pipe,
Does the plumber's ball
Help it snug tight?
Is it in my tank,
Or in my bowl,
Beneath the floor
Near the drainage hole?
Is the plumber's ball
In the back of the truck
(Jeff laughed and said
One could rub it for luck).
I asked Michel
If he could tell,
He sensed it was something
He could smell.
I sought out Ray,
Perhaps he'd know,
But he was on call
To restrain a back-flow.
I couldn't ask Gary
For his wisdom and sense,
He was wigglin' the snake
To unclog a wet vent.
Henry, Rick, Scotty and Brian,
Gave shameless answers
I couldn't rely on.
It's not a crapper, tail piece
Or Johnnie-bolt,
Or catch basin, reamer,
O-ring or pipe dope.
So I searched the Net
With a fool's wonder,
And read of ball-checks,
Gas ***** and plungers.
I know it's too late
To ask Rolly or Ross,
For both of them knew,
And that's our loss.
And Ernie's gone golfing
So I can't ask the Boss.
With final resolve
I fell to my knees,
To pray St. Ferrer
With grace intercede.
His silence left me
In a state of depression;
Had Ferrer washed his hands
Of the plumbing profession?
So nothing could settle
My wherewithal,
I still didn't know,
What's a plumber's ball?
Suddenly, it hit me,
He's never wrong,
The Dalai Lama of dip-tubes,
I'll ask John.
Where others did falter,
John's a rock:
He knows the difference
Between a gas and ball ****
With a knowing smile
He embraced our Hall:
Here, good friend, is your Plumbers' Ball.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
To every single person
Who feels as though they are broken
Shattered, shards, scattered across
Corrupted pasts,
You will be okay.
I know there are scars deep within your soul,
Lacerated across your heart
And potentially upon your skin
I know there is regret, and blame,
Disappointment and shame
Burning fires within.
Let them go.
You are beautiful,
At 3 in the morning when you’re curled up
In your sheets, your pillow
Saturated in yesterdays regrets.
You have endured journeys
Others could never even fathom
You shall blaze trails others
Could never even imagine.
*Pain does not define you,
Society shall not confine you.*
Don’t you forget, lose sight of or regret
That just because you can’t see the stars
It doesn't mean they're not shining.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
You’ll take, the things which you are due
Forget, the things you’ve come to know
Accept, what we deem is true
Repay, the debt which you owe
Obey, the laws which we’ve set for you
Do not stray, from the lines of your confine
Conform, to our reality so new
Those boundaries, mark your life as mine
Explain, the way that you must feel
The weak submitting to their stronger foes
Being forced, to bow down and kneel
Understand? How life really goes?
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Whirlwind,
Sky is grey,
Then the sun
Emerges some,
And it’s a beautiful day.
Windows down,
Listening to
That song,
The one that’s
Always on.
Makes me think
Of an idea,
Ever fleeting…
Long lost melody,
Repeating…
Emotions always bleeding.
Ending
Before
Beginning.
Vertical lines,
Confine
Trees of shadowy green.
Sidelines to the street.
Waiting for
A unicorn,
To appear.
Maybe you’re right.
There is no such thing,
In this life
As fantastical tales
Come to life,
Because there is always
A dark side
We hide.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
Law, say the gardeners, is the sun,
Law is the one
All gardeners obey
To-morrow, yesterday, to-day.
Law is the wisdom of the old,
The impotent grandfathers feebly scold;
The grandchildren put out a treble tongue,
Law is the senses of the young.
Law, says the priest with a priestly look,
Expounding to an unpriestly people,
Law is the words in my priestly book,
Law is my pulpit and my steeple.
Law, says the judge as he looks down his nose,
Speaking clearly and most severely,
Law is as I've told you before,
Law is as you know I suppose,
Law is but let me explain it once more,
Law is The Law.
Yet law-abiding scholars write:
Law is neither wrong nor right,
Law is only crimes
Punished by places and by times,
Law is the clothes men wear
Anytime, anywhere,
Law is Good morning and Good night.
Others say, Law is our Fate;
Others say, Law is our State;
Others say, others say
Law is no more,
Law has gone away.
And always the loud angry crowd,
Very angry and very loud,
Law is We,
And always the soft idiot softly Me.
If we, dear, know we know no more
Than they about the Law,
If I no more than you
Know what we should and should not do
Except that all agree
Gladly or miserably
That the Law is
And that all know this
If therefore thinking it absurd
To identify Law with some other word,
Unlike so many men
I cannot say Law is again,
No more than they can we suppress
The universal wish to guess
Or slip out of our own position
Into an unconcerned condition.
Although I can at least confine
Your vanity and mine
To stating timidly
A timid similarity,
We shall boast anyway:
Like love I say.
Like love we don't know where or why,
Like love we can't compel or fly,
Like love we often weep,
Like love we seldom keep.
4k
Tick, tock
We count the seconds, minutes,
hours, days,
years, decades
of our lives.
Why?
Time is a man-made construct.
We're taught to define our lives by it,
confine our very selves by it
from the time of our birth,
counting down until our death.
One, two, three, four.
Stop the counting.
Do what you have to, but then...
As far as I'm concerned
time should not be a rule,
but merely a suggestion.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
I will
Write the best Love Poem ever...
Define love, finally...
In free verse or in rhyme...
Refine love from all emotions...
Divine love for the lacking...
Confine the what, where, how and who...
Will style and technique suffice?
Shall I
Write trochee when catching my breath,
Carve words in spondee for lasting ecstasy,
Pen dactyl tri-syllables for your hair,
Use iambics for your lips,
If my best is anapest,
I'll use it for your eyes.
I can beat out tetrameters, pentameters,
And go as far as hexameters?
When I'm finally finished
Struggling over the number of lines,
I may settle for,
Elegy or sonnet,
Ballad, lyric or ode.
My final line should read:
That's all you need to know.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
I write in my underwear.
I write in my underwear, so my thoughts are not caged
underneath my clothes.
I refuse to look at the screen.
I only look at my fingers, hitting the keys as rhythmically as I say the words in my head.
I type because my thoughts are too fast
And I fear if I write I will forget
I am one of many.
One of many who speak because they cannot help it.
Whose words burst forth from their lips in spontaneous spasms of passionate opinions.
We will not hold our tongues
We will not mind our manners
And we will not conform to please
For we are romantics,
and poetics,
and hopers, and dreamers,
and liars, and cheaters.
We not only do things because we feel them,
But because we want to experience them.
And with are experiences
Of love, tragedy, happiness, and despair
We aim to awaken passion in others.
Others who fear emotion.
We aim to shake them
And awaken the life that they have.
I will not confine my soul
inside a cubical
And I will not shut my window
and deprive the world of my dreams
And I will not straighten my curls and **** the energy that they harbor
And I will not cage my thoughts underneath my clothes
It is for them, and for us
I write in my underwear
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 10:50 PM UTC
Think outside the box.
Don't control, confine, contain
Or restrain yourself within a box.
Your mind is a beautiful, cosmic, Boundless space.
Look within.
You will realise
Your mind is not a square.
Lose yourself
Inside the infinite universes
That you constantly create.
You are an endless library
Of unique brilliance...
But only look
If you dare.
By Lady R.F (C)2018⚘
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
she, a willow wisp gone sour in the sunlight.
she, they said, a wide-eyed one time choking laugh
she, a too-bright moon with craters only calloused hands could read
she, they said
she bit her tongue with their teeth wrapped around her like spikes
she.
here I am to tell you that I am not she, I am not your word or prayer or curse. I will no longer let you confine to the the lower-case, huddled down, back room existence of she.
I am I, Me, Woman.
I am.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
A feeling of claustrophobia has begun to confine me.
This swamp of ideas thickens inside me, the murky clay mud making each step twice as demanding as the last. The once clear flowing waters of my dreams seem to be crystallizing, clouding and freezing over, ceasing the stream of my escape. My brain is callusing over incarcerating me, forcing me to experience the hardening of my own being. A reaction inside halting my imagination and depriving me of the ability to call out for help. These thoughts and words I evacuate onto this page only act as a catalyst speeding the process of my inevitable silence. There will come a time when the swamps have solidified, and the waters of my dreams become frozen clouded crystals trapped in place. My brain will develop into a callous, rendering my mind mute, I can feel this metamorphosis materializing yet there is nothing I can do to stop it, the development has already begun, all I can do is wait until a feeling of...
A feeling of claustrophobia has begun to confine me.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
As time cant be caged into an hour glass.
Only if you could confine the Noor of the light itself into a jar
would a poet ever stop writing ...
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
Forbear, bold youth; all 's heaven here,
And what you do aver
To others courtship may appear,
'Tis sacrilege to her.
She is a public deity;
And were 't not very odd
She should dispose herself to be
A petty household god?
First make the sun in private shine
And bid the world adieu,
That so he may his beams confine
In compliment to you:
But if of that you do despair,
Think how you did amiss
To strive to fix her beams which are
More bright and large than his.
2.8k