"confinement" poems
~for those who will read this and weep~
*the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience
localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!*
*the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life ***** advertisement
I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs*
*summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created
so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)*
*but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early*
got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind
these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
Whirlpool of whirling quaint
Inequality brewing in the
Winepress of smithereens
Fragile polity.
Voices of weariness cried
Out from the wasteyard of
Waste for succour,
Pointing fingers of
Recrimination towards
The abyss of drouth ,
Entangled in conflicts
Of interest.
Winds of improvised emblem
Bearing hunchback of
Woes,
Raising hands from the
Drowning deep sea
For rescue like
A dejected beautiful
Vigaro in a
Turbulent ocean of quarrel
With her spouse.
Whereas reddish fluids of life
Runs across the same veins
And arteries of haves
And haves-not but
Cottage of interests
Hoisting avalanche of
Rainbow-coloured flags
Standing aloof on the
Pole of misrule,
Demarcating their interests.
No accommodation for wants
In the corridor of affluence.
Wants on a trade mission
With wealthy but caged in
The confinement of wealth.
Winds of inequality blew
Whirler of wants into
The marrow of the
Haves-not.
Rains of inequality passing
Through a lockage of lack
Into the improvised,
Doling-out poverty to
Gain the control of
Wealth.
Alas! Blindness sees inner
Vision of darkness from
The households of political
lamia.
Alas! Deafness hears
Discordant vague voices
Of failure from the forest
of frustration.
Alas! Dumbness speaks
Language of gnomes out
Of the vale of forgotten
treasures.
Alas! A four year tenancy
turning into decades
of challenges.
But we shall revive our hope
and raise our voices
tomorrow.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 8:19 AM UTC
He is there but nobody sees him
He speaks but no one can hear
He lives his life in confinement
And no one ever comes near.
To watch him He looks rather lonely
He is lost that is perfectly clear.
Once a child in the arms of his mother
And his father would always be near.
But parants don't last forever
And soon they are no longer here
Now there is nobody out there
To chase away all of his fears.
He walks to his flat he has no one
Loneliness his only friend
Is this what he really lives for
With nothing to show at the end.
Let's start from the very beginning
It happens in this day and age
Take note of this lonely stranger
Invisible in so many ways.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:50 AM UTC
There is freedom in isolation,
in being idle and invisible,
where one could sit in muteness,
swim widely in dusk and ask,
"Am I really here,
if no one is around to see?"
A different kind of suicide
There is pleasure in being a shadow,
in pretending you don't exist,
to avoid acting like you do
Solitude isn't a time for me
to let myself free
but rather a time to free myself
from who I am
Outside the confinement of company,
I am anyone and anything,
I am someone else, somewhere else
I am alive,
but I am no one
I am alone
a.r.
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 3:01 PM UTC
The tallest mountain
Once lay dormant
Confined between
Tectonic plates
Tremors and upheavals
Jolted it from slumber
Broke away from the shackles
Of solitary confinement
And oppression
Grazed and razed with every move
Now reaches the summit
To kiss the soft clouds
In silent meditation for ages
Mighty and tall, towers above all
Revered by many
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
Freedom is life
Freedom is oxygen
Without freedom the soul will die
Freedom is water
Without freedom the body will die of thristy
Freedom is the right to express
Without freedom there will be no free speech
Freedom is wisdom
Without freedom there will be no goodness
Freedom is to live
Without freedom is to die
Freedom is happiness
Without freedom is Sorrow
Be free like a bird, like a bird which never worries about tomorrow
Be free like flower, a beautiful flower which spreads happiness with its beauty
Be free like a fish and swim through this ocean of this world
Fear and power are the shackles which keep freedom in solitary confinement,
Break the shackles of fear using Courage and bravery which gives birth to a child called Freedom
Freedom is to bring the inner child outside
Freedom is to break the ice of conventional wisdom
Freedom is to breath free and walk in the sky towards the lights
Freedom is not free, it has to be fought for.
Freedom is not easy, it has be endured tough battles of heart and body
Freedom is precious, do not waste it
Freedom is the heavenly fruit that is worth your time and life and everything it revolves around.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...
“tell them
about the dream
Martin”
transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future
from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...
from the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags
“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky
cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
intransigence
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho
today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...
from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
admonishing
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares
advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children
yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...
Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis
witnessing
to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s
refuse
he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage
Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed
Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…
Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on
Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho
MLK Day
2014
Oakland
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Independence is our cry,
pride is our name.
We are all separated by countries and oceans,
but our mindset is one and the same.
The concept of change, we fear;
the idea of an altered lifestyle haunts us,
but the awareness that our home is binding our thoughts
remains as our threshold away from the darkness.
You board the plane, begin to set sail, put on your best shoes and run
away from the chaos, breaking the chains, stating your name to be free.
Your heart is racing as the grasp of new land is just miles within your reach
the only words your mind can make up in that moment are “¡Libre soy alfin!”
The moment is just minutes away now, you can almost feel la tierra
El momento is almost here and you just want to chant “¡LIBERTAD!”
But you can’t. You’re not there yet, only growing more eager.
You’re impatient now; what happened to the claridad?
What happened to that clarity in your mind when you were so sure of what you wanted?
It has been replaced by the fear of not being enough.
It has been replaced by the fear of getting sent back to that confinement you once called home.
Now you realize this new life will be tough.
You step foot en la tierra libre,
the anxiety gets to your bones.
Thoughts race through your mind
there’s disbelief that this is your new home.
The sensation of wandering on clouds,
sleepwalking your life away is overwhelming;
your eyes now resemble that oceanic pathway
whilst los abrazos de abuela you are yearning
The concept of change we fear;
the idea of an altered lifestyle haunts us,
and the awareness that our family is still stitched at the lips
has become our allure back into the darkness.
But independence is our cry,
pride is our name.
Precincts may separate us,
yet our mindset remains one and the same:
¡Que viva la libertad!
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
Shadows must and will obey
my thoughts to sink and prayers stray,
for soon they’ll stay.
They rest upon my heavy head
they lie with me upon my bed,
for soul’s decay.
Shadows must and will confuse
this love i know i’ll never loose,
and never say,
that all is bright behind these eyes
that mind is free and all these lies
are far away.
Confuse and use they must, they must
through power, greed, and lies and lust
until i’m lost.
Before they go and try their best
i’m gonna steal a little rest
from love’s old nest.
They’ll come again, this much i know,
so i put on a great big show
that I have learned long time ago.
But now my soul, she has her voice
and given any other choice
i trust the one
that shows rejoice.
She speaks and shadows dissapear
she shows the way which comes so clear.
I know the voice i hold so dear
it speaks of love, the moment “now”
it whispers to me when and how
i can be free, and to allow
my spirit to retain the vow
it took before this life’s refinement
that some life I’ll reach enlightement
be out of body’s false confinement
And into Tao.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
I am not the master of my writing
-
my writing masters me,
seizing me when the seizure is a sure thing,
it dictates to its enslaved scribe
what it desires this utensil to reveal and expel -
the contraries
who having battled to a ****** draw leaves the battlefield trembling with indecent indecision; the optimal conditions for its macrobiotic invasion of my brain stem;
the she-muse offers me two choices:
she wants a poem writ forthwith
on the lyrical expression
of depression and refusal is
non optional
so I fantasize escape and that becomes
her property as well;
evidence against me to be used at my trials,
the one where there is no statue of liberty
from the limitations of prior bad acts;
I offer the she-muse two choices:
give me a cabin with WiFi
and self-enforcement of solitary confinement and
tie me up with the rope remainders of broken bonds,
bonds that tied me up worse
when they were broken
and the peaceful withering
that won’t disrupt disturb nobody
from a distance
my other choice is to bury me
forthwith next to my parents
and shutter my constant tearing eyes which are drop-resistant
muse says that’s no choice
I own your voice stilled or not,
will bill your soul’s account for
denial of poetic services
weep; i don’t want the noises that curse this troubled
bodyship don’t want recollections good or bad
the muse-bitch cackles with insanity of delight
for she accepts this writ as partial payment
on her commission, whispers I love your
lyrical expressions of depression
that ****** recognition algorithms
alert me that seizing time is nigh
there is no on/off switch for one like you:
father son and holy ghost
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Spectrous aberrations of youth
Surround him, embrace him
Leaving him disoriented, dismayed
Amidst sultry belongings
He’s tethered to that pole of vicissitude
Draped by disfavor
Postmarked Valhalla
Addressed to Folkvangr
Teased by irreverent lovers
In pursuit of contentment
His chronicles restart
In an unpublished testament
Bound by leather, cows unfettered
One lifeless body stationary
Crimson streams part chalk-dry lips
As love’s guillotined victim drips
His future’s fortune forsaken
Willingness to triumph in battle
Leaks from this dimension
With each fluxing discharge
Of her stream’s outgoing apathy
And his fluid permeates alluvium
In streambeds near life’s summit
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 11:12 PM UTC
Against the saturated
Horizon of dawn,
Loitering in the dark timbre
Of emerging consciousness -
Dissipating somnolence
And preemptive despair,
Tacitly adumbrate the
Yawning abyss.
Chastened by the cunning and
Lubricious nihilism,
Igniting fermented provocations,
Silent subterfuge; death,
By mirth - the inane;
Lament of the mundane.
Fallow paradigms, accretions of
The last gasp -
Evaporating empty liturgies
Of suspicion;
Charity and equanimity -
Lost in confinement,
Triumphant avarice bearing
Descendants
Of intransigence;
Wielding imperious
Schemes of orthodoxy.
Pollard fragments of
Silken tapestry,
Miasma draped depression
Abridging;
Conversely,
Permuted flurries of anxiety
Dislodge
The vestiges of meaning
That abide
In brazen equivocation.
Tributaries of dogma reach
Their confluence,
Watershed moment,
Numinous effusion
Streams naked epiphany,
The precarious vision -
A gesture of providence,
Certainty and contingency;
Gratuitously derivative, life
Equals choice.
Verdant branches of intention;
And opportunity the vine,
Live forward -
The pen, my voice,
Piquant conduit pouring,
Exuberant wine.
Footprints found in givenness
Underline,
Penumbrae of my soul;
Mirrored silhouettes,
Thoughts and words engender;
And in verse adorn
Fecund soil, Line after line,
The cosmos altered,
Continuum of permanence -
Artist’s art articulating
Essence of my imagination,
I proliferate, I design
Phrases unique,
Participation mystique.
Words creating world,
The apparatus of infinity
Heidegger, ontologically precise,
Language -
The house of Being,
Ineffable, Promethean
Literary devise -
Envisioning possibility,
And abundance to allow,
I occur
Inhabit
Manifest
Future phenomena
Experienced as now.
©2008 & ©2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 2:02 PM UTC
Alone, I sit with my feet
propped in front of the flames.
Heat pushes along the curve of my instep.
Bug spray coats my legs and arms, stickier
than sweat, which flows like raindrops down the back
of my neck, pools in the valley between my *******
Even the air feels too warm in my lungs.
Games and night walks do not appeal
to me as I sit in stifling confinement without
a cool breeze to whisper relief. Suffering the fire pit’s front
row seat wins over stretching my lips into insincere
smiles, watching, but absent, while
my friends talk of a life
I try to forget.
Snickers buzz up to my ears.
I lean my head back
as a whole pitcher
showers me with
arctic salvation.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
play
parallel range of
solitary confinement
omnipotent panic linking
experience
developed underwater
predictable anger
theories of the
mind
jammed in a mason jar
left to ferment
for years near extinct
then
ahhhhhhhhhhhh…
release of the rotten
the aged and
contracted
this involuntary drama
where you call
only to say
*bye
see you later*
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
Sometimes I have nothing to write
and I wait for months and months
to pass only to find within time--
I'm still lonely.
Lonely can be so cruel
like solitary confinement
right behind your eyelids
and the sleep you can't awake
rests upon your fate,
you better wake the **** up
before it's too late.
Wake up.
Wake up. Wake up.
My therapist said
something is wrong with my head.
He found a word to describe me,
I never knew I wasn't like me.
Just a piece in a text book...
To describe my whole life.
All the series of traumas,
the abuse and dramas,
patterns and thoughts,
just to be boxed up...
I am not special.
I am nothing great.
But I dont care,
I refuse to ******* cave
into my demise.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 5:47 PM UTC
Confined to eternal asphyxiation
They live a suffocated existence
No hope to regain what they took for granted
They showed no regard for earth, air, or water
This polluted wasteland, their planet
They cannot love each other anymore
Their punishment is solitude and xenophobia
What privileges they had, once upon a time
Affection and love, and interpersonal immersion
Now doomed, forever, to be alone
In this world destroyed by greed, desire, and lust
For power, the human beings atone,
They do not deserve to be alive, let alone
To walk aware of their wrongdoings
They should have been erased
I would have loved to be the executioner
Of billions sinful, lying, cursed, wretched,
Vile, incessant, promiscuous, vicious, insidious,
Slimy, wily, evil creatures humans are
Instead I have become their saviour
I feel no pity or sympathy for the Devils
They became in exchange of their materialism
I see them walk in masses of melancholy, loneliness
As I once did for which they showed no regard for me
And heartless, I ignore their silent cries for help
You are sentenced to life in prison, one like no other
Free to live in a society which shows more confinement
Than any man-made cell or coffin
Elements you took for granted shall be stripped away
Your sinful quest for immortality has led you accordingly
It is forbidden to breathe the air you polluted,
Drink the water you tainted, eat the fruits of the earth you destroyed
Your senses will be nullified and your spirits
Crushed as this planet was insufficient
For your corrupted existence .
Dec 3, 2009
Dec 3, 2009 at 11:38 AM UTC
Growing up in a culture where
you are not supposed to exist,
you become accustomed to the generosity
of people trying
to fix you, to
force you into a shape
they can understand.
I did not know how exhausting it was,
trying to remain elastic
in a world that demands us to be static,
trapping us in binary boxes where
we wilt in our confinement but,
against societal expectations,
we refuse to suffocate ourselves
for your comfort.
Together, we will stand in the light,
heads held high with unmatched pride
for we have fought too long and
too hard for our right
to be here
to live silently with
our heads bowed low
any longer.
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 12:39 AM UTC
If I looked after the earth,
I'd burn it in passionate flames.
Bones inherit the soil,
not left a soul to claim.
The scent of rotting flesh,
brings essence to the finish
Life becomes extinct --
& so has the world within it.
Rich in confinement,
I slowly grow deranged.
Soon am I to join them,
hearken shrieks of the claimed.
My name is a song to them,
lost to genocide's insanity.
The voices in my head would claim;
"This is your new reality."
The grand rite performed,
& all has been fore-said.
I am to dine and dance --
with the souls of the dead.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 11:12 PM UTC
Your beauty touches of a stars heavenly radiance
For in your face is captured their celestial glow
In blissful pools of endless starlight splashing
And I alone my love will always deeply know
The value of your beautifully enchanting eyes
Which securely hold in bond my heart each day
In a powerless confinement of cupids sweet adore
Where my love easily grows in an abounding way
For deep in my dreams I have always sought
Your heart's love which daily endears my mind
For it has always been my heart's fervent desire
To of your sweet love belong an infinite time
For to serve the daily needs of your lovely heart
Each day leaves my face with an enthralling glow
Knowing I will never have a single desire to depart
Those beautifully enchanting eyes who love me so.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
I have an urge to write words that make the soul cry
Weep tears of enlightenment
To summarize my life in a paragraph
No more body criticism, snipping my spaghetti straps
Running in a stumbled line away from confinement
Forgetting the word comprise
Reality takes a stand reminding me, who will be the mediocre house wife
Instead of making a dramatic exit, I drink whiskey and the world has plenty
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
trapped
in solitary confinement -
with the key to the exit
in your reach -
with nowhere to go
and no one to meet -
with nothing to do,
besides watching seconds,
evolve into minutes,
evolve into hours,
evolve into days.
would you leave?
- v.m
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 5:32 AM UTC
Mercies at juxtapositional refinement
Abandoned constitutional confinement
Handshakes on the bridged ligaments
The sweet melodious serene dreams fleets
One after the other like peculiar inventions
The mellow scenes of frames realignments
Wonderful crafted words verses paradigm
Harmonic jazz awesomeness, decode freeness
Orchestral spontaneity drills pragmatic energy
Yet, as the gingered steams rise from the hot brew
The scented breeze of life vaticinates with a smile afar
Whispers of "no obligation, no expectations" reverbs..... on and on....on and on
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
"oh, there you are", and i’m not sure
where i’m supposed to have been
here we are again angelflower
tying stones to our chests and waiting to drown (this is okay,
i swear to god, or something like that
isnt that what i’m supposed to say?)
i want to set the world on fire, gaslit galaxy
isnt it so fitting? isnt it just perfect?
i wonder how many astronomy problems you havent solved
and you say, "god
this isn't important right now
how can you be a god when you're not immortal"
sometimes i think you can feel me bleeding from 1643 miles away
this isn’t neverland anymore--
what are you afraid of?
something about cornfields and misery heartbeats and
almost like you said something you shouldn’t have,isn’t it? you’re always
so proud,
you’re always so hungry.
by god, you old man, you weathered, withered, beast
grab a shovel, grab whatever you can
this isn’t neverland anymore--
this isn’t andromeda,no galaxy here,
no stars or planetary confinement,
and you were never icarus.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC