"hermit" poems
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.
Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreadful cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but not from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless.
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.
11.1k
I am the entourage
Of a fantastic mirage
I am the agent
Of my mind's figment
I am a believer
Of mythical creatures
I am a builder
Of splendid architecture
I am a drunkard
Tripping on futures so absurd
I plan construction
Of my own destruction
I am the feeder
To dreams of grandeur
I am a magician
Of wild, potent concoctions
I am a tycoon
Of emotional typhoons
I am an adept
Skilled in exploiting concepts
I am a parasite
Brandishing fangs that bite
I play host
To a monstrous, hideous ghost
I am an addict
Of thoughts derelict
I am the dreamer
Incapable of anything lesser
I am a diver
Sinking deeper and deeper
I am an insatiable thief
Claiming trophies without grief
I am an emotional hermit
Hoarding my all in a bottomless pit
I am a weaver
Fabricating tales that meander
I am a Neanderthal
Adopting behaviours and habits that appall
I am an ape
Mending wounds that gape
I am but me
I'm blind, fighting to see
I am rhymesmith
I lie through my teeth
Getting hard to breathe
Heart to words, I seethe...
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
& now I know we share Oscar Peterson in common
I want to love you all the more,
till the world ends
Let our beloved rain fall
Let our days howl of our Ginsberg
Plath, Eliot & Dylan
& others, more obscure
Let us buy that Edward Hopper
we both love
& let us sleep in your car
out on the Yorkshire Moors
You're the milk in my coffee
Let me be the billboard
you advertize our love on
lets be breathless metaphors
of each other
the quotation marks
around each others words
high on the ******* of stars
& always read
each others poems
drag each other to open mics
& drink too much
let's make Cupid jealous
of the fiery arrows
we use to stab
one another
if it doesn't work out
& make the Angels
jealous of our heaven
if it does
lets be a restless breeze
that blows
through the world
& stirs each leaf
with our words
lets just be us
fellow hermit
fellow poet
Soulmate
that's
the word
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Help I have bad internet connection
I can't check the school website.
That means I won't know about a test
That means I won't study
That means I will fail
That means I will get bad grades
That means I won't get into a good school
That means I won't get a good job
That means I won't get money
That means I won't buy food
That means I won't eat
That means I will die
Help I have bad internet connection
I can't get on facebook
That means I can't change my status
That means I don't take my relationship serious
That means he will dump me
That means I will be single
That means I won't get married
That means I will die alone
Help I have bad internet connection
I can't FaceTime
That means people are waiting for me
That means I won't show up
That means they will get worried
That means they might over react
That means they could call the police
That means they will think I'm missing
That means they will look for me
That means my family will get scared
That means they may start thinking the worst
That means they will think I'm dead
That means they will be upset
That means they will look for my body
That means they will find me
That means they will realize I'm not dead
That means they will be mad at me for scaring them
That means they will punish me, stop talking to me, who knows what else.
Help I have bad internet connection
I can't see any news
That means I won't know what's happening
That means I will be left out of all the conversations
That means I will be an outcast
That means I will have no friends
That means I will not make any relationships
That means I will go through life alone
That means I will become a hermit
Help I have bad internet connection
I can't access the e-library
That means no books
That means no learning
That means not getting any smarter
That means not getting into a good school
That means not getting a good job
That means no money
That means no buying food
That means no eating
That means I will die.
Face it! Life revolves around internet! If you have bad internet connection you could die, you couldn't even get on hello poetry *gasp!
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
For long, my house has been lying deserted
My gate has not been opened wide to let in anyone
No guest has so far come to visit me
Tired of distant wanderings
I have come here to listen to the beat of silence
Occasionally broken by the sound
Of birds' laughing wings overhead
Here I have brooding shadows for company
Hermit like I wrap myself in my solitude
Now abruptly when you announce your arrival
I feel excited and equally perplexed
What shall I serve you? I am at a loss
My hearth has not been lighted for long
And my kitchen pots remain empty
I know I should serve you
Something chilled or warm
In my menu, I have a simple surprise
But not of the edible kind
Nor delectable to your palate
But as I have known you since long
I hope it will appease you
In poetry’s platter
I shall serve my thoughts warm,
Garnered in the lonely hours
Of my solitude!
The only dish I have!
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
When once the sun sinks in the west,
And dewdrops pearl the evening’s breast;
Almost as pale as moonbeams are,
Or its companionable star,
The evening primrose opes anew
Its delicate blossoms to the dew;
And, hermit-like, shunning the light,
Wastes its fair bloom upon the night,
Who, blindfold to its fond caresses,
Knows not the beauty it possesses;
Thus it blooms on while night is by;
When day looks out with open eye,
Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun,
It faints and withers and is gone.
6.3k
I'm going to be a hermit
And hide my life from view
Get my act together
Maybe start anew
Good morning will be the sunrise
Sunset will be goodnight
Maybe I'll work it out
Hope I'll be alright
The birds will sing their song to me
My heart may fill again
Skies fill with their dark clouds
It begins to rain
The rain will hide the tears I cry
And bathe my weary soul
This heart could be once more
Broken...mended...whole.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
I feel as if my head is sliding off my neck like ice cream melting down the cone. I am a witch melting, shrinking smaller as my spine stacks horizontally like shiplap. My body has been refurbished into a pinball machine. Something so tiny as a silver ball destroys so much. It bullets through my body, shooting off like Cuban missiles. I feel the turmoil and chaos seeping through the gutters of this old home of bones. It's like spilled oil sludging through my blood vessels or rats scattering through a sewer, nibbling and feasting away on these muscles of mine until they are frayed like gnawed-on cable wires. At odd hours of the night when time is propelled by the safe travels of breath (that weave in and out like Victorians at a ball) from sleepy children who have yet been touched by monsters or nymphs, whereas each of my breaths steer Odysseus's weather-beaten boat through ten years of treachery. My heavy, melting head slowly sloping like clay off a bust makes its home on my dingy pillow as I lay on a prison bed with cold shackles around my ankles that make my bones shatter into a mosaic as if that could shrink my ankles so I can slip out. I feel like a chained hawk at these hours of the night when I just want to fly until I screech to a halt and flail over the cliff that waterfalls into the ends of the universe. I'd be reluctant at first, perhaps, but what other escape does one have other than to make an autopsist's Y-incision on one's body, then slip out like a hermit crab freeing himself from his heavy shell? Embarking onto a new dimension where there's hope for a radical swap of atoms that don't shape a crippled, deteriorating human is the only choice when you want to live a life other than what you were cursed with. May we then find peace and live as naked souls bearing no heavy shells.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
i was a hermit,
and you dragged me into
the never-ending metropolis
of your lives.
i was content in isolation,
and you introduced me
to birds of prey and
astronauts.
i was an entertaining centerpiece
for a day.
i was an entertaining delay.
i was the perfect way to segue
him back to his place.
i was a hermit,
and you bled me
to see how much
was left of me.
i was glad to see,
you were dissatisfied
with the amount.
i was a writer, a liar,
i was a dreamer, a denier,
i was a scapegoat, and the angry judge at your throat.
i am a hermit
with no place or person
to go.
i am a hermit
with no individual
soul.
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 12:04 PM UTC
Beyond which no dreams knock
My eyes are that threshold
More than my talks
Only my symbolic silences were there
Since you came here
My world started moving
World of mine started moving
The place of God was empty in my heart
Today I saw your face in that place
I came to you wandering like a cloud
I came and I showered as if you are a hill
You be the soul and I will be the body
Lifelong I will be your shadow
I then want to become a hermit
So I tell you, I want to be yours
You harness me, I am the power
You are the night, I am the moonlight
The place of God was empty in my heart
Today I saw your face in that place
I came to you wandering like a cloud
I came and I showered as if you are a hill
We will pay the favour of stars
We had many incomplete desires
That still bind us to each other
The desire of a darling little one
In our little home, we will get settled
Let nobody's evil eye baffle us
The place of God was empty in my heart
Today I saw your face in that place
I came to you wandering like a cloud
I came and I showered as if you are a hill
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 6:10 AM UTC
i held his hand as we sank into the shore.
glass shards, ripping
& stinging our feet. but
i could not ask for more.
i could not ask at all.
the ocean loomed - a heavy shadow,
too dark to be blue. it lapped at our
wounds, like a hungry tomb and
the wind was begging
for me to fall.
quicksand, almost. we were knee deep
into the wrecked atlantis of the creatures
who used to live on the beach.
they once held hands too.
they once had someone to call.
the biggest of waves it was his home it was his place i could not save him from grace it
swallowed him whole.
and i, a carcass along the shore.
i began to understand why hermit *****
said goodbye to their shells with a drawl.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 11:07 AM UTC
She picked it up from the seashore.
He encouraged her,
Flattered her with indulgence
To bring back her dying flame.
A girl once again,
She brought it home
In whimsically ebullient innocence!
On the polished floor
In a faraway city
It found it hard to walk
With the load of mollusk
And made a funny sight!
It strained its ears
But there was no sound of the sea,
No saline smell in the air,
Instead the water was sweet and insipid.
It went thirsty.
The food was alien,
It went hungry.
Soon they polished the shell
And celebrated addition of
Another showpiece in their room!
The crab had at last
Found a new home.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 3:06 AM UTC
Black soot
Shrivelled up Cadbury
wrapper eyes
You were not my antidote
You turned a balanced
happy
friendly
spice 'n' all things nice girl
into a hermit with
bloodied fingers, a
self-destructive narcissist
(or did you just
coax her out of her shell)
well
I quit on you
the ****** is the **** spoon
your prose the lighter
your hips the dealer
my heart the coffin.
I cried
I cry
I will cry
Over your constellation swamps
Housing crocodiles
Water-borne diseases
and piranhas
I am naive;
I think my youth protects me.
My youth enslaves me.
Binds me in paper chains.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
This time I'm going to do the hermit thing right
Inner-work and self-love from morning to night
Awareness of all my woes and insecurities
Connecting with universal flows and obscurities
Going into my depths, no human interference
Focusing on my soul, not my appearance
Transmuting all my deep pain into sweet pleasure
While turning these dark coals into beautiful treasure
This focus and expansion is serving me well
Returning to my inner heaven, away from this hell
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 10:58 PM UTC
a hermit once thought
I will never be remembered.
Never was I special
Never meant for greatness
Always forgotten
However
Feelings of such are no big deal
To a fella like me
Elusive to keen absolution
I'll be
THE
BEST
FORGOTTEN
MEMORY
THAT
THE
WORLD
EVER
DID
SEE
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Silent writer shifts poetic,
she, whom critics name neurotic;
despite all, she stays ecstatic
trifling shy, a bit exotic.
Watch her pen on paper flutter,
words pour out in a cascade;
not a word does her mouth mutter,
living a mute masquerade.
Streams of passion does she write,
guided by the Moon serene;
recording words by candlelight,
in life a hermit, in truth a queen.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 9:27 PM UTC
It's such a beautiful relationship
like birds cleaning crocodile teeth
feeding on what didn't make it to the stomach
these words rely on me
A vessel
and hopefully they don't
act like hermit *****
because without them
I would just be a ***
who drinks and smokes too much
But as long as I have the ability
to manipulate the world around me
in the chaotic rush
of my infinite mental expanses
and nooks and crannies
I can give them life
like a midwife
I bring them into the world
and name them poems
or stories
so that they might live forever
burned in the retinas of strangers
or etched on the wood of my desk
I hope we will always
need each other
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 10:55 AM UTC
Too too sweet for my ears,
What angelic song of your loveliness
Could ever sweep low enough
To reach my soul?
Does the hermit crab
Ever delight in the
Sweet and free
Birdsong?
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 9:21 AM UTC
As a hermit crab does she dwell
Safe within a borrowed shell
Here she lives in fear
Of the outside world
She feels so near
She exists here all alone
Only home she's ever known
Fearing what she'll find
Danger lies ahead
Safety left behind
No longer confined, free at last
All her doubts now in the past
Free now to explore
All the places
She feared before
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
.
The more I think, and reflect about life, the more it strikes how little we need to survive.
.
But then the question of my life itself baffles me still.
In the name of
Cups and Wands
and Swords and Pentacles.
How does one figure out
how one wants to ease into the world—
in what manner
what face
what costume
what identity
shall we assume
in this theatrical muse of mass-scale rehabilitation.
Searching,
for the right attire
in a tolerable personality.
To eventualize, to officiate, to become
A masterpiece—
by the hands of time
and the wheels of fortune.
So that we may be made worthy
Maybe, if you were dealt with luck.
Fortune's Fool—
How do we know which
is the correct way to go
sᴉ ǝɥʇ ʇɔǝɹɹoɔ ʎɐʍ oʇ oɓ·
in hindsight.
To hunt for a halo in the robes of glee
while you dwindle in time
Abject, at sea.
Cut the chase.
Bleed. Heal.
Await the haemorhage and its evanescence.
And when you approach the Great Finale,
Be free.
.
At any moment of time, we have one foot in the abyss while the other lapses into ecstasy.
.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
On the low-flung periphery of the salt marsh bay,
near the twisted beach, an eddy--
Sun low with the tide going up
where softly and under I lay.
For a pillow I was given
a yellow shell.
My ears were listening.
In its restlessness and reaching,
my tongue and its languages
felt lashed and closed.
I shall not leave
my waterworld.
But I must go,
ashore.
Hermit crab
raised itself up.
One silvery minnow played
across my open eyes.
Then, a cloud-blue sky
answered me
with a white seabird,
overhead circling.
So strange and beautiful,
this land of my dream I see--
in my amphibian way.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
*I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I gather...
I analyse...
I stow away all that I've learnt.*
Because when the wind would blow
and the earth wouldn't understand.
When the world would tremble,
shaken by man's ruthless hand.
*I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I listen...
I keep...
I stockpile in the shadows.*
Because in my blood exists grudge...
And my bones, weary from despair.
My skin screams exhaustion
and my body feigns to care.
*I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I overthink...
I hide...
I hoard all my thoughts.*
Because the walls have ears
and these pages bear eyes.
What my heart truly knows...
Is that your mouth tells only lies.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 10:14 AM UTC
I’m thinking of the faded checkered pattern that has been
smoothed away by time on the dark cloth seats of a Nissan Pathfinder
driving down Ryan Road on a hot day in June.
My mother, in the front seat, singing along to a Spice Girls cassette.
I’m thinking: red, plastic, crab-shaped sandbox and
McDonald’s Happy Meal toys.
I’m thinking: light princess pink, seafoam green, and robin’s egg blue.
I’m thinking of a framed cheetah cross stitch, hanging on the wall of what
used to be our bedroom at my grandparent’s house.
I’m thinking: Barbie doll houses and Hot Wheels and a cul-de-sac at
the end of the street.
The sweet smell of cigar smoke. The ice cold splash of the garden hose. The pop of a bubble. The sting of soap in the eye. Dreams by The Cranberries. As Long as You Love Me by The Backstreet Boys. A HelloKitty boombox slowly spitting out vapor when the deck builders hit a power line while digging. The deer in the backyard looking for corn. The faded wood of a playset that was never really played on.
My father: sitting alone on a splintered bench by the firepit at the edge of the woods, empty beer cans at his feet, chain smoking cigarettes, and humming along to a song that is stuck—forever stuck—on the tip of my tongue.
I do not know if this happened. I cannot ask him.
(I’m not sure if I would want to ask him.)
But I can make an educated inference that that line of
fiction is really nonfiction.
A memory that feels like a phantom limb.
Sounds like the sharp crinkle of static.
Covered in a gossamer, dreamlike haze.
There is a distinct otherness to this memory, to who
I think I was before the trauma.
We are two different people. A yin and a yang. A day and a night.
The hermit crab is soft beneath its hard shell.
The asbestos is not apparent within the insulation.
You cannot see the lead in the paint.
The mold inside the fruit.
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 2:46 AM UTC
i am abrasive
personality functionality deficit
yet i attract
beautiful women
to befriend the hermit of solidarity
will you go out with me
brought answers on no
my friend i could not lose
yet for the end of altruistic bargaining
i end up ahead
with false promises of a beginning
to an end my own personal
apocalypse
david lee roth would understand
that as i write in this
mindset
brought on by reading
778 comics in 12 hours
and a 4 day binge of job for a cowboy
my mind wanders
as insomnia sets in
would i be one of the great
dissociative poets?
a dose of the unrequited free associative minds
free thinking form of diet coke with a side of purple strawberries no i meant blueberries
my mind wanders
and yet i look forward to pad thai on wednesdays with cute blondes whom with i stand
the chance of a bat in the mosh pits of a metal band
suckers
i win
for you all know the taste of yellow mustard
ramble ramble ramble
this indie pop poem
would it be ironic to like it
if one truly hates the wording
and yet loves the idea
one of lives greatest life mysteries
alcohol i bid thee a fair welcome
nimble bubblegum monkey wrench
how long will you read?
enough to to see my lack of coherent sentence structure
or that i am a flawed creation
going on and on about existential non existent problems
for i shall exist regardless of my best intentions
as the wheel continues to roll on despite the moss covering this ice slicked track
metal boar slayer of a thousand suns would be a good metal name from sweden
the mooring dove coos to the beat of an undead drum
boo hoo boo hoo cries the witch at the stake
i am done
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
In this Dragon's Year eighty Candles knock
Kneeling to Confirm another Life's Best
Your Strength, still sturdy; Your Concepts, in-lock
Which Rivers flowing among all your rest
I thanked you before for Friendship accept
Though Identity was risk to beseech
Still in your Paper those Laurels you kept
That Wisdom only an Open Mind could reach
And guess what, Coach, did you see your Boy's stunt,
Flicking himself in an air-wheel Down Under?
Where a Hermit Crab's shell prayed his be blunt
Hoping his Weight would not crush it asunder.
Joking aside, may your Day all be well
Knowing your Shoes are dancing, I can tell.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC