"quarantined" poems
how sad to be misunderstood
to be evicted from life
to have the full tenure
of a torrid human existence
gesture horribly at you
in faultless reputation
like that of a rancid rage
over a lost trinket
or to be quarantined
while fingerless skin scolds
and noiseless voices are raised
in a donated generosity of savage ignorance
striving to make copious amends
in vain efforts to regrettable
slow acting poison that boils the mind
oh how sad to be misunderstood
such varicose viciousness
oh it’s sad quite sad to be misunderstood
to live through and inoculated hour glass
giving limitless time to a wildfire of idiocy
and when your breath speaks they laugh
black laughter that shatters wet umbilical truths
shudders
knowledge gestures to smoking nostrils
oh how sad, how sad it is to be misunderstood
to be drenched in the rain but not get wet
in which antiquity rests with its
mythologised stupendous ill effects
getting vivid shadows massed all around
oh how sad it is to be misunderstood
until dactylic, hexameter, elegance
completes and slithering syllables
by their antiquity focus a shuddering shriek
that sends an exploding heart through your chest
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
there is cholera in the time of love.
quarantined feelings
making sure this fever
will not spike to five hundred
sixty-one.
there is cholera in the time of love.
gas masks of affection
hazmat suits of admiration
latex gloves of love.
is it the cholera infecting
the love or the
love infecting the
cholera?
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 10:25 PM UTC
Tiger land we got the virus
You thought animals couldn’t get it
But a tiger got it and
He was from the Bronx zoo in New York
He got it from a zookeeper
Really that it is bad
That this tiger got the virus
We should watch out for his class
That this tiger could do more than
Bite if you annoy
To every girl and boy
He could give the virus to everybody around
And the tiger doesn’t have the knowledge to wash his hands
Like the humans do
But this tiger can spread the virus
To everybody here
If they touch body, nose and ear
Tigers can spread this virus
So how are we going to
Keep this tiger in isolation
He won’t perform on social media
Cause he is a cute tiger
And god knows if a tiger could get it
He could escape and do more than
Bite our *** to death
He could spread the virus for our deaths
I rhymed death with deaths
Who cares because a tiger has the virus
And hopefully they can keep this tiger
Safe and in quarantined forever and ever
Orange and black
Keep this tiger safe
Oh yeah
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 9:43 PM UTC
Never let the ******** get us down
The world won’t stop, won’t be letdown
The ground won’t shatter, won’t be a breakdown
The power is out, complete shutdown
Fall to the ground, facedown
Sometimes all is not okay in the comedown
Sometimes all you have to do is slowdown
Don’t make this into a showdown
Turn it into a knockdown
Quarantined, put into lockdown
Don’t let them be a putdown
This world is a freetown.
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 4:59 PM UTC
You would love me more
if you knew
the things I don't say
love me more
for the tears repressed/unseen
the thoughts that rise
yet fast sequestered,
virus quarantined,
lest infection spread
occasional
moan groan
an Ebola moon June
escapes,
inquiring ears overhear
and ask...
but quick deflected
with a
** hum,
nothing luv,
pushed back into
the hidey hole of opprobrium
and acid reflux
why why
suppress
if loving you better
the net net of it?
this is not the candy coated,
but the coal glow strife
that cannot be
quenched nor
solved with
anti-pain
meds
so put away, aside,
push back inside
you would
love me better
for the sharing,
but love me enough
for the be I be,
let my roughened edged pains,
be buried with my remains
a love unfettered
will place no obstacle
before you
from within me
love me for the man I am,
just the average man iam,
knowing that not knowing all,
not a deceit,
but a reprieve,
what I share,
strained and sleeved,
tho unrelieved,
it is relief
that burdens but,
only me
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
On the evening of August 6th
The body is separated, eviscerated
Stone walls
Lost thralls
A family takes their evening stroll
And finds themselves imprisoned
Their umbilical cord, cut down the half
Microwave oven
Searing monsoon shower
Vagrant feet are shackled
Eyes are blinded with exhaust pipes
The East is not allowed to cry alone
Decay, wail on
Wail on
Contain us
Dear Marcus, free me
From these Pyrrhic victories
Clean this dusky mall
I feel safe under phosphoric lights
Guerillas swing on electric wires
Transatlantic conversations
Acquired on paper
Perverse
Desecrated
Red cloth seizes everything
Stray, running felines
The impassioned, waving flag
Kept in a velvet pocket
Stay here, stay a while
This cold era is a rising draft
The Bermuda Triangle
Quarantined
No more ships crawl along the winded shore
A time capsule
The nation sinks into antiquity
The brink of armageddon
Cusp of oblivion
Crimson hand of eternity
An old, whittled clock
Last minute
Cold Turkey!
God almighty
Peace is never promised
But we may yearn again
Nobody is free
But we are safe for another hour
God almighty
Leases on the lands
Paid in thorns
Nations playing circles
Mr. Versus Mr.
An ever-changing world
Stagnant and tightly oiled
Save this soil
It will cave in silence
The clockmaker sits in the backdrop
Readying her tools
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
it doesn't matter
that you used to
walk the night
in search of food
and housing.
it means, "I wish
upon a star" became
a wish upon a bar
stool.
our foolish lisp
never quarantined
itself for fear of
loneliness
the stir stick
of caffeine
insanity
(where was
your princess
when the king
-dumb fell)
"well," He choked,
"she was busy with
the lampshade..
or a lack thereof"
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
***Always with the separate rooms, same separate landlocked pontoons. Another follow up, billow of rank stank air, stale like the calming still of shell shocked monsoons, into the deep dark abyss I stare-
Heightens my senses, that still begotten presence of quarantined ill begotten dimensions, left stark and in the dark with nothing but the whistling of our declining pensions-
Repentance ask it of yourself, there's always an extra bottle on the tippy top shelf, reach high, you don't have to lie now, go ahead and lay that lye down-
Corrosion never felt so **** good...***
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
Such harrowing moments peak come noon
When quarantined within decaying space
To mellow, indie music my heart croons
As through strife significant I ace
Upon me she bestowed a memory
A timeless foundation to cherish
Images vivid, yet quite sensory
An illustration of the fairest
To caress and cuddle I yearn
A feat not quite easy to complete
Evolving frost wounds may they burn
By way of passion we shall deplete
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC
Resonance...
The focal point
in which
The quarantined energy
Basks in the being of another
Creating seemingly nothing
But
To eyes of forming cosmos
Chaotic lust
Translucent harmony
As the gravitational pull ensues
Friction takes hold
Spiraling high velocity
Breaching the mass
The unaware are slowly ****** in
Vacuumized ions
Building to the climatic
And otherwise futile
Struggle
Yes struggle
These sources
The positives
The negatives
Strangers to the vortex
Outsiders
Exacting alpha status
Until one succeeds
Casting out thwarted energy
Is all but spent
Leaving nothing more than resonance
Of what was
And could be
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
Grey is this town,
A never ending spiral of hate and violence.
Depression is contagious here.
Why haven't we been quarantined.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
This lockdown has refashioned everything.
Not only our daily work schedules,
But reduction in pollution and demand of fuels.
Yes it made us shut our places to worship.
But has opened a window to evaluate our personal relationships.
Now queues outside restaurants and cinema is absent,
But we have got time to ponder on our future and relishing our present.
This lockdown has refashioned everything.
Definitely you cannot travel and be social,
But this has taught you to go 'Vocal for Local'.
Yes it has hampered the growth rate.
But now we value whatever we have on our plate.
We have been quarantined in our own homes,
But now we know life is more precious than thrones.
This lockdown has refashioned everything.
May 31, 2020
May 31, 2020 at 3:20 PM UTC
My thoughts are contaminated with an unknown radiation
and the blood in my veins feels as if it has have been replaced
by toxic sludge.
There are ink stains on the bedding where my body rested
from the times were my quarantined mind was deprived of slumber, for further testing.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
Sleep did not come
and his stomach was a sea
of acid festering on the rotting
husks of swallowed lies
and quarantined pain
objects too sharp to fit into any
puzzle strewn over
carpeted floor they lie in wait
to **** their tithe
Every one a knife
every stab a cruel joke
painting him into the corner
where he belongs.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
I quarantined myself in a still pool
tranquil and floating, waiting for the ice
to finally freeze my turbid heart
into a more peaceful *****
On the shore you saw me
or I saw you
and perhaps I was a lighthouse
or perhaps you were a lifeboat,
gliding from the banks
you poured yourself in like hot oil.
As you slipped over my arms, legs, torso, face,
you breathed into my ear a steady stream of prophecy and promise
-It's not right for a woman like you to be alone. You are built to give.
And so I felt your mouth seal over mine
and allowed you to inhale the starry swirls of life
I had been conserving for winter.
As you pulled me far deeper with you
we could not emulsify
but we became inseparable.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
What is loved,
now is cumbersome to engage.
Some sort of lethargy resists my path.
Reaching a state of catharsis is draining now.
Not emotionally but physically.
Stuck in this house, with no way out.
Quarantined from a virus.
But I’ve come down with one that leaches my creativity.
Writing this poem is hard. It feels plastic.
Even though I’m writing clear what’s so elastic.
It stretches around me so true,
But when I speak it, it lies and makes me blue.
I need freedom to return to my soul.
And an inoculate to cleanse it of this toll.
These two ailments leave me,
Chained and restrained.
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 3:52 PM UTC
particularly bad outbreak this year
slightly contagious
draining strength
causing hate of the daylight
"i miss you" are the hardest words to say
the sick are quarantined;
the month of love is almost here
someone i never met told me
life is lonely...
not if you live on earth
but for those who live on made up planets
we need to be taken
to places we've never seen before
to Heaven....
i'll carry you up the hill
"i miss you" are the hardest words to say
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 7:50 AM UTC
Trouble around the corner, any area you stare.
Leaving you hopeless, tired, and without a care.
Doing things in life like it's from a kid's dare,
Making you second guess reality as it may appear.
A bucket of water splashed across your face with an overwhelming dose of adversity to evolve the neuroplastic mind.
A friend who will listen intently with no judgment to find within your unrefined fight for serenity and peace of mind, no longer quarantined.
You are your own, you're not the epitome of the pain,
you are the person who should be boasting the rest as insane.
For when we all go through a fire-lined avenue of trial,
you can stand grounded, strong, and justifiable,
as your life, pain, and utter strength is now undeniable.
- For Brian
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
I've lost my voice, misplaced or hidden by me.
Quarantined and deemed unclean, I'd rather kick this chair and choke.
This broken record playing, static pitch inside my head
Most tragic note I've ever formed.
You mourn that which I consider normal.
I swore refusal of logic resolve.
You called my bluff, and my throat choked up.
Don't call
This love.
I know that which you see as sacred.
We grow together with no need for words.
Your mind grabs me, leaves me gasping.
Don't call
This love.
My voice returns in vibrant resolve.
Echoes freely, hopelessness swiftly absolved.
Let's just enjoy this.
Don't call
This love.
Let's just
Enjoy this.
Don't call
This love.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 7:07 PM UTC
I enter my shell and close the door
No exchange of energy
No exchange of matter
Expertly self-search and lore
It’s a quarantined route
Gathering pieces that shatter
The outside is mute
The inside is deafening
*Reckoning dilemmas
Disentangling dilemmas
Accepting dilemmas*
I and I and myself
All my selves
Reading books from my inner shelf
Words written with my ink
I blink I blink and again I blink
I realize the wholly interlink
*I sense the web of tears
I see the web of cheers*
The web of regrets
Those past sweats
The now is past
There’s a fresh now
I smoke a cigarette
That's past and there's a new now
*A present absent of digress
A present fueled by recognition*
Recognition of a web which confess
That I am one
Revealing a tone of ambition
That I once swore I would roar for the soul
This is me opening the door
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
"Do you wish to go back?"
'Back where?' I find myself asking. The voice seems to echo throughout this blackness where there is no ground nor air.
"Do you wish to go back?"
The question booms ferociously like the lion's roar above the mountaintops, making those in the quiet valley below pause and shake.
"Do you wish to go back?"
'Oh, you're still here? I thought that if I stayed quiet you would go away.'
"Do you wish to go back?"
'Back where?' I find myself asking. 'Back to the times that I wished the letters that spilled out of my lips tumbled into different words than what they came out to be?'
"Do you wish to go back?"
'Back to the times where I felt quarantined when in a group of friends? Back to the times where I felt the grass wrap around my ankles to root me in place? Back to the times where I heard the leaves gossip my name?'
"Do you wish to go back?"
'Further you ask? I assure you that's not a time that I would enjoy going back to.'
"Do you wish to go back?"
'I do not know.'
"Do you wish to go back?"
'Will the words I said make sense? Will I not feel so trapped in my groups of friends? Will the blades of grass release my feet and the whispering cease from the abundance of leaves? Will I find love, happiness, or defeat? Will I find something that makes sense to me?'
"Do you wish to go back?"
There is a pause, a stillness in the dark. I wish to speak but I feel that I have no words left. I am the letter in an envelope of shade, swallowed by the surrounding shadows. Then it comes, I feel the ground beneath my feet and air above my head. It slowly churns from my stomach up to my mouth where I then said,
"I wish to go back."
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
We were parodies of our parents,
Twisted mirror images,
Emulating something we can’t understand,
Trying to mimic something we haven’t seen.
Unsure of what we are, or were, or will become.
Control is the new black, painted on the walls in our love shack
That hasn’t had a visitor since this time last spring
Light filters through muggy dust, floating through the air like plankton in the sea,
And we were the whales, filtering through our mouths,
Unable to consume anything more substantive.
Our teeth fell out with old age,
But my face is still smooth.
We are green shoots, erupting with violence from the malnourished soils,
Desperate for a drop of sunlight,
Sweet relief.
Sweetest silence in another’s company,
Words were made to lie with,
Bodies are made to lie with,
As they huddle together to try to warm up,
But my hair is needles, and my arms are razor blades;
Steely coldness, severing all that tries to warm it up,
Stabbing what gets too close,
Feeling like you're quarantined.
The phoenix is reborn to be given the chance,
to be the man he thought he could never be,
But scrub and scald, the slate won't come clean,
The only escape is constant escape,
Never stop moving.
Venom leaks from my skin,
Bright colours warn predators,
While sweet sounds attract mates,
Aural honey sticks in the holes we put in my brain,
And for about three minutes and forty-seven seconds
Everything is about the vibrations.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
Hopeless endeavour.
The desecration of vitality,
Melancholy entices the pond of hope, repelling golden shimmering.
Infernal tendrils bringing insight to carress in snide
Dug its sharp elongated thorns inside, mending its stride
Gently encompass its roots around the mask,
The concrete veil that shone brightly in false atonement.
Expulsion from the realm of gold, sent astray for an eternity;
Such naïve, brazen happiness, ignorant of the caveats
The mere playground of unbridled mania quarantined.
Faux manifestations of an illusory smile,
For the horizon cast mere wisps of blight,
Rejecting heartbeat of rays gone awry.
They smirk as they watch you flee.
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC