Isolationist
to live like a lock
exact and satisfied
so fine a contrivance
in such a grotto
but then to have
no light dancing on the sea
and the sea rocking at a distance
in every body
Poems on the topic: solitude
Poems on the topic “solitude” on Poets.by.
Solitary
all alone I am king of the yard
I am content
as a fish
and in the company of letters
I do not find people
so wanting
A sailor’s life
All afternoon I row alone
in rings
in too much wine.
Sitting on the dock of the bay
Early in the morning,
the sea’s grammar
and diction please me,
exceeding all joy.
I weary of company.
The papers thin.
Thin Life
a rank, thin life I live
nothing to care for but myself
sea surge in a drowned mouth
capable of being what I do
Insomniac (3)
morning is a lie
night will make night
I continue alone, head full
of my own multitude
Singular
I used to wake without my work
without a double all day
sitting in me
Twickenham
I went to Twickenham to sit
I went to Twickenham to think
alone in a closet
I played on my flageolet
till the bell-man came by with his bell
and left my wife and the maid a-washing still.
Heard on High
In the news: a last-minute Brexit deal, a Covid stimulus bill passing through Congress, and possible signs of intelligent life from Proxima Centauri. Sitting outside around midnight, I watch a deer silhouetted against the snow pick her way to the stream, hooves crunching through the icy snowpack. And the lacework of tree branches: a threadbare garment. It’s one thing to feel as if we’re all connected in some cosmic web, but it’s another matter entirely to share the bleak familiarity of our solitude with strangers, I mutter to myself. Her head goes up, ears pivoting like radio telescopes in my direction.
power outage
all the glowing lights
in the sky
* * *
i know i can be
alone.
i can survive the pain
alone.
i can feel the happiness
alone.
having you around is
comforting.
it's nice to not be by
myself.
but don't overstep your
place.
because i know i can be
alone.
fear
11.A Drunkard, Alone
In these fumes of whisky and tobacco
I disappear, slow-
This soft music
And this solitude-
Mind dulls
Limbs droop,
My death, come!
The last visitor has left.
April Bonus Poem: I Will Build My Cottage
with the lobster traps stacked
against the green fence,
under the old willow,
and it will be made of sea wrack
and sea foam, and painted the color of islands,
and flash in the light like a gull’s wing
in the morning,
and there will I wile my time,
lost to the world of plans and contingencies,
carefully sculpting my stories,
becoming a legend.
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