By Anne Halsey
At her aunt’s house
in Portchester roaming
the Jersey meadows
after flowers, she felt
something pulling
at…
in Portchester roaming
the Jersey meadows
after flowers, she felt
something pulling
at…
Explore Poems: Solitude
Showing 1-20 of 59 poems
- By Lia PurpuraWhile I waited
fall came on.
I sat in one
bright interstice
and nothing
filled, it was
already at the brim… - By Maya RibaultCiao sachet chum, porkpie panache,you ditsy-dots chatelaine.
Takes that much work to be a fairywith a hoyi-hoyi-hoyi. - By Peter KlineIf we’re put here long enough, someone’s bound to learn something. The sweep of the second hand erases…
- By Cameron Awkward-RichIt is morning. Remember that.
It is morning and the house is quiet,
so quiet that I can, for the moment… - By Lauren RussellHammock dumping
you onto bruised
grasses, frayed
thoughts droop
sideways, hammering
morning. Slipper-
footed… - By Sarah Burgoynei say child but what i mean is now
still preferring the moss lawn to the
“superior” grass lawn my parents… - By Elizabeth MetzgerHow much longer can we ignore the mushrooms?
Their shade is surprisingly matte
with no complexity. Why one is larger than another,
closer or farther apart,
I no longer think has any significance
for us
though so far we have let them live.
Part of me despises... - By Inger ChristensenTranslated By Susanna Niedso here I stand by the
out there is the
and it looks like the
is always alone with the
but around behind the
the water stops at
and just behind
ice drifts in the
and just behind the
there’s solid ice at the
and just behind the
it looks like... - By Ha JinSo let misunderstanding spread.
It only shows how different
you are from others.
Many things cannot bear
explaining; you'd better
let silence and labor speak
in your defense.
You don't need many friends
or to be enamored with beautiful women
or share the wine of happy gatherings,
because you have... - By José Olivarezso when i walk down the street, i hold hands
with the wind. there’s a chimney coughing
up ahead & a sky so honey, i could almost taste it.
a cat struts away from me & two yellow eyes
become four: just like that,
i’m... - By Audre LordeFor those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at... - By Donald DavieA queer thing about those waters: there are noBirds there, or hardly any.
I did not miss them, I do not remember
Missing them, or thinking it uncanny.
The beach so-called was a blinding splinter of limestone,
A quarry outraged by hulls.
We took pleasure... - By Meg KearneyThe girl hunting with her father approaches
the strange man who has stopped at the end
of his day to rest and look at the lake.
Do you like geese? she asks. The man smiles.
The girl draws a webbed foot from her pocket
and... - By Camille RankineIn the half-light, I am most
at home, my shadow
as company.
When I feel hot, I push a button
to make it stop. I mean this stain on my mind
I can’t get out. How human
I seem. Like modern man,
I traffic in extinction. I... - By Lia PurpuraNo one home.
Snow packing
the morning in.
Much white
nothing filling up.
A V of birds
pulling
the silence
until some dog
across the street
barks, and breaks
what I call my peace.
What a luxury
annoyance is.
It bites off
and keeps
just enough of
what I think
I want to be endless. - By Dionisio D. MartínezTo the one who sets a second place at the table anyway.
To the one at the back of the empty bus.
To the ones who name each piece of stained glass projected on a white wall.
To anyone convinced that a monologue... - By Robert HaydenSundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.breaking.... - By Virginia Hamilton AdairPast the fourth cloverleaf, by dwindling roads
At last we came into the unleashed wind;
The Chesapeake rose to meet us at a dead end
Beyond the carnival wheels and gingerbread.
Forsaken by summer, the wharf. The oil-green waves
Flung yellow foam and sucked at... - By Charlotte SmithIs there a solitary wretch who hies
To the tall cliff, with starting pace or slow,
And, measuring, views with wild and hollow eyes
Its distance from the waves that chide below;
Who, as the sea-born gale with frequent sighs...