My Hermitage Where I Sit in Isolation

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem 

Perhaps I’ll build a hut just off a trail

In Appalachian mountains far away

From everyone and everything, derail

The rush, block out its roar, and go astray

From all the messiness of humans.  Fog

Will be a godsend when mirk comes.  The mist

Will water grass up on my roof.  The smog

Of traffic and of factories never missed

Will fade to nothingness in memory;  each

Approach of twilight calm be like a prayer

An anchoress might send up.  It will reach

Me quite alone in April redbud air.

  A little fault in all this is dream is that

    There’ll be a brat-like human where I’m sat.

~ Phillip Whidden