Isolation’s Full. A poem by Gertrude Walsh

Old guitars strumming
Birds sing in sunshine
Footsteps thud roads

There are mornings of baking
Jigsaws in silence
Cuddles by phone

In hospital alcoves
staff tired, enduring
mind ailing and dying.

Grief is postponed

There are poverty payments
Drunk war-torn kitchens
Can’t leave my home

Night balcony singing
Scientists in fashion
I Zoom when alone.

Isolation’s Full
…Of us all
striving, living, waiting.

Gertrude Walsh
April 28th 2020


Gertrude Walsh lives in Dublin, Ireland.

1 Comment

  1. This poem says it well, even now, in August, even here in another country, a different life, so much the same.

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