Best Nameless Poems
“I cannot give a name to pain I’ve never known.” - by poet
What do I know of sadness
when it’s grief that is profound?
The misery of wounded hearts -
in anguish they are drowned.
The mother – who downtrodden -
sells her body to survive
and put food on the table
to keep her kids alive.
The father who dutifully
fights in a bloody war
comes home with missing limbs
and still dreams of gunfire’s roar.
The child caught in that same war,
who runs from an awful blast
and sees her loved ones dying -
a terror unsurpassed.
What know I of losing
everyone or everything
in an earthquake or tsunami?
What utter suffering.
Of being someone snatched up
from the street, then like a slave,
be forced into defilement
or thrown into a grave.
Of being born into
a family of abuse
and no one has a clue.
Kids like these cannot get loose.
Of prisoners of war, of Jews
packed like rats in dirty trains;
of all slaves throughout history
and souls now still in chains.
I think of all the torture
humanity’s gone through -
unlucky folks whose fate would be
that nothing could they do.
Babies with serious defects
with lives seeming aimless. . .
Because I can’t know pain like this,
for me, it all is nameless.
Categories:
nameless, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
"A mother's love is made in heaven." Quote Written By Poet
She was a young and beautiful bride,
then her handsome husband died.
The fast car came out of nowhere,
there was nothing left but prayer.
Life was about to take her on a wild ride,
but she could not go and hide.
A precious baby girl was born,
she was told to be happy and do not mourn.
For now she is dressed in pink and is nameless,
lying in the hospital crib blameless.
Loving adopted parents would come,
and save her as she sucked her thumb.
Somethings can start out bad and end up good,
our new name is parenthood.
Categories:
nameless, baby, happy, mom, parents,
Form:
Rhyme
Grey gravestones stand erect like soldiers.
Fallen heroes in nameless graves,
they fought for king and country
and paid a heavy price
with their precious lives.
We should give thanks
and pray for
those who
died.
*gravestones classed as 2 syllables NOT 3 as per how many syllables
Sponsored by Broken Wings
Form N Ninette or Nonet
04~21~17
Categories:
nameless, remembrance day, soldier, war,
Form:
Nonet
Bright yellow badges proclaimed their faith
Paraded like nameless cattle
Counted and cooped as poultry
Numb and gelid they lay
Only thing alive
Was A desire
For a smooth
Kiss of
Death
Written On:04/24/2017
Contest:'Form N' by Broken Wings
Categories:
nameless, holocaust,
Form:
Nonet
Sustained by dense manipulation
corruption rears its ugly head
hiding its identity
behind masks of deceit...
the violator
abuses with
a nameless
coward’s
face.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Form ‘N’ ~ Nonet
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Placed 1st
© 24th April 2017
Categories:
nameless, abuse, corruption,
Form:
Nonet
Hold your fire
Let your sharp tongue retire
When to the fore sneaks your ire
Increasing carelessness danger
Thinking in your mind you’re an indomitable ranger
Although in your own skin you turn into a total stranger
Body somehow cut off from your mind
With a baggage of axes to grind
When moderation and restraint remind you to find
Better avenues conflicts to handle
As your roving hand to a pristine place strays to fondle
In the way you assuage your sorrow bundle
Hoping to progress, succeeding in failure
As your successes grow increasingly fewer
Cos your ire and short fuse couldn’t find a cure
To the uncertainty and unpredictability you nurture
In times of stress. To the fore comes a procrastination culture
You extrapolate into your unreachable future
Where no spouse tolerates you
Cos normal life you have no clue
Neither can you fasten happiness with gregarious glue
Much as you dare to dream
You’d crossed over with flying colours a fast moving stream
When in fear of the unknown you did scream
And to your rescue came a dame
Svelte, graceful who declined to you give both her name and game
Fearing your bad reputation would sully her with both blame and shame.
Categories:
nameless, poems,
Form:
Free verse
~ the nameless ebony bird sings so mournfully -
the wind lifts your wings ~
poet's quote
A gaping hole in the ground
No tombstone or roses
White painted tiny coffin
angelic hands in prayer
A simple metal plate
with a number
No tolerance for fake tears
Justice must be a promise
Newborn child with the right to life
left under a bridge, naked
wrapped in a dirty plastic bag
The child didn't have a chance
in twenty-three minus degrees
A mother and father
abandoned his responsibility
their horrible secret
remains a dark shadow
Categories:
nameless, birth, child, death, sad,
Form:
Free verse
Weaving the fabric of a sunken universe
Gliding the winds of a bottomless curse
Little spider, hanging in my head
Free of the wings that really are chains
Forging a mirror that never shatters
A mirror that does not exist
Little spider, aching in my head
Blind and deaf, drowned in ecstacy
Crawling in the pain of bliss
Seeking the sweets of sickness
Little spider, dying in my head
Torn from itself, immune to embrace
"At least, be humane", so that's what they said
Hold on to your pain, for it is your cocaine
Little spider, growing in my head
Here is the world, cradle of the dead
Categories:
nameless, friendship, life, love, mirror,
Form:
The years of youth lost...unrecoverable,
from a life of debauchery.
Where all the faces are now nameless.
From the fresh scent of Spring,
through the endless Summers,
and the romantic Autumns,
to the warm blankets of Winter
All have come and gone,
like the wind or a passing storm
that drenched the days and nights,
in layers of passionate interludes
that have become hollow memories,
like a shooting star that burned brightly
then gone, fading to black,
leaving nothing but an after-image
as a reminder that bled the soul
and came with the price of loneliness,
where a hole in the heart grew larger
and could never be filled,
it's where nothing lived long,
and the toll was silent pain,
from the highs and lows
when passion was bartered
to heal the wounds that cut deepest,
when the heart was young and innocent
and became a traveler, seeking different realms,
finding fool's gold, held in the hands of a court jester,
who sat alone in a crowd, counting shadows,
that are mere nameless faces,
from yesterday's empty illusion of passion
that turned cold and distant once expressed.
Categories:
nameless, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
“We’re not the body, we’re not this ~
Who we are, is love, light and bliss”
~ quote by poet
If asked what’s the name of our soul,
which lives on after body dies,
what definition would console
ego, that thrives on blatant lies?
Made in God’s image, we are light,
which is seen by spherical sight
but since we have with ego slept,
truth of our soul, we don’t accept.
Categories:
nameless, spiritual,
Form:
Rispetto
I live in an old forgotten castle,
Engulfed in a vast blanket of shadow,
Where without reason, there rustles the leaves
Evermore by the cold clandestine wind.
In the ever-laughing embrace of time,
I try to speak, but long gone is my voice.
What is silence, but an ominous voice?
It's presence is known through out thine castle,
An echo growing lonely through out time,
And I, it's victim, for it stole my shadow!
Why do you bite me so, oh vengeful wind,
Because it was I that rustled the leaves?
Beneath the white, white snow I am the leaves!
Endless flakes falling, ignoring my voice.
Done away with and never to feel wind.
These once grand corridors of thine castle,
What have you done, oh malevolent time?
Soaked in ignorance and lovely shadow.
Do I yearn for the familiar shadow,
As Mother tree misses her little leaves?
In these woods I seek a faraway time,
Where there floats real sound and a friendly voice.
But in my dreams it spoke in thine castle!
Could it be? Was it real?... or just the wind.
What message do you convey, oh weary wind?
For how lost you must be in my shadow.
I feel around the dusty shelves of castle,
Searching through the dry and desolate leaves,
Harboring books filled with glorious voice!
For once I am thankful for endless time.
I've ran out of wax! Where have you gone, time?
The wick caught fire, but loving was the wind.
But did you not hear my hesitant voice,
As I walked slow through perilous shadow?
These mural portraits, showing strange green leaves.
But they've always been gray, silly castle!
Wind and leaves, I'm afraid you've been mislead,
Finding a shadow, never there, for so long a time!
Was there ever voice in thine castle?
Categories:
nameless, confusion, lonely, lost, sorrow,
Form:
Sestina
Many a days ,
I wonder about my relationship with you..
What are we?
We see each other as friends,
With a chemistry to envy,
Mates, but not soulmates,
No strings attached,
No cosmic connection,
But masters at seduction,
And partners in crime,
I belong to another,
You have someone waiting for you,
Yet, we turn to each other for comfort,
And to share secrets and desires..
Its a race against time,
With the stakes getting higher,
Who crumbles under pressure,
Who is the first to flee..
Soon time shall tell,
Soon time shall tell...
Categories:
nameless, anxiety, betrayal, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
An arthritic flesh
Hesitant wipes off deteriorated lens
Every exhale,
Another tragic sulk unto morrow’s pit
Flaunting suicidal fallacies
Off-white flag motions
Signaling mercy under liar’s duress
Muted pride
Cracking dusty knuckles
Penetration’s decrepit vowel
Slipping in between faulty, stamped licenses
Just to belong
Another back-handed waltz
Bordering beggar dialects
Untrue
Towards paradoxical epiphanies
A faceless identity
Converging amongst unwelcomed hymns
Tainting hallelujahs with discolored spit
Worming their decapitated fingertips
With equilibrium massages
Back to a barricaded oasis
Deciphers from a slanderous heretic
Proclamation of syllabic want
As arthritic flesh
Scribbles out expendable nickname
Manipulating good intentions to be sadistically validated
From their rendered nether
Nameless never inscribed a verse to call their own
Struggling to swim
In the rivers they cried
©Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
nameless, life, sad, society,
Form:
Free verse
The Nameless
Slipping through the sieve of history,
the nameless rest.
Not for the nameless are roads renamed, nor monuments built.
Not for the nameless are songs sung, nor ink spilled.
The nameless rest.
Their silent sacrifice,
quiet ordeal,
muted trauma,
remain interred,
amongst their remains.
The nameless rest.
Not for the nameless are doctorates conferred, nor eulogies recited.
Not for the nameless are honours bestowed, nor homages directed.
The nameless rest.
They rest within us,
they walk with us,
in every step that we tread.
They rest within us,
they walk with us,
for their spirit is not dead.
“Your name is unknown, your deed is immortal”
- inscription at The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier WWII in Moscow
Special thanks to my dearest elder sister Tasneem Nobandla Moolla, whose conversations with me about life as a non-white person growing up in pre and post-Apartheid South Africa prompted me to write this dedication to the countless, nameless South Africans of every colour, whose sacrifices and dedication in the struggle against Apartheid tyranny must never be forgotten.
My sister’s middle name ‘Nobandla’ which is an isiXhosa name and means “she who is of the people” was given by her godfather, Nelson Mandela, my father’s ‘best-man who could not be, as Nelson Mandela was unable to-make it to my parent’s wedding as he was in jail at the time in the old Johannesburg Fort. This was the 31st December 1961.
Categories:
nameless, black african american, dad,
Form:
He last had a pal in the 7th grade,
They shared a class from the 1st grade.
And together, for Home Economics,
they were always late.
But the seventh grade showed up, in its
claws it held their un-anticipated fate.
For death's heartless might had
snatched away the pal's dear moter,
The lad watched as he packed the
boots that both their feet knew.
Off he went to unknown horizons.
"I will write", is all he said.
And so, at the post office,
the lad became a familiar face.
"He never forgot me", he convinces
his lonely self everyday.
The 12th grade is his current stop.
He recently acquired a harmless infection-hope.
So, while he dejectedly kicks innocent pebbles
in the streets he's quite hopeful that the other lad, his pal,
will write..........or maybe tweet.
Word has it, though, that the pal was
seen somewhere.
He was wearing a black suit...
Word has it also that he couldn't make a conversation.
Instead of his trademark smile,
solemnity had found a home in his face.
There he was, stone dead.
"Maybe, just maybe, he will write",
thinks the nameless lad as he kicks a
couple of innocent pebbles while he threads
on one rugged path towards home.
And tomorrow he's going to the post office.
Categories:
nameless, pain, , 12th grade,
Form:
Narrative