Best Nobodies Poems
A Look Back at Eighteen Months Here-The Show is Over
When your poems reside in a shoe,
like mine,
pounding the pavement to nowhere.
The onset of blisters isn't imagined.
Those blisters take roots,
hindering your motivation
to move-
and to continue to write.
It hurts.
Seeing those poems take residence
in pity.
Sans the
comfort of
leather and lace,
shine and sole,
all of which would have been nice.
But all my eyes see are my poems,
tucked away in worn loafers,
unpolished,
unnoticed.
Not exactly eye candy.
But eyesores ...judging by the lack of views, here.
And undoubtedly my shoes made of synthetics
and sneakers
to the purveyors of good poetry
and good shoeshine.
I look down for good reason,
defacto
and stigmatized,
no contest wins,
no poems ever in the top 100 (new) list,
no scent of roses (or views),
nothing.
Nothing.
An abyss of sublimity,
save for the white bird
that chirps
to nobodies ears.
To wit.
For he who signs up for this site
got a handful of mixed emotions,
confetti less tomorrows,
a begotten rah, rah,
a ladle of spiel,
poems published ...
and in my case alone footnote
that I was a member
sans the shoe shine.
I really have to admit,
writing here,
eighteen months now,
has taken its toe.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Kind Regards,
connie pachecho
4/26/2018
The proprietor of the show has decided to call it quits, citing mental health issues here. The posse of black bears got to me. The guises, pretense, and hate towards me eroded my spirit. Tell her she can play with my insanity but not my spirit. To my readers, I really appreciate your patronage during this journey here even though the crops are bare and the barn fronts a blank stare.
The cows fight with the pigs, and bacon went to waste. One thing I take is the seed in me to aspire elsewhere, which I've already planted at HP under the name Logan Robertson. Thanks again. Wish everybody the best.
I see an aging Panagiota with the soul of a youth.
Untouched by hatred~yet despised for, as she's always telling the truth.
Utterly, unwilling to be a crowd pleaser.
She has grown to know the hollow emptiness of being a groupie-gratifier.
A big Heart to her, counts more than the brilliance in any word play in the head.
She loves poetry of Shakespeare that throngs here consider quite dead.
She knows the arrogant here who knock at her heart's door, oh my so loud?
And evaporate quickly,as insignificant raindrops after a storm followed by a golden-bright cloud!
She knows the hopelessness of playing life's little victim.
With the onset of great pain, hardship and lonelines,she blossoms, right as rain.
Threatened by males here to "change her poetry style or else,"
These macho nobodies have lit her soul afire, nothing more ignorant delights to ainspires her.
She knows quite well the legion of names of the BEST who ignore her.
She really doesn't care, she realizes she is, indeed, first and forever,God's poetic daughter.
You won't find thousands of one-line poems from her.
She wants her poetry to make your velvety-heart positively beat loudly and almost purr.
This is the self in the mirror, I have found at Poetry Soup.
No big arm of trophies nor winner am I, just an ordinary woman, with her quill in glory, acknowledging God in the sky.
To God be the Glory. Thank you, close friends and ones yet to come....
All my love~
Panagiota Romios
February 5, 2020
7:00am PST
POTD. February 7, 2020
There once was a bold prig named Wiener
who had an unsightly demeanor
he took pics of his crotch
after two shots of scotch
"Where's his wife? Well nobodies seen her."
Tanks
"Da Tanks, da Tanks."
The President is not Chairman Mao.
Come on now!
Gads, what an ungrateful nation!
Perhaps haughty Don Lemon or
that court jester, Jim Acosta,
Two snobby nobodies behind
a mike, turning brains to mush
every night,
Could please each American
just right?
Go online tomorrow, you will
find how many presidents used
tanks and fly-overs.
The list is long, we are not
Tianimin Square!
But CNN and MSNBC, masters
of disinformation,
Make you think so!
Truth to them is totally cracked
and libelous information.
Such elitism, and political bigotry!
With utmost conceit will not cover
the DC events.
But! Will have proponents of
abortion on most happily.
Killing babies is OK, don't you see?
JFK, oh, so revered, had tanks
too!
And Fly Overs are happening,
even at football and baseball games.
And many civic events, yes!
So stop the hysteria over this
bizarre craziness.
Our country, our values are
being shredded.
Like the cheapest Wal-Mart
lettuce.
Wake the heck up!
Obama had more than enough sense
to have TWO Betsy Ross flags
behind him at BOTH of his
inaugurations.
Nobody said a word. Huh?
MSNBC, you all,just compared
the Betsy Ross flag to a
Swastika?
Oh, Lord, the total number of brains
there?
The size of a small brassica!
*Brassica~ a mustard plant
July 4, 2019
Ya..Let Freedom Ring
IN Memory Of Roger Dale Eubanks
Roger
We both know the journey never ends
We spend most of our lives
Trying to fend off anyone who is pretend
Defending our friendship untill the end
You have paved your way my good friend
I know it's never goodbye as you ascend
You put your boots into the wind
I hope your new life with God can start begin
Since you no longer have to sit and spin
I wish you well my never forgotten friend
I'm glad nothing about you was pretend
Your journey may take you away
So I will pray for God
To escort you all the way
Roger
We stayed friends until the end
We understood together we were the right blend
Living our friendship without having to mend
You were way old school
Could often find you playing like nobodies fool
Your friendship was something very cool
Always making us smile
Getting baked going the extra mile
Our good friend until the end
May God go with you into the wind
So you might know we all win
When our life on earth comes to an end
Looking down on us my good friend
With a mighty big grin
As you take it all in
No more pain or frustration
Your in a much better location
Nothing pretend about God who will mend
Your broken limbs when we ascend
ROGER
Our dear friend until the end
You know now that it's not pretend
Rather a brand new life free of sin
Where we can begin to take it all in
No more sickness or broken limbs
Hala -luya you can walk again
Your friends and family have to reason
You will be missed all season
We all love you and will see you again
When we are reunited up around the bend
When it's our turn to ascend
Goodbye, for now, my good friend
You will be missed but never forgotten
My good friend until the end
We both come out of it with a big win
Knowing our friendship I will always defend
We must all keep our Faith and not hesitate
Life in heaven with God will be so great
So don't make him Wait for your next date
My Good Friends nothing has to end
Especially not good friends until the end
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROGER
WE LOVE AND MISS YOU VERY Much
To capture a moment in your hands
To hold it, study it,
Look deeply into all things composing this moment.
Compiling a mental list of ingredients
And dissecting the consequences of this moment.
To crush this moment that you are grasping in your hands.
Extinguishing all life in it.
Executing something out of your own control.
Refusing the opportunity to channel this moment.
Exercising the possession of this moment before it flourishes.
Feeling the thunder of this moment.
Crash upon all levels of consciousness.
Defeating all futile attempts at righteousness.
Running from this moment as if behind you,
But truly it is front of you, glistening on the horizon.
The punch line of all moments is in evading the capture.
Being passed by, refused, overlooked, denial of acknowledgements and
accolades.
Narrow minded, business always, imagination less nobodies.
Embodying nothing.
Hands gnarled with bitterness, lacking the ability to even capture life itself.
The exact essence of a moment.
Of the living embodiment of it's fleeting seconds.
A luxurious gift whether new and shiny or in tattered and faded wrappings.
Makeup who you are, your being.
Each heartbeat we fail to recognize, is just another fleeting moment of our life.
Novelists and Nobodies
Ah, now this my domain, the library
Where cultures collide.
Men of leisure reeking from their latest dumpster dive
mingling with men in leisure suits studiously swimming in their work.
And me, in my disguise?
I'm hidden between both,
Like bookends.
Where else can a man of my means
In my situation loiter all day
and still look poignant -
Though I've really no place to go.
Like the man from the street
and the man incomplete,
I am simply another book on a shelf
waiting to be read.
R. Biffany '09
Political leaders take countries to war,
making decisions that are political,
done to ensure they are voted for,
domestic approval and nothing more.
Biden couldn't have got it more wrong,
clearly this President is a total moron,
it doesn't matter how long it's gone on,
you don't just leave if you still belong.
I wonder if Biden even understands,
the world he has left for those Afghans,
the victory clearly that of the Talibans,
how can you not tell your allies the plans!!
Isolating the US from your allies overseas,
with this absolute shambles exit strategy,
this is how superpowers become nobodies,
the worst military mistake in our history!!
Watch China buy and reverse engineer
equipment that gave your enemies fear,
American time at the top ends right here,
international respect slowly disappears
For 20 long years it was a war you'd won,
now the legacy tells a different outcome,
all of those sacrifices can't be undone,
yet the terror awaiting us surly will come!
I am Nobody:
no name on my grave
in the Veterans’ Cemetery --
not even certain if all parts
match – those bombs really
had no personal objective when
targeting and dispatched –
Their bull’s eyes~ all Enemy.
I am Nobody; don’t earn
a lot, after your release from
the hospital, once healed,
you never met the EMT
who feverishly pumped life
into your failing lungs, during your
rushed, siren screaming journey
through unyielding traffic --
probably never thanked the nurse
in the ER, with a name-tag,
often gone unread – Oh, you met
the doctor, who earns all the big
bread – He has a noble title – he
has lauded fame – unlike Nobodies
more or less, diminutive
the same – just Nobody --
the Nobodies who build the bridges
repair the roads
pickup the garbage
often given little more mention
than prince-less pond toads –
when I croak, Just a slimy
soak – in society, most Nobodies
die broke – soggy, irrelevant
pond splashes –
Only rich when considering love...
I empty...that I may be filled;
I fast, so that the filling even
greater for the added hunger –
I am a vessel, at the pleasure
of Christ. He that pours into
me, knows the intimate nature
of my heart, to serve our Father
in all capacity – I admit not life
outside of God. Christ's pure essence,
which I freely willfully breathe in,
is my source and all sustenance
needed – I stand back, that
I may follow – I pause, that He
may start me – Christ is the
bread of my body, the juice
of my blood, the pulsing joy
of my being – I focus on His
mirror brightness, capturing image,
warmth of reflection, that I may shine
onto others...a mere copy. We are
nobodies, cold shadows, when missing
the beaming luster of Christ-presence
Divine.
Falling inside the black never made much sense to me
Struggling for air
Gasping for breath
Can you hear me?
I'm whispering your name
No one's here to hear except gathered shadows and sillouttes of nobodies
I've been let down again
What am I supposed to beleive?
How am I supposed to feel?
Hearing the deafening roar of falling my thoguhts go back to you
I'm falling in the black again
What did you mean?
How did you say what you mean?
I need you
If only for a time
I need the light, even if dimmed
Don't let me fall into the black
I won't survive again
I can't go on living like that
I need the light
Please don't push me back into the darkness.
Here comes the stormy fire,
Burned out my desire,
Racing against my chest, my hearts pacing,
Beating the pulse to a pulp, draining me dry,
Now’s the time to let go of this tandem rope,
Crash through this masquerade, there is no hope
Nobodies to blame, but myself,
It was all coming lose at the seams, piece by piece
The music was just too loud; the symphonies were burning my faith in hope
Nothing hurts like you do, walking away never giving me a second glance,
Pompeii, rain down on my parade, burn this farce of a show to cinders,
These ashes of our lives are like pythons underneath my every step,
Each sting a cry from my hearts to live again
Not saying goodbye was the cruelest act.
No words of comfort or embrace to spare my arteries.
So now I am sitting here listening to the dragon that breathed our love,
Its dying a slow death.
With every inhalation of this noxious gas, it only exacerbates the constriction on my lungs
Its evident to me that, love is dead.
Its all burned away, there is nothing left
There is no love left.
Love is dead.
Love is dead..
Is love dead?.....
We found pearls,
She asked where are the diamonds
Not knowing to me she's the finest diamond of them all
The gold, the old story folks told,
That ends their like nobodies cares
We are created from myths
Every one knows there journey
The struggle, the freedom
But nobody knows the start,
we follow invisible lines
We go around and round
It's been forever and nothing has changed
We see, we saw, we still remember
The beginning, lost in each others memories
The eye catches and captured the feeling
From thousands of years ago
Its past through gens
The story of legends that lived
The path of awakened folks
Now, how we lost our sight
The memory of one light
Its captured in our minds
Its reflected in our hearts
Our grandfathers and our grandmothers
what they saw, its part of our raw memory
Where's the gold she asked
Not knowing she is the gold
That untold story, the past
That journey which our forefathers
Had passed, she is beautiful as she is,
She reflects history and that what makes her never lose her beauty, each story reminds me of my people's glory
She is the anthem of many
She is untold, but not unheard of
She is a rare piece of my memory.
A SHROUD FOR RIGHTEOUSNESS
The prophetic verse affirms and acclimatizes as such:
A demonic presence seeks the prevalence of a newly born child.
If a guardian angel exists, number seven (7th) is protected for a greater intellect, acumen and knowledge, and wealth.
For every seventh (7th) child, prophesy was bestowed.
One of hope and to form power, the child was covered with a shroud.
The ability to act or produce an effect, a veil this became as a greater source.
Acumen imparted, therefore, insight is gained.
Revelation to a family of so called “nobodies”.
But oh, great in dominance the mind-sets.
One is the seventh (7th) born…
Chosen to transform the world into a greater norm of the unknown God.
Philosophy...
Only through iniquitous content does a wrongful world exist or hold capacity.
In Song…
A shroud for righteousness I will give to this new born baby girl.
Made from fabric so grand, the sun shines in.
_____________________________________________________________________|
Written 6/23/2016!
Love Lust and
a broken heart
Robot feelings
and missing parts
rotten insides
and bloodstained art
we stand together but
we're worlds apart
Divided by the sun and moon
high on sadness
lost in gloom
toxic energy immune
baby growing in a poisoned womb
we play each other like a hollow tune
and feed on emptiness
with a silver spoon
hopes and dreams destroyed too soon
sticking needles in our arms
blood dances in the liquid harm
we shoot it up don't be alarmed
it's our secret lucky charm
succumb to pain
get lost within
to feel the numbness as we sin
broken auto-pilot grins
saliva dripping off our chins
fatal attraction to heroin
the highest low we've ever been
enslaved to the lifelong binge
a kiss from Jesus in a syringe
Love Lust and
a broken heart
robot feelings
with missing parts
an empty six
and dirty sheets
is where our twisted lust love creeps
we and fight
and lie and cheat
like a broken record on repeat
your love lust pain i can't release
drowning in confusion deep
blood dust and exhausted thoughts
forgotten nobodies left to rot
wasted days and washed out nights
the darkness overrides the light
he shoots the black
i shoot the white
perceptions twisted
blinded sight
but whose to say what's wrong or right ?
love lust and
a broken heart
robot feelings
missing parts