Best Nonentity Poems
I'm young with no identity,
A faceless boy, alone and shy.
To classmates, a nonentity;
My parents fret and wonder why.
I'm part of the unnoticed pack.
I step aside as others pass.
To be alone, I sit in back
And never volunteer in class.
I cannot dance or speak on stage
And hate to pose for photographs.
From social scenes I disengage
Avoiding bullies' taunts and laughs.
Uncaring, they my spirit crush.
At lunch I have no company.
I shrink from hugs and tend to blush
And dirty jokes embarrass me.
I dread the days we swim at school
And shower with the other boys.
I try, but nothing 'bout me's cool.
I lack both confidence and poise.
I'm frightened by the internet
Where vicious rumors often spread.
There mockery's a constant threat
While thoughts of vengeance fill my head.
The girls and jocks just walk on by.
They're unaware that I exist.
No welcome waves or friendly "Hi."
I'm seventeen and not been kissed.
The popular comprise a clique
Where bolder boys have fun and flirt.
Among my peers, I'm seen as weak,
And girls avoid an introvert.
The meek inherit all the earth.
That's what the Bible verse asserts.
But while alive, we've little worth.
We're targets for disdain and hurts.
Tomorrow's graduation day.
This high school torment will have passed.
When college life gets under way,
I hope for friends and peace at last.
On the edge she sits, a frail nonentity;
neither bloom nor spirit, nor secure identity,
as forlorn and shy she trembles, a man
asks her to dance, she must decline.
Stuck in a bubble, just missing the boat,
floating past maybes, a lump in her throat,
she dawdles and dangles, an inch from forever,
a chance to break open, but opting for never.
One day she will make it, step into the limelight,
and pirouette daintily, taking his hand,
there'll be no more jitters or lame-brain excuses
just confident motions in time with the band.
What a relief to be one of a legion
of movers and shakers who're down from the shelf,
she's gliding with grace while avoiding another's toes,
hugging her partner instead of herself.
*******
...autobiographical, you wouldn't believe how much!
The line in the sand which we drew in my bed, do you recall how we drew them, the things that we said? Was it just hot air to keep my balloon afloat, rambling and kidding before grabbing your coat and dropping an anchor to try sink my boat before disembarking?
The line, those words, full of promise and hope anchored me in a storm, my heart crashing on the rocks of harsh disappointment, trapped and abandoned. Oh but for my resilient, stubborn soul, which refuses to be tied down and stay in the harbour waiting for another voyage to abound. I am as tall and proud as The Royal Clipper and on every strength i will raise my sails and use the storm to draw new lines which you can see where it dragged that anchor back out to sea, i am free, no longer your nonentity, i am woman and deserve more you see.
Good luck on your journey, watch out for the storms, always look for the lighthouse, it has saved me.
Niaslooi.
Not because I like the word
In truth, it’s one I’ve never heard
Any other could not be
Specific in nonentity
Logical is not required
Order neither is desired
Of nothing yet, I can deny
Importance of niaslooi
Not just a list of things to do
In days that lay ahead of you
Any event of consequence
Specific in its use or sense
Logical, a life some hope
Order is of tangled rope
Of everything, I now see why
Importance of niaslooi.
For ‘One Word’, Contest
R D Seal 9 March 13
Unmeant meanings
Words keep watch
their eyes in the empty spaces
fingers feel their unformed faces
Can words mean what they were not meant for all by
theirnonselves
even if they come clothed in nonentity
cuneiforms hieroglyphics ideophonograms
strokes signs signals sounds shapes silences squiggles squares squirms suctions squirts scuds screams squelches screeches screams or sickening sobs
words sum up fix errant thoughts
speak for all
though in tongues without jousting knights
errancy will not lead to errantry
Only the blind conceive their shape form posture
the staid but rumbunctious music of stilled hieroglyphs
the pliability of ideograms caressed down rice paper
their squiggly strands
the self-effacing hand-and-foot maidens
of matronly phrases
some leaning awry
the calligrapher’s trembling hand
all all straining upright
the custodians of invested stock
foot-stools of pouting poets
the sum-total of coveted currencies
exchanged stock variables
Who would be hurt knifes himself
with meaningless words
who would laugh
breaks out into song
the sing-song stress and accent of vowels round and strong
learns wayward steadfastness
with his words
with words
with the word
with the world of wonder in
always willing and wilful words
April 23, 1997
From the privately-pub. coll. (re-worked 2016): longhand notes (a binding of poems), Paris: 1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
He who seeks pain for pleasure is a real aboriginal,
Runs slowly yet leads subservient to international.
He who has a mental condition stable aberrational
And is clearly confused for his rule over junior biennial.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader fictional?
Believes has virtual reality and qualities supernal;
Worries by relaxing, is a truly called stupid sentinel
Off laissez faire causing democracy death prenatal.
He is the original copy; autocracy does he disannul.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader nominal?
Babbles less on many topics but talks lot notional;
Real oxymoron, a worthless gold is a role fictional.
Such a stupid, such dark snow acts like nocturnal
And wishes us follow him like a true myth tensional.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader attritional?
As little pain hurts none, such nonentity optional
Is singly double natured like oxymoron is binational.
Such a tiny elephant of no use is a leader sectional,
Unlike Modi or Mahatma who is pretty fierce finagle.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader supernal?
A rightly deceitful leader propagates worries parental
Agony, by loving humanity loathing persons is menial.
Is such afunctional leader be only choice? Oh! Marginal!
An open secret for such leaders, this Monorhyme is a signal.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader eternal?
All things must end; it’s plain to see
And death will come in time for me
Cessation of my misery
And every kind of cruelly
So let it be
So let it be
With wings I’ll fly from pain set free
To soar above each flower, each tree
Content in this, my destiny
So let it be
So let it be
No longer will escape the plea
“God bring to end my agony
For you know my despondency
So, Let it be
So, let it be"
No longer will I have to flee
from yoke of mediocrity
I’ll be a blessed nonentity
So, let it be
So, let it be
Eileen Manassian
You hurt me
I wish I could hurt you back
I really wish I could
With all my heart and soul
I wish I could inflict pain
Searing....scathing...ascorbic pain
I wish I could force you to taste
The salt of the tears
Not a lick
Gulp them down
So many....
Drink down the tears
I cry in my pillow
I wish you could feel
The wracking of my sobs
I wish you could travel
Down the corridors
Of my tortured mind
I wish you could feel the slow
Suffocation of a soul
Desolate and alone
You hurt me
I wish I could hurt you
Make you feel
What nonentity feels like
Transparency
A voice screaming
yet unheard
Above inner demon voices
Which screech and laugh
YOU'RE NOT LOVED
You gave your all
YOUR ALL
You have nothing left to give
and it wasn't enough
You are NOTHING
NOTHING AT ALL
You hurt me
I wish I could hurt you
I wish it would be ok
To hunt you down
To slap you around
To make you feel PAIN
To drive YOU insane
To take back what I gave
To forget your name
Ahhhhh....your name
It used to make me tingle
Now it brings me shame
You hurt me
I wish I could hurt you
I wish I wish I wish
I could make you pay
For taking away
The best part of me
My sense of beauty
You hurt me
Damn you
Damn you to hell
For I know
I have no power
To ever hurt you
For only love
Can bring pain
You hurt me
I hope she hurts you too!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Last night, God, I did it –
I am a sinner, not the first time
I part my lips, to commune with God
But I secede; and successfully, I fail
Last night, I only invoked the first devotion
God, my lips said; and that was all
I bit my lip and felt my warring veins
My face pressed on the pillow
My vain hands clamped under
My eyes folded tight, to see God
And I did –
My lips spoke no other word
God, speechless, weary, in the morning
I part my lost lips again and open my raw eyes
To find the night gone, my pillow soaked
A tear of the left and a tear on the right
Like two thieves on the cross, the tears mock
What am I, Lord? I saw you and said nothing
What thing am I? Peppering my tongue
I’ve dropped my lip, to say Amen
Will I be redeemed?
Listen, silent, hapless
Last night, hallowed God
I called you with my blood and heart
Drunk, I staggered to your throne
Called, stark, you answered
But Lord God, of stunning eternity
A nonentity kept you waiting
In the morning, ashamed
I crane my neck, cracking my lip
Tinkering my literature
One more time, seeking your face
And I bow in awe, little creature!
Anthology of iniquity…
How for me, you, divine puzzle!
In your Pantheon, still wait on me!
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 6
Should the State legitimate entity be
To make the use of force It generates valid
True father protects for life his progeny
Change helmsmen and change its personality
The State’s a will o’ the wisp under tight lid
Should the State legitimate entity be
The State is as human as errors can be
Should It excuse seek or new elections bid
True father protects for life his progeny
No citizen conscription thwarts and breathes free
Abjure violence to be made invalid
Should the State legitimate entity be
Since consensus derives from majority
Who made the individual a Candide
True father protects for life his progeny
Overlook crush even one nonentity
What right have men to govern any breed
Should the State legitimate entity be
True father protects for life his progeny
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Poverty is not a slogan
It is a reality in our organ
Though for time immemorial it had begun
it is not to be treated as bygone
When in situational Poverty
There will be absence of property
May be due to job scarcity
Then you almost become a nonentity
For some it is a generational poverty
And so they give in to lazity
lack of great deal of ingenuity
may engage in unnecessary curiosity
To be factual and kind
The worse is poverty of the Mind
Category of idiot such is lined
Even when given the sun he will not shine
His mind is on price and not value
Rice and lice may even mingle
Provided they bubble
He may even want to burgle
For those genuinely poor
kept pressing but closed is every door
Sleeping at times on a bare floor
Despite observing every law
Facing it all
Ensure life doesn't play you like a ball
Be wise and read handwritings on the wall
Embrace it when opportunities call
sometimes you will need to start small
Rely on God you will stand tall
Surely, with him you will not fall
And your plane of life will never enter a stall.
Part 1
1958 (Introduction to employment)
Often I drift back to the days, where it all began. To feel again
the sharp brisk morning air against my inferior nakedness,
whilst sprightly making my way down school lane, towards the local builder’s yard,
to earn my weekly pittance!
here where the first day ritual, of one’s treatment an introduction to.
“Left handed screw drivers, buckets of steam,
(and don’t forget the lid,)
sky hooks for the innovative amongst us;
and grease around the balls ‘had they been quick enough!’”
My last day of education, teacher said I was a hopeless case,
the picture they drew for me, was one of depression.
“Curriculum vitae” none existent buried deep within my soul.
“God! What I’d give to be a footballer.”
(“Newcastle United” Laid heavy on my mind.)
Yet! Who was there to help me? Why this constant inability to learn when
no one spent the time to coax, or simply understand, and encourage,
while indoctrination imprinted from many years past, handed down through
generation to generation, taught one that,
“Hard work never hurt anyone.”
(“It bloody killed my father!”)
Employment a new world, the master’s menu
now activated upon an innocent ego, waiting to be stirred, by the privileged.
To confuse the gullible “Master” moves in many devious ways, to coerce one to believe in
a system that spawns tyranny! “These Rams of society” Manipulators all, whose ecstasies
of sweet moments are drawn from the cries of menial men, those whom when on his morning tour of the works, doff their caps, as one would when Pharaoh entered the room, therefore destined to wander aimlessly, within each corporation statutory limits.
It was here an introduction to the red power, born from ideological ideals,
collective thoughts being their strength, leaving individuality as a nonentity, and a friendly threat that left me cold inside.
Yes! It is this system I grew to despise so much, yet kindled by England’s very own
“Twin seeds of learning.”
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Never-After
© Ben Burton
Why is it
So many godless people
Are offended by religious words
Spoken publicly?
Does reverence instill fear in them?
If so, of what?
The church lady
Swinging her purse?
If shuffling off our mortal coil portends
The end
What then?
It is done. Finis.
Who’s afraid of the big, bad nonentity?
Where is the sting?
Why is it troubling
To nonbelievers
If I proclaim to the very stars
Belief in a Divine Being?
Will it harm their children?
Influence them so much
That they fall prey to false belief
False hope
Thereby opening a path
To the glorious Never-After?
Does sincere prayer
Uttered before atheists
Lead them to despair
If so, why?
Do atheists have commandments
Precluding their admittance
To a nonexistent afterlife lodge
If their ears are violated
By a believer's
Prayer?
Or does apprehension take root
Nourished by the idea of being wrong
Thus, wrecking their chance
To make it to the dance
Maybe it is best not to believe
Risking no disappointment after death
When, upon looking around, one sees nothing
And thinks, "HA, I knew I was right all along"
While huddled masses praise His name
Elites look on with stark disdain
The common man remains inane
Blissfully inane
What flies in the face of logic
Must be wrong
Though theories with highly suspect reasoning
Are showcased as irrefutable
And spoon-fed like poisoned pablum
Ultimate proof lacking either way
But, oh, what spoils to the believer
While the atheist looks forward to . . .
Ironic? Certainly
For fate's so easily changed
In fewer words than these
In His name
The morbid law of the rigid
It is a principle for the principal
A belief that holds the total
The standard not for the normal
Above reproach, beyond nominal
A law for the feeble and mortal
A rule of tyranny and inflexibility
Found in a principality
Observed as a quality
Anything besides is nullity
Transgress, face penalty
Regress, become nonentity
Redress, labeled mediocrity
Resolute, named superiority
Meek, called inferiority
Compromise, cast as frailty
Opinions equated to profanity
Fairness shunned as evil and vanity
Rationale is called disdain
Don’t drift, remain
Don’t shift, sustain
Don’t twist, maintain
Don’t lift, retain
That’s the law for the deprived
The morbid law of the rigid
A wandering spirit love failed to embrace.
Time, an immortal, continues to move at its pace.
Indecision chains curiosity's zeal.
The spirit begins to dwindle and so does the will.
A presence causes something to stir within.
Despite defenses around this half-dead heart, rekindled and unhinged.
An intangible hand reaches out; the demeanor changes from warm to cold.
Fleeting without explanation; uncontrolled.
A dangling modifier now in search of completion.
Unanswered questions hover open like a rotting wound; childhood notions.
Fragile, damaged; heart's enthusiasm regresses.
Adrenaline and emotions finally rest.
Silent pleas and cries for understanding go unheard.
Exits; no noise; no word.
Affection refuses countenance with vindictive epitome.
Pursuing in trance for IT will never “see",
this nonentity.