Best Nowhere Poems
Door to Nowhere
Royalty have Chateau’s
With moats and drawbridges
Artists have colors
Paints and brushes and dreams
The poor have soup
And Marie's gateau’s
The lonely have open doors
To nowhere
I let my baguette go hard and stale
So I could stab myself with nourishment
As my blood flows slowly
Through that door with no hope
I with no rope, fade away
I am at the edge of nowhere.
Salty tears slowly
Dribble down my hollow cheeks.
Darkness is all around.
Where is the silver lining
That decorates black clouds?
Why is my spirit trapped
In a vacuum of prolonged time?
Why do I cry alone
Though all around me
I hear the cries of perished souls?
I am at the edge of nowhere
Unsure of what is or is not.
Destruction reigns supreme
Thousands of voices mute
And silence is deadly.
Insane, atrocious, vile and treacherous.
All around is smoke and darkness
Thick fog swirling all around.
I am at the edge of nowhere
My head is befuddled
Smoke smudges my sight
And echoing in my ears
Sleep will come no more:
Scattered by screams,
Violent and weird,
Echoing as I lie in darkness
Trying to achieve some sanity
Knowing none will be reaped.
10 January 2021
Since your death I have been a rag doll puppet,
in human form with limbs animated by invisible strings;
like a ventriloquist my voice does not seem like me,
it is a horrible sound and not from my heart;
my head is hollow and my soul is in torture and lament.
I begin each day with weeping tears of anguish,
then, I put a mask on my marionette face to hide my hurt;
like a ventriloquist I manage to speak the right words,
but of course it is an act and not from my heart;
my soul is aching and I am in agony and misery.
At night I become a figurine of my former me,
a beautiful statue with no spirit, or heart, cold to the world;
like a ventriloquist my soul speaks of my loss
and tears fall from my beautiful eyes invisible to all;
my pain is boundless- it must be cloaked and veiled.
Since your death I have become sorrow controlled,
I loved you and now my grief is that love with nowhere to go;
like a ventriloquist my voice is meaningless words,
I wear my mask well, no one knows how pitiful I really am;
and I let the strings take me- and I am just as dead.
____________________________
June 20, 2018
Poetry/Verse/Grief is Love With Nowhere To Go
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1033-467-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Ventriloquist
sponsor, Anthony Slausen
Third Place
When ceilings were cast on dreams
air thickened, swelling lungs
with unbreathable mediocrity
pen is clutched
in reluctance of dim witted judgement,
small minded skewed views,
all pushing towards
Oprah Book Club fame
under a midwestern bubble.
That trophy would shine
like the second hand cars surrounding
When ceilings were cast on dreams
a terrified scream evaded me
as lips were bit in the traditional
small town offend-me-not fashion,
my pen faultered and died...
Fear is passion disapating into lonely corners
accepting it's quiet demise
Never realizing sea breeze or sunrise
alive and never living
while calendar pages fly by abandoning
Regret is for mourning souls
past possibilities of redirection
and compromise
I break westward stepping over spilled milk
toward angular man made mountains
Now the pond fish evolution begins
as I swim in bigger waters
insignificant and loving it
feeling anonymity breed inhibition
and onward to infamy
toward my name etched in spines
and altitudes I make my own
**inspired by John Heck's "Edge" contest
A road sign read
The Road To Nowhere
Go straight a mile
Then turn to the left
keep left until sign
Says Town To Nowhere
Welcome one and all
To our very small town
No matter where you go
You will be nowhere
No one gets lost here
Wherever you go
In any direction
You will be in Nowhere
The Bridge to Nowhere
Halfway across the river it stands as heavy feet support remaining span.
No longer the beautiful and sturdy gateway path for man to seek the other side.
The bridge to nowhere makes last stand before it joins its shadow in deep waters.
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
~4th Place~
Contest: Three Line Poetry
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Judged: 03/17/2015
.
Being Nowhere
A bizarre place to be, especially when
you didn’t know you would be there.
The metaphysical implication of your
situation does seem incredible to others.
If this is the case, nowhere is that space,
that your mortal being and soul must fill.
Space and time in the human endeavor are
rife with inexplicable exceptions for sure.
Finding yourself in this eerie realm of nowhere,
by simple logic, bodes that you’re somewhere.
If you did something naughty in another life,
then perhaps nowhere is your karmic strife.
If this isn’t the case, then by cosmic fate, you’ve
unknowingly found yourself in another dimension.
Methinks that praying to God should be of help;
He knows that nowhere is somewhere out there!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 8, 2018 (Couplet)
The Strawberry Moon
This moon rises up ever slowly among the clouds,
As it begins its ritual journey of peeking slyly out,
Appearing for all to see in that far-distant horizon.
This wondrous eidetic image is a Strawberry Moon
That’s so softly-red with a magical touch of orange,
And so very rare to see—yet so special to gaze upon.
As this enchanted moon continues its skyward ascent,
It begins to kiss the Earth goodbye whilst following its
Heavenly path in the sky to be amongst the radiant stars.
This glorious moon now follows its celestial path into
The Dark Beyond as its strawberry tint passes away,
And its ancient, brilliant-bright-luminescence returns.
Oh, Strawberry Moon—our pride of the month of June,
Shall you tell us more when you come back to us, of what
We shall see in The Dark Beyond, in the Sky of Nowhere?
And perhaps we can expect in your next journey to us,
Another special kiss by you—a welcome kiss telling us
That a reunion awaits us all on the eternal path of light!
Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – July 6, 2018
(Tercet)
When crimsons are worn and winters mourn;
When time is not a clock, watch or real
And sunsets have lost their appeal -
Then I shall face my doom,
But wake me not before noon.
When you can stretch out your hand
And come with me to a nowhere land,
I will put violets in your hair.
When you can sigh with no despair,
Then I shall believe you rare.
When I stand alone and you go away
Do not dare come ask me to play.
When tomorrow is not neglected, and
finally arrives and someday is a day called now,
then you shall see relief in mine eyes.
When all words care and mountains rise higher,
When trees can breathe and apples are truly red,
Then I shall stop yelling above your head.
When flowers fail to bloom and seven years does
not mean locust, maybe then life shall focus.
When I can find my very own star
Without the need of looking far,
When I lose my urge to splurge and neglect
My search for a still burning torch,
What then .... if when?
In the fading gleam enveloping the twilight hour,
the frail edge of lives tended to lose mortal definition,
its meaning masked by the murk of futile existence,
the misty minds sought the glow of the rainbow aura.
A thirsty pilgrim in the relentless pursuit of mirage,
travelled tormented in the wilderness of the desert
to the parched precincts of the dried up earthly souls,
searching for the benign gift from behind the cloud.
On garden path paved by precious stones of their faith,
fragrance of blooming blessings wafted in the dusty air,
the unsatiated mortal souls yearned to comprehend
the euphoric perception configuring the bliss illumined.
Sitting outside the door of the temple a hungry man
seemed to have surrendered the rest of his time to fate,
got some food from a stranger coming from nowhere,
his eyes glinted joy in the rays of the sun that rose for him.
March 6, 2021
Nowhere is a place
that comes up blank
on google maps
but you go there everyday,
walk the streets,
catch a train, buy lunch
at the same cafe.
Everything there is a clever
counterfeit, a construct
of your mind.
Nowhere is a place
where you can hide,
where shadows luxuriate
and thoughts have doors
so you can slip away
without being seen.
It's the place you know,
the stalled halfway point
where a lifetime
can be spent shuffling
dead end streets between
where you are and where
you want to go.
All roads lead home
How can that be true?
When there is no home
And there is no you
All roads lead nowhere!
What we are trying to do this morning,
pulling some poetry out of nowhere.
Drag it kicking and hopefully screaming
out from under the bed,or from somewhere,
maybe crouched behind some lonely synapse
deep within the jelly I call a brain.
Just try to fill a page, you fool, no lapse
is allowed. Beat the bushes, stop a train,
play a new piece of music, a new beat
that you can tie some words to, stalk the muse
into a corner, fight dirty, some heat,
anything you can, I don't know, some ruse,
cross-eyed, tongue out, drooling on the keyboard,
anything to add a poem to your hoard!
Passing old memory lanes as the tram journeys towards home,
how in the maze of thoughts do I find some happiness?
Windows will share the tears on a rainy day.
Destroying the old worlds as we fly around the globe,
It was always raining in the new lands,
parts of self left behind in pieces in the thoughts of friends
Finding freedom in bonding with the unknown,
filling empty baskets for the occasions of nostalgia,
Realising only in the riddle of dreams where we truly belong,
Nowhere.
all you hear is the clock ticking
and you can't feel your heart beating
time is in a rush to go nowhere slowly
you wonder if you are allowed to go with
on that rush to nowhere -
afraid you might be left behind
©130520121715