Best Wasteland Poems
rising from out of this cold frozen wasteland—
a blanket white unfolds with pure hope and love
melting snowflakes on such a clear blue ocean
lying on the edge of a world that’s very scared
while inside this mindset unfolds a radiant light
sun shining buttercup of such special rare beauty
in every little thing and precious detail which ever
so sweetly draws me to you my love, my darling
even the sound of your soft voice echoes on
inside with such mellifluous golden whispers
sweetly enhancing the very music you sing
to me which plays magic tricks so enchanting
and hypnotizing my very soul while stealing
my heart away and bringing me under your
spell and the softness of your wonder and love
both so overwhelming and intoxicating so fully
with this our mutual joy and love so deep and
so rare makes our time together seem so endless
my love for you are so special and so right that I
must pinch myself at times to see if all this is real
and so, rising from out of this cold frozen wasteland—
our mutual spirits, souls, and emotions are now ONE
my very special enchantress since fate and love has
put us ONE on the edge of a world that’s very scared
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 20, 2014)
(Free Verse poetic format)
How can one express the baffling depths of obscurity?
How can one behold to open the shafts of the mind?
I have never been able to solve the mystery—
Of myself. . .
I wish at times that my life was no more
That I could live as another and finally see things right
But I am always stuck in this darkness
And I cannot see this mind in light
There are beasts. . .demons prowling through the wasteland
Searching for any remaining life
And if they are ever found—
They are doomed and consumed
Fear is their downfall and they never fail to smell it
Their ashes remain, dancing with the imaginary breeze
It is silent here—there are no answers
I wish there were answers. . .
But maybe there was never a reason
No answers. . .
Talons extend and clench around my heart
They will never seek me out—they left me here
It is like they knew…I had no reason—that was the answer
I feel the pulse of my dangling life
Alone in the dark, whimpering like a child
I have scared myself, becoming this dragon-daggered youth
No balm in Gilead!
No eyes to see
All I know will never be free
I don’t need anyone!
You are a disgrace—scum of the waste!
You have everything, you ungrateful little nothing
You are a joke. . .
So swallow it all up like the pushover you are
Stand your lowest and trudge right through
No questions. No answers. Just . You.
Or just lie back down into the mush of disease
It has already infected you to the core
Accept who you are, you ugly pestilence!
I hate you
Who are you to be glorified?
Dream snatcher. . .murderer of all things bright
Saturated in what you call light
I see right through—even as the reflections shatter
All of the dead kept you alive—they all matter…
But alive you are the worst there is
False savior—edited attention whore
I never want to see your face again
See, that’s why I hide. . .
Desperation. . .desperation. . .
I sob and cry kneeling in defeat
For once I am right. . .I am right
Winds of a Frozen Wasteland
Winds blowing down the mountain silver capped so cold,
Howling fiercely with a herculean ferocity rarely ever seen.
A cold snap cuts straight and deep now to one’s very bones,
As one’s body trembles tremulously teetering toward a fall.
Beloved baby black crows roost inside their snug warm nest,
As a hail-driven breath spits its hardened bullets piercing now.
On this frozen wasteland of one’s soul—a lone rooster crows,
Seeing, feeling soft sunlight rays stroking his proud chest pure.
He’s puffed up now breathing boldly the brisk cold morning air;
Singing with wondrous conviction true of daylight’s awakening.
This lone rooster knows the gifts of nature’s frozen wasteland,
As the warm sun’s ebullient eyes flash bright inside dark jewels.
A crystal fountain baptized with Heaven’s own purest light,
Appears as the sun warms a land frozen nightly by the winds.
Dewdrops cometh forth as those teardrops of life growing anew,
With brightest beginnings for God’s hallowed frozen wasteland!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – May 1, 2016
(Unrhymed Couplet)
Winds blowing down the mountain silver capped so cold,
Howling fiercely with a herculean ferocity rarely ever seen.
A cold snap cuts straight and deep now to one’s very bones,
As one’s body trembles tremulously teetering toward a fall.
Beloved baby black crows roost inside their snug warm nest,
As a hail-driven breath spits its hardened bullets piercing now.
On this frozen wasteland of one’s soul—a lone rooster crows,
Seeing, feeling soft sunlight rays stroking his proud chest pure.
He’s puffed up now breathing boldly the brisk cold morning air;
Singing with wondrous conviction true of daylight’s awakening.
This lone rooster knows the gifts of nature’s frozen wasteland,
As the warm sun’s ebullient eyes flash bright inside dark jewels.
A crystal fountain baptized with Heaven’s own purest light,
Appears as the sun warms a land frozen nightly by the winds.
Dewdrops cometh forth as those teardrops of life growing anew,
With brightest beginnings for God’s hallowed frozen wasteland!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – May 1, 2016
(Unrhymed Couplet)
On the late night train away from sense
and into the midnight wasteland,
Old Lady Morbidica vomited blood,
I swore it was the blood
of unsuspecting travelers.
She bent her back, then sank to her knees,
and spewed into plastic bags,
it was her lifelong custom,
three plastic bags at a time
at least a couple of times a day.
I trembled with my travelling companion,
a changeling as I might have predicted.
Her only child, nameless and mythical,
traveled with her, high crimes in tow,
high crimes not directly known
but surely the highest crimes just the same.
Legend was he had a fourteen inch legend
but we were more concerned with high crimes.
We feared that Old Lady Morbidica
would cast a spell that we could not escape,
we dared not close our eyes
or with her spell she might reach our arteries
and vomit our blood into plastic bags,
it was her lifelong custom.
We feared that her son, one alone,
would cleave us open from throat to groin
and feed our innards to the pigs
running alongside the train in the night,
offering magical pig-like power
in exchange for the innards
of unsuspecting travelers.
We lay alongside one another
and she came to us in the smallest hours.
Strangely, Old Lady Morbidica smiled,
she looked unexpectedly benign,
she fell into my arms and whimpered,
I said nice things and comforted her.
Her nameless and mythical child
stood over us, he was quite plain,
next to me, still, my travelling companion,
now changed, as I should have known;
we all sang silly sweet songs,
the kind you’ll only hear
on Radio Kindergarten,
or on family-friendly CheeseTV;
we laughed with relief
and sobbed with shame.
4th March 2019
Dust dry winds that leech and parch,
Skeletal soldiers that endlessly march
O'er barren sand and rocky crest,
Examples of nature's cruel jest.
Plants that bristle with vicious quills;
A land that teems with ancient ills.
Cursed and blighted by gods unknown;
Loved by bandits and rogues alone.
Loneliness that echoes the land's bleak need;
A cancer that grows like an unholy seed.
Twisted remnants from an age long past;
Memories linger, but nothing lasts.
Broken spires and crumbling sand;
Fading ruins on every hand
Of once proud cities gathering dust;
Abandoned dreams now choked with rust.
Shadowed lands now harsh and bleak;
Drained of life, of decay they reek.
Blistering heat to sear and scorch;
A land benighted, the sun its torch.
Mountains loom high on every hand;
Timeless sentinels o'er the broken land.
Yet in this desolate, deserted place,
Life yet lingers, if only a trace.
Lizards, snakes, and scorpions abound;
Cactus blooms and birds give sound.
Reminders to all that life will live,
And survive on whatever nature will give.
A wasteland it is, and yet it is more;
For it harbors secrets of forgotten lore.
Lessons of serenity, hope, and trust;
Covered in blankets of alkaline dust.
As I wash these dishes.
I wash the wishes
from these tired and ruined hands.
I look out into the street
with a thousand yard stare
Eyes lost glazed bare…
I see my children playing
in these dirty and broken streets
in an iron wasteland.
They know nothing of fields
oceans
flowers
or a brilliant sun.
They only know towers of glass, chrome,
burning cars, n broken neon bars.
As muddy dark clouds gather,
ash drifts, trash litters here n there.
Dry thunder rumbles.
Fragments of yesterday tumbles
solemnly aloft in desolations winds.
So with each cruel word.
With each hand across my face…
fuels my hate.
With each blow each loathsome glance…
I feel something drying, cracking falling…
Each lie from his lips drives devotion away.
I slice the dry Rye.
Look out onto the street
to see my little boys at play…
I need to leave these wasted lands.
These wastelands of cold hard stares n cruel innuendos…
that hurt like fist across the back of the belove.
I cry each day.
I die a little along the way.
I die each minute of the passing hour.
Stones, drop into this broken heart.
Each stone builds a wall of isolation.
I drown in the well of bottomless desolation.
As I look out in to desolations boulevard
I wash these cracked and dirty dishes and wash these wishes from these raw hands n watch my children run in play…
…this iron wasteland.
rising from out of this cold frozen wasteland—
a blanket white unfolds with pure hope and love
melting snowflakes on such a clear blue ocean
lying on the edge of a world that’s very scared
while inside this mindset unfolds a radiant light
sun shining buttercup of such special rare beauty
in every little thing and precious detail which ever
so sweetly draws me to you my love, my darling
even the sound of your soft voice echoes on
inside with such mellifluous golden whispers
sweetly enhancing the very music you sing
to me which plays magic tricks so enchanting
and hypnotizing my very soul while stealing
my heart away and bringing me under your
spell and the softness of your wonder and love
both so overwhelming and intoxicating so fully
with this our mutual joy and love so deep and
so rare makes our time together seem so endless
my love for you are so special and so right that I
must pinch myself at times to see if all this is real
and so, rising from out of this cold frozen wasteland—
our mutual spirits, souls, and emotions are now ONE
my very special enchantress since fate and love have
put us ONE on the edge of a world that’s very scared
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
December 20, 2014 (Free Verse)
Bound by blame, broken by blight,
Scarred by a stolen satire,
nuzzling necrophiliacs within the night.
Tangled in torment, tied untamed,
blemished by the blasphemy,
of never speaking your name.
Shackled in sin, shredded sovereignty,
dealing death’s doses,
murdering you and me.
Cuffed with candor, calling our crimes,
to an impetuous enslavement,
tortured through time.
Set me free, to flee this fool’s game,
where we're always left wandering,
in this wasteland of shame.
the first time that we saw him
we were worried for his health
he was sat upon a seat nearby
and talking to himself
his fingernails were broken
like his unconnected speech
and he spoke of really nothing
as he stared towards the beach
the next time that we saw him
he was stroking a stray cat
whose paws were hid beneath its fur
right where the stressed man sat
my wife first smiled then spoke to him
and asked him how things were
he was worried that his wife was ill
and sad he didn't care
the last time that we saw him
his whole head was in his hands
we were sitting on those seats again
across from Margate sands
beside him was a notepad
dated 1921
he stood up from his seat and then
half smiled and then was gone
we read what he had written
on that pad he left behind:
these words of hope then hoplessness
reflect my state of mind.
~ ~ ~
"On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing."
(T.S. Eliot / "The Waste Land")
From ruined halls of a corrupt little apartment
I flee with my children, trailing after me
No more the hard hand of hate
On my back or deciding my fate
No more crack n ruined dishes
No more wishes lost in these wasted lands
Of iron n rust, from him I run,
Run chasing these wishes
The air is choked with dust, toxic things, sharp
Stormy is the sky, a bruised, blue-blackened eye
Of ash n brutal grays of dying flesh hung to dry
By an indifferent god, fire n lightning flicker, high
Lances here, there reflected in my watery eyes
The rumble of the engine is felt in my bones
Drilling deep into my soul
Litter drifts like ghostly figures
Across this broken road
Grayed-out lines of fuzzy imagery, memories
No more washing dishes, cracked n ruined sharp
No more cuts, bleeding my life away
No more wishes draining into the perpetual dark
I flee from the bitter stairs
The cold innuendos
The hurtful fingers on broken flesh
I remember when I used to wash our dishes,
Watching, wishes drain away into oblivion
Staring into the thousand-mile void
Watching my children playing in broken things
Thoughts fly across a sky of emptiness, framed
In a city of ruined skyscrapers, stretching, reaching
Burning cars cracked windows, parking lots
Reflecting flickering neon bars
Shadows grow as children run in play
Under a dreadful moon drifting
Under cloud shrouded misery
In ashen doom, I flee to anywhere but here
An icy light, growing cold, tracing all in silver
As I wash these dishes
I count my last wishes, as I sit here behind this wheel
Deep in my bones, my soul is aching to be free
Tears of relief stream, my children in the backseat
Silent they are, I know not where we’re going
In this bleak and ruined landscape
In this Wasteland of forgotten lives
Fading dreams
Fallen glories…
All I feel is the rumble of this old engine
The numbness of the wheel
Fighting the white monotonous line, but...
…I am free…
Tripping on acid
Erasing all the hope
Experimentation
Nobody seems to be listening
Aggravation towards family
Growth
Entering a world unknown
Wanting to feel loved
Abondonment
Scared of the future
Trying your hardest
Eager
Lost inside your own thoughts
Anarchy towards discipline
Nervous
Draining away all we thought we knew
Unknowingly, common men destroy not only themselves, but other men
Should I stand here and let this savagery happen to those without sin?
What is my place to say this and thus to him or them?
Easily cast aside like a blink or a whim
Demolition and chaos lurk at the very surface of our psyche
Whether we recognize this problem at all isn’t so likely
The poet says that war is a wasteland.
But there is a crueller breeding.
Where those who drink coffee
And breathe the secondary smoke of their lovers
And drink the Scottish honeyed poison
And those who make slavish mortgage payments
And chase the tinselled glory of the cup
Or the greasy position
Or the fickle adulation,
Waste away in their own self.
Where the innocence of the childish
And the trust of the good man
And the naturalness of a pure women
Is hijacked by their sin nature.
The playground of the cheerful dying
is found in the skeptic of the extra dimension
who says seeing is believing;
those who are blinded by unbelief of truth.
The wasteland of the Adam nature separates death from life:
What is true from the truth,
The game from its purpose,
The mask from the face,
Tradition from it's reason,
Oil from water,
Salt from pepper,
Heaven from Earth.
Nothing eternally remains there
Nothing spiritually remains there
Only an inhabitanted wilderness
Where the heat breeds the life that rots.
What a waste.
A long time passes and I am still here
Silently insulting, brutally weeping
But then I lift my head from the ground
To see him standing there
Towering over me in all endeavor of quietude
Was he there the entire time?
I feel his eyes but see only his stare
I am dreaming again
Has he returned to guide me?
To frighten me back into reality?
Who are you, entity of fear?
I know death draws me near—
But why, oh mystery, do you linger here?
He never answers me, though still I try
Why are you here?
Must you hate me too?
He pulls me up staring me down
His thin, sophisticated form makes me feel hollow
Empty features burning my vision
As he bends facing me
I never want to see your face again
See, that’s why I hide. . .
Why, I ask, my voice croaking
Tell me why. . .
He takes my hand as I cringe
Walking me to the edge, his head tilted my way
I shake like a dried leaf on the brink of autumn
A small, pathetic part of me wants to thank him
To believe all of this. . .is right
How though, can I trust his blank sincerity?
I am the only. . .the lonely
But there he is beside me
His long fingers intermingling in mine
The sense of fear and confusion
Sticking to me like grime
I am the Slender Man—I am—your friend
And for once I let him embrace me
I cannot bear to flee
He tenses and tightens his grip
Dreading I may slip away in panic
Please stay. . .please stay
Soon it will all just go away. . .
He is warm against me—alive
Breathing slowly, I feel the beating of his heart
Bashing my nerves—blurring my mind
Tingles shoot down my spine
As I stand there, so close to him
We watch a sagging sunset
As tears flow down my infected eyes
I have learned to fly. . .to embrace the lies
Squeezing my hand he holds me close
As the black sun wearily lifts its head one last time
Only to sink from its post
I never want to see your face again
See, that’s why I lie
Slender Man cradles me in his tendrils
Surrounding me like I am its sickly nourishment
Whispering comforting falsehood
I gaze beyond the wasteland
Beyond myself. . .
But there I find nothing
Hand in hand we walk over the edge
Heading yonder into the sheer, sweet
Nothingness
The demons watch us disappear
Grinning from ear to ear
I cannot see them now. . .
But I can smell their fear
-January 26, 2013-