Nowhere Poems - Poems about Nowhere

Blessed and blasted what a beautiful day Picnic basket lunch for You and me Cone join us Lord, You're always welcome What great company You will be Tell us a story now dear Father Thrill us all just one more time Placed His body in the tomb at noon He was nowhere to be found by nine He is risen, yes the Lord...

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( in loving memory of JPR) Nowhere to go, is this a bonus feed Maybe a curse, although it’s too grandstanding Born into nothing, I’ve got nowhere to proceed As if I fly too high to care about the landing In fact, it was much simpler in reality Dystopian curators were too lazy And too corrupted to maintain the trad brutality Corruption...

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Nowhere Man I haven’t rode a motorcycle since 2011. Riding through the trees was like heaven. The last thing on earth that's freedom. He doesn't need much. Just a few bucks. Ride on through with sunglasses. Just ride until your heart's content. Believe me, there's nothing like it. Freedom on a bike. A cool breeze outside. My shadow rides beside me. A lonely man on his bike...

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That Came Out Of Nowhere Poker Is All About Bluffing! Fold. Did You Already Win? -Gray Squirrel 05-19-2025...

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Fold-count-recount and refold the puzzle in my mind- the map in gold dust-whose memories-flying lamps-exploding light bulb chaos-Edison's memory Everywhere and nowhere-whose is ?The soul of things-intuition from the lining that I do not wear- purified from my bones I was thrown into a bell jar The lid was closed-the room was folded: The mirror was broken...

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The radio: "Baby, I need your lovin' Got to have all your lovin' Baby, I need your lovin' Got to have all you lovin'" By The Four Tops (poem written after hearing the song in the car and singing along) sound and air are filtered through your "I love yous" the world purified and easy to breathe in I feel like a marionette, limbs...

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I am in the middle of nowhere without a gun, bullets, bow or spear, the philistine are coming upon me and an angry crowd is moving towards the square. You have got to help me to get out of here, for the second judgment is drawing near and nothing on the island will be speared; prepare...

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I am guilty for the nation I’ve no business to the world In a play of no sensation I’m a prompter of one word Who would share a consolation For the character of mine I’m a proof of antination Well disjointed from the time Mental tenant of the era Of the sixties – seventies I’m that boy who smashed the mirror It was...

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Now again, someone upstairs, and somewhere on a bus headed somewhere in Louisiana where it is one a.m. eyes mind thy business while pyramid in the sky shows well it’s lessons and then out wild and naked in the Nevada sun, the dark green grass and the funeral, where a police car prowls past and says “Don’t you...

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I, myself, and me, we comprise the royal we. I makes most decisions, while me or myself makes the needed revisions to ensure we three don’t unwittingly disagree. Me, myself, and I, we're a well-integrated guy. On the whole, we're a tripartite soul stuck together till the day we three die....

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The good thing about going nowhere is that you're just about already there. So, no need to hurry, and certainly, no need to worry, because you'll get there -- with plenty of time to spare. ...

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Life is like being on a vessel adrift at sea. Not knowing where I got on, or what my destination will be. I don't know who built the ship or why I am here. No answers to my questions, my purpose unclear. I don't know who is at the helm, could the driver be me? Adrift on a...

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In flood the creek is still a walk over. A listless washing of the land, a hesitant flow, never meant to be a tributary, or delta of anything at all. The opaque water meanders through sunken banks then after a few miles, seeps into a wallow of bottomland. It recently has been given a name, a new housing development built beside...

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From murky depths the fish leaping high above the ground dirty water it could not bear sought escape in open air. But nowhere else it could go. Back to the pond it jumped down; up again, then down once more; a cycle it couldn't ignore....

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“What is Past is Prologue.” The Tempest. It's the young ghosts that haunt us most. A vison of my 6-year-old self, looking up from a basement window at the gray pavement above my head. It scared me then and still does. One dead-eyed day in a wintery city I saw a man without a coat crouched and shivering, the coat that he did not wear that...

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