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Jayantee Khare Sep 2017
Come with me to my nowhereland
Get to know me at this stand

I visit this place quite often
It is solitary, dark and silent

Sitting hours leaving everything
Feel nothing and be nothing

Here i meet my truer self
Sit here blank, lost in myself

Don't tell me to comeback just yet
Don't ever try to bring me back

You will get to know me better
Or maybe we will lost together

Why i am here? you'll understand
Come with me to my nowhereland
Understand people in there dark
Away from the world
In soliude...
Just be nothing ..
David Nelson Aug 2011
Your words

from Yoville to nowhereland
now that you have left this is all that I have
and I will treasure these until the end
my tears will never stop
I miss you so my friend

words
two hearts
an affair of the heart
can you hear my cries
if this is goodbye
I wish
Just a country girl
remember when
I've lost you, but I haven't  
sweet dreams
I'll be there
Let's ride
Out of control
rearview mirror
never
You matter
keep on keeping on
You
a whisper to your heart
Squeaker
suffering in my silence
can't live with you & can't live without you
parched heart
puppet on your strings
feel me

Gomer LePoet ....
i come from the land of the nowhere men,
far away from these shores,
a place serene and tranquil,
where a centuries-old peace stands vigil
over tomorrow.
you have known my people,
for we often stray to your borders,
to experience the world, and taste its many wonders.
many are lost to it,
seduced by the lures of decadence and plenty,
where want is cherished and need ignored,
the many made less important than the few,
and words like privilege have meaning only to those who have none.
your world frightens me,
haunts me,
interests me and beckons to my very soul,
and i like to think i always win -
but i don't belong here.
i feel the air of your land, and it sickens me,
fills me with dread and longing for simpler things,
and i know that if i don't leave soon,
i will be crushed by the weights and expectations of it.
i must return home,
to my land,
to nowhere.
Ahmed Fares Jun 2018
Why do the best poets have to come from the street ?
Where there is no peace
Is it because its in the desert we find the sweetest Fruits ?
Or is it in the most dry land that God bestows beauty ?  
We have seen it all to have the guts to say this . .
We have planted the hottest kiss on the lips of our motherland .
Oh . . What a beautifull place !
To have been born in.
But what about these workmates who have come from so far.
Where is this Mafeland(nowhere land)?
I need to find it after this month end.
Hope by then i'll have sent this love letter am about to send.
Connor Mar 2015
My mind sings the same
Peaceful songs of Spring Winds.
My thoughts slur drunk on this
Ectasy non alcoholic daybreak
Cloud cover morning
Olive umbrella angelic
Above my dizzy head full of
Music and imagined rhythms.
Slow and sleepy I pass by people
With fogged samsara desires material
Illusory physical elation temporary and unrealized lives littered with impernance they go for the quickest fix for their ocean scale emptiness.
My feet tread clouds and sidewalks both,
My ears hear voices and the enchanting hidden hysteria of life both.
My day is sadness and enlightenment both.
I accept the frailty of my flesh and momentary flash existence of this planet and other planet and Janet the Janitor of nowhereland the books in my bedroom the growing hair on my head this March and next March the midnight coffee in my cup and daisy growing outside the dry cleaner down the street. I accept it all with adoration for the simplicity of living and the Babylon sprouting inside my soul my lungs my heart.
Bus truck semi truck Cadillac station wagon pour in metallic blur beneath solace sunlight, everybody is as happy and hollow as I am though perhaps less content with that circumstance.
God is the conceptual flower in you and me
We dance,  its fundamental I realize now to keep on dancing and keep on laughing.  Else the world be swept in nihilistic tendency and we become outlived by
Our fears.
David Nelson Mar 2013
Forbidden Lovers

kisses of fire
eyes all ablaze
we've taken our love
to a much higher phase

but we cannot touch
no we are not allowed
no exchanging glances
in a concert hall crowd

we speak of our passion
in a place called nowhereland
your grip so strong
upon my hand

keeping low out of sight
down below the covers
we must not be seen
we are forbidden lovers

Gomer LePoet...
Molly May 2015
Straight on a plain, miles with the blowing wind.
Miles on a plane, nowhere near the mountain ranges,
nowhere near the Atlantic shore, no lapping sounds -
Just your gentle breathing
I’m just happy you’re alive.

This bulldozed land is barren,
dry like my eyes like a dirt road.
I’m stung on the arm by an imaginary bee,
flung out the open window.
This reminds me of the pleasantries we exchanged.

How polite we used to be.
And now your tired arm is slung over the wheel
angry with me. “Can you just
shut the **** up.” I’m not saying anything.
Let’s pull over at the next petrol station
get some Red Bull and make out like we’re American.

Lick the sting. Does it taste like Pepsi?
Can I be your blonde baby or your Barbie?
These dust clouds are haloing the sun,
as we sing out loud and off tune harmony.
It’s just you and me and nowhere baby.
So use me up until I’m gone. Drag on me
like a cigarette and extinguish me on the lawn.

---------------------------------------------------------
­
Nowhereland.
Head ready to burst
like elastic bands around a watermelon.
I’ve been getting angry.
Snappy again.
The long drive has left me whacked,
our conversation gone putrid,
the air swimming with expletives.
Hay bales.
Green fields.
Lost track of how many.
Wasn’t counting anyway.
Into sixth gear then.
South Dakotan sun
stretches into the car,
over your body;
I knew it well. I know it well.
The milometer slides
to fifty-seven thousand
and the silence stings my skin
like a small fresh burn
so I raise my voice - your mouth is closed.
I toss an empty Coke can out the window,
hear it scuttle over hot grey road.
Then you begin to sing, so I sing. Why?
Awful. Wrong key. Don’t care.
You look across,
destroy me so well,
the tumbling heart in a tower of cards.
I know. Stop the car.
Find a bar.
Let’s numb ourselves together
so we feel something,
gorge on US TV
till our eyes go red white and blue.
Look what we’ve become.
Just your gentle breathing.
This is what alive feels like.
Now give me a drag
of whatever it is you’re having.
Written: May 2015.
Explanation: This is a collaboration piece with Reece AJ Chambers, whose work can be found on here. The whole first chunk of this poem is my piece from the female perspective, while the second half is Reece's own writing from the male viewpoint. This whole poem is also on Reece's page.
Morristown is a small town on the border of North and South Dakota, with a population of about 70. U.S. Highway 12 passes by the area, and the poem is set on this particular stretch of road.
Not based on real events.
Feedback is, of course, very welcome and appreciated.

This is my first time doing any kind of collaboration work and I'm very excited by this piece.
Straight on a plain, miles with the blowing wind.
Miles on a plane, nowhere near the mountain ranges,
nowhere near the Atlantic shore, no lapping sounds -
Just your gentle breathing
I’m just happy you’re alive.

This bulldozed land is barren,
dry like my eyes like a dirt road.
I’m stung on the arm by an imaginary bee,
flung out the open window.
This reminds me of the pleasantries we exchanged.

How polite we used to be.
And now your tired arm is slung over the wheel
angry with me. “Can you just
shut the **** up.” I’m not saying anything.
Let’s pull over at the next petrol station
get some Red Bull and make out like we’re American.

Lick the sting. Does it taste like Pepsi?
Can I be your blonde baby or your Barbie?
These dust clouds are haloing the sun,
as we sing out loud and off tune harmony.
It’s just you and me and nowhere baby.
So use me up until I’m gone. Drag on me
like a cigarette and extinguish me on the lawn.

---------------------------------------------------------
­
Nowhereland.
Head ready to burst
like elastic bands around a watermelon.
I’ve been getting angry.
Snappy again.
The long drive has left me whacked,
our conversation gone putrid,
the air swimming with expletives.
Hay bales.
Green fields.
Lost track of how many.
Wasn’t counting anyway.
Into sixth gear then.
South Dakotan sun
stretches into the car,
over your body;
I knew it well. I know it well.
The milometer slides
to fifty-seven thousand
and the silence stings my skin
like a small fresh burn
so I raise my voice - your mouth is closed.
I toss an empty Coke can out the window,
hear it scuttle over hot grey road.
Then you begin to sing, so I sing. Why?
Awful. Wrong key. Don’t care.
You look across,
destroy me so well,
the tumbling heart in a tower of cards.
I know. Stop the car.
Find a bar.
Let’s numb ourselves together
so we feel something,
gorge on US TV
till our eyes go red white and blue.
Look what we’ve become.
Just your gentle breathing.
This is what alive feels like.
Now give me a drag
of whatever it is you’re having.
Written: May 2015.
Explanation: This is a collaboration piece with Molly O'Flaherty, whose work can be found on here (under 'Molly'). The whole first chunk of this poem is HER piece from the female perspective, while the second half is MY own writing from the male viewpoint. This whole poem is also on Molly's page.
Morristown is a small town on the border of North and South Dakota, with a population of about 70. U.S. Highway 12 passes by the area, and the poem is set on this particular stretch of road.
Not based on real events.
Feedback is, of course, very welcome and appreciated.
David Nelson Sep 2011
Once Upon a Time

things in this world can be hard at times
sometimes things just don't make any sense
finding things that make a perfect match
sometimes are just on the other side of the fence

I know the odds of real true happiness
can be so difficult to find it seems
in fact I think to most of us
this only happens in fairy tales and dreams

we search and search looking under stones
we look into the heavens in vain
around the corner behind the bush
it seems like this idea is so insane

but we always wonder if not out loud
at least inside can we find the Rosetta stone
then when you least expect a chance
you know there is no one to share the throne

suddenly from out of nowhereland
the fairytale you have built inside your mind
appears in front you rub your eyes
that's how it feels once upon a time

Gomer LePoet...
Zywa Feb 2023
Between a problem

and my actual action --


lies a nowhereland.
Column "Wees geen eikel" ("Don't be a loaf", 2023, Ellen Deckwitz)

Nowhereland: Limbo, after: Limbus puerorum = Antechamber of heaven for unbaptised infants

Collection "Actively Passive"
Jay earnest Sep 4
It's 5:32 and I'm awake
as I hear my neighbor stepping into his truck to go lay gravel

I've been touching myself and reminiscing
I've been hungry for 2 hours but my brother is sleeping on the couch and I don't wanna disturb him making a tuna melt

My situationship
Is nearing its end.  She's not in the mood anymore, so they say; 'not feeling well'
Perfectly ambiguous
I'm not feeling well yet I still comfort you when you threaten suicide on a near weekly basis

I'm looking out the window now and I see trees
I see nowhereland and faint murmuring, the screams of my future vessel
Saying get out

I must get out
and find a new way
Somewhere towards life

— The End —