Noshem Wearzen is a conceptualized name for the places that we go to in our dreams. It is a variation on the word nowhere (Noshem Wearzen) and exemplifies how our dream landscapes are equally inspired by real life as they are projected to us in a fictionalized way, making them ‘nowhere’ in particular yet still grounded in pieces and fragments of our reality. Inspired by the work of the early surrealists and the ephemeral writing of the beats, this collection is a compilation of the life, loss, and hope of my early twenties and composed through the eyes of somebody living half through their own subconscious. There is a distance, longing, and wistfulness seen through this collection; the first inklings of a young woman finding her purpose through the obscure nature of her dreams whilst overcoming grief, finding love, and battling with mental health issues. The first poem of the collection is Noshem Wearzen and precedes the two parts, it functions as the beginning to a story that ends with each poem that proceeds it, which is emphasized by the lack of end punctuation in the poem while each poem that follows ends with a period. Irreparable was created in lieu of an introduction and as a poetic way to discuss, briefly, the themes and motifs of the collection. The form of the poems is loose and free, resisting the desire to restrain through form and, through this, exposing the author’s inner conflictions. Yet there remains enough white space left over (another visual representation of nowhere) to enable the reader to come to their own conclusions and interpretations about the content, impact, and themes present.
Irreparable
Inspired by my sleep
I await the fungal infection of
Nightmares
Where in the world
Do the blue birds fly?
High, up high
They leave trails behind their
Tail feathers
Fractals of names, last words
Slowly dissolving into nothing
I see them from here,
I could name them for you
But I’ll spare you just that
Instead
I keep myself up
Clutching the grass even when
It is weak in my grasp
Unable to be tied down
To the world I’ve become
Up high I see the sky
Unfolding in sheets of
Blue velvet
I think of reaching up but
Do not act
Instead
I close my eyes and whisper
Bird song to anyone who will listen
Not loud, not pervasive,
Only belonging
To thoughtful me
Meant for mouths
Bodies
Encased in dirt.
Noshem Wearzen
I dream of stoplights
And panhandlers who
Own phone chargers
I dream of lonely people
Who live in motels in
States with abbreviations of
WA or AW
Who sit and wait
For young girls
To visit them
I dream of my sister
Across a busy street and
Instead I walk
The other way
I dream of traffic and looking
For a street called Moondusk
While the navigation is always
Bringing me back to
The subway
I dream of emptiness
In an obscure place called
Noshem Wearzen
Where they have
Outlets on the bridges
And streets that
Go in circles
My Marble Mansion
I’ve always had a second home
There were always many rooms
For my many friends
To stay in
There were rooms that
I thought should always
Be locked because they held
Family secrets inside
Rows and rows of items in
Rooms that held no light
And despite the fear I had of them
Being irrational,
I couldn’t help
But be afraid
The air was different
In these rooms,
It was dense and dank
Like a cellar, but it was upstairs
Where all the bedrooms were
I wonder why nobody ever tried
To turn on the light
But we would find solace elsewhere,
In the spacious parlor
That was full yet empty
Because the space was inviting
Without any furniture
Except for a marble statue
Of Venus situated next to the front door
The Venetian blinds made patterns
On our skin as we rolled around on
The cold marble floor
Making time for the mundane
Music melting through cracked
Front door
Has the band come to play for us?
It was only the protesters,
Our friends,
Our long-lost friends
Come to berate us
Because they were not
Invited to the party
They found a way to
Unlock all of the doors
But I warned them against
Going upstairs
Not because I cared but
Because I didn’t want
To disturb anything up there
But they rioted and filled
Up the house while we
All waited patiently outside
I looked around and saw
Only one friend left
Curled up in a
Lawn chair, crying
Because they had all
Gone upstairs and
Were gone now,
They found out where
We were and that it was
No place
Where they
Should be.
Self-Destroyer
Quaint streets
Old people
Shuffling their feet
A district of security
And I,
Wrapped up in
Your arms
Arms that
Draw me away
But not in
A good way
We lay naked together
In a bed with family
Nearby, I am
Suffocating
Underneath you
Seeing your angular,
Old
Face
And I cannot say no
I am transported to
A quaint world of ruin
A place I used to know
Forgotten days and nights
Blowing down my entire life
And above me was you
Always suffocating me
And I could not help
But give myself up to you
As if it was the last piece
To my own self destruction
You, my destroyer
You, my repose
I am nothing without
My memories but yet,
I am half a human
When I remember them.
Nowhere, New York
We drove down an unmarked street
With many great big trees
In the middle
Of nowhere
There were trailer communities
With beat in windows and
Signs that said
“Caution:
Children at Play”
There were many signs
Like this one
And I wondered if there had
Been any accidents in the past
I thought about who these people were
Because we saw nobody
The entire time we drove
Only dark houses, dark windows
No noise except the silence of nature
And we reach the end of a road
But to my left
An almost too familiar house
Positioned right at the
Crux of this intersection
So firmly and stationary
And I felt like I had been here before
I remembered children playing
On a playground in the middle
Of nowhere as I
Drove down a road
Not knowing exactly
Where I was going
I remember thinking
“Maybe this is Amish country”
But, in reality,
It was just Nowhere, New York
A place that exists only in certain
States of mind, and as I looked down
And saw my “Twilight Zone” t-shirt,
Everything started to make
More sense.
Juxtapose
We are perilous in the night
Even when we slip away into sleep
As I await the gentle blanket of
Unconsciousness, feel its
Plushness encasing me
Though sometimes it can
Strangle me, and I wake up
Feeling like my head has been
Bashed in, as if the world has
All fallen down inside of my head
Overnight
Though I try not to complain,
Seek proudly in the night
Find meaning in the bulk of
My subconscious existence
As I clamber up stairs
Into cobwebs of spaces
Not normally ventured
Tight, confined niches that
Make me feel like I am walking
Into my own grave
Ah, but the mockingbird sings
I hear its call in the embrace of
Sunlight as morning pools into
My room, and I am left without
A way to juxtapose for a while
I see the comfort of morning dew
In my room, and yet, I cannot
Remove myself from where I had
Just been only seconds before
Is it all a fallacy?
Do my dreams mean only
To distract me?
Yet, I am perilous in the night
Like a hooded assassin I lurk in
The streets that I call home
Removed from the world
That I only find myself
Disassociating in
Into a cellar, an attic,
A place that’s all my own.