Best Map Poems
Within the crowded dark,
She dreams of a golden bloom.
Weaves a swift, geometric loop,
Then traces right, a graceful swoop,
To banish gloom. from the room.
And share a silent spark.
To never see your face again
To lose the map of your body
To misplace memory itself
For example
Today I lost your nose
I couldn't remember which nostril
Was bigger
Last month it was your facial hair
How it felt against my flesh
I still hold on to your aftershave smile
But the hair on your forearm
is still vivid
Brown red and black
An earthly pallet
Like ivy climbing up you arms
You hated your bodily hair
You shaved it every month
I begged you to save it and love yourself
I recall diving my face
Unto your chest hair
It got warmer
The deeper I dove
those lazy afternoons
How the fog transcended us both
I took naps on your stomach
As the cats watched us
Remember when you punched that guy
And he tried to strangle you
I clawed his face
His wife pulled my hair
That was our honey moon
You called the police
I called my mom
And cried
You visited me in the hospital
With guilt dripping from your eyes
Words flew like poisoned darts
Others wanted us apart
But we stuck
Each carrying their cross
Were we ever Heroes?
Doubtful
We were the fools
Laughed at by the children
we never birthed
I wanted to say goodbye
But I was too angry to realize
That goodbyes are a formality
When your soul suddenly dies
We will never have Paris
We hated it
Instead, We will each cry
In a separate house
Until one day
Not far
My face becomes elusive
Your face turn muddled
What is left
This emotional leftovers
Is the essence of what once was
-----
Manar Ammar
Cairo, 2015
Glacial ice melting
The climate suddenly changes
Old relationships.
When the blue jay sings
Listen how wide it ranges
The boundary of spring.
After rain rainbow
Thunder makes the coastland smile
Faith provides the oil.
So I map landscapes
With audacity to see
Change, a boomerang.
I search through petals
To find a woman's soft heart
Felt a bumbled sting
No bridge left to cross
Love drowns everything in tears
So the cuckoo sings
An unburied chest
With a map inside that says
Work for your treasure
Families, Legacies and History,
Things are known,
Rumors told,
And secrets hidden.
Yet hundreds of years pass in time.
The legend passes thru,
The lips and ears of the descendants.
The stories that are passed down,
From generation to generation,
Are given new light when,
One piece of a document is found.
All of the rumors,
All of the stories,
And all of the secrets are found to be true.
One ancestor who is known to be a robber,
A hero, a father and a brother.
He holds all the gold and buries it,
With a treasure map like none other.
Mother Nature holds all the secrets.
We call her Mother Earth.
She knows his secrets.
She knows who he is but not his name.
But in our family we just call him Jesse.
He is my cousin and it's a true story.
Depression drains your body of,
The energy that is needed to carry on.
The positivity that you bring,
To the melody of your soul,
Gives us the level of understanding that is needed.
Making you feel inspired by the,
Good deeds I have received can,
Only be perceived as Karma.
This philosophy brings about,
Humanity and the good deeds of others,
That will guide us in the future.
Which holds that love and passion,
Within the heart brings about an,
Emotional connection.
This leads us to understand,
That the heart is truly a map to our Soul.
Which allows us to fully trust,
Someone with our mind, body, and soul,
Who Will always be the keeper of our hearts.
Almost on the edge of the map
Standing on the sand holding her board
watching the wave and tide
she knew no matter how far out she went
she’d have to come back this way
here be dragons
here be dragons
the sun sitting on the horizon
gleaming shimmer like a vikings hoard
a golden koi swimming
tail flicking on its side
here be dragons
today’s promise almost spent and frayed
here be dragons
plunging out towards the heart at the end of the day
here be dragons
she knew
no matter how far out
she’d have to come back
this way
here be dragons
Sleepless, the body becomes
a mind map strung out on a bed,
color coded in degrees of pain.
Each movement sends an update,
a glowing patch of deepening red
or a lava line of heat solidifying
into a poker branding plunge
with a white hot X.
Staying still is only a temporary
reprieve, a lull for nerves to reset
and crank up for the next assault.
Inhabited space pressurizes
to send throbs pounding
on the walls of each weary cell
accompanied by waves
of relentless ache.
Thoughts clamber upwards
looking for a way out
but fall back into a dark
gravity, consumed by
that agonizingly slow countdown
when the next dose of oblivion
can be dribbled out of a pill
which, with any luck,
should get you through
until morning creeps across
your bed
with another installment.
Captured by the beauty of Lillian
I think of her on the coast of Durban.
With her is where I want to be.
So beautiful she could be a Wodaabe.
There's no way I could assign a worth,
Indeed the most beautiful woman on earth.
Being close to beauty encourages this man.
For her I would plow the fields of the Sudan.
To hold her hand would make me glad.
I would confess my love for her by the dry well in Chad.
Being near her could lift me from the Diaspora.
We could make a start in Liberia.
For her hand I would ask her ma ma;
permission to marry her in Ghana.
We're not moving too fast too soon.
There's a home waiting for us on the coast of Cameroon
There's no place I would fail to go,
Yes even to Bembe in the Congo.
We could lay on our backs admiring God's moon;
while sharing kisses in the meadows of Gabon.
Please don't say no and bring my eyes to shed tears.
My friends would have to console me on the streets of Zaire.
I would remain faithful in Tanzania,
Celebrate her beauty in Kenya.
For her love I would carry her cross in Askum, Ethiopia.
My love would not wonder,
It could stop the civil war in Rwanda.
What God had ordained let no man put asunder.
For you I'm a one woman man.
Our love stays strong and so I continue to pray.
We could start a farm in Great Zimbabwe.
For Lillian I'd leave America,
and hold onto her all the way to South Africa.
Languages, currencies, religions and flags
Capitals, origins and sorts of tags
Seas, rivers, landmarks and sites of history
Symbols, letters, colors of memory
Pictures of every nation as family
Orders and sects of homily
Cultures and traditions of pride and simplicity
Nurtures and inspires longer than mortality
Your world is not round but flat
Sleeping with peace and honor on the mat
Shapes and sizes of countries so fascinating
Your world on a map, your life in a story not stat
-- stirring and oscillating
Once upon a time there lived a very curious
boy called Simon. He was the grandson
of Sir Walcott, a great explorer.
Sir Walcott had traveled to Americas, Africa, Asia and
Antarctica. Treasures he discovered like gold,
rubies, emeralds and diamonds made him
very rich. The Queen honored his discovery
of new worlds and treasures, and knighted him.
One day, when he reached home from school,
Simon saw a big, white envelope on his bed. Quickly
he opened it, only to see an old map. Behind it
was written “This map will guide you to the greatest
treasures the world has ever known”.
Secretly Simon left his home in the deep night,
and headed to places the map showed. He found
gold chests, Sword of Excalibur, Lost City of Atlantis,
magic beans….. The more he discovered new things,
the more he became tired of looking for them. He
wondered what great treasure the map was talking
about.
Bored and frustrated, he sat under a tree and started
to cry. His tears fell on the map, only for the map
to glitter! Then a voice came from the map:
“Don’t cry little one….you are nearer to the treasure
than you can ever imagine!”
Simon wiped his tears, and looked at the map,
as though it was a ghost. The map was actually
talking!
The map told him that he would become much
richer than his grandfather, if he discovered
the greatest treasure of them all: happiness,
which could only be found in the heart.
The map told him he had found happiness
the journey, enjoying to pass through jungles,
deserts, and ice planes. Enjoying to see animals
he only saw on TV and magazines. Enjoying to see
new kinds of people with different cultures….
Happiness, the map told him, wasn't in the treasures
like gold, but in the hearts. Simon thought for a minute,
and realized he actually enjoyed the adventures more
than finding the treasures. He was very excited he had
discovered the greatest treasure;
the bliss and thrill of living!
The map then turned into a flying carpet,
and took him home.
THE END
Moral of the Story:
Happiness is not found in wealth or riches. It’s found in life in the form of family, new friends, new places, new languages, all in all encompassing the thrill of living each day.
MAP OF EUROPE - OBJECTUM SEXUAL *
O coastline with cool expanse of blue Atlantic
Your curves and indentations drive me frantic.
Sometimes thrust out peninsularly;
Sometimes studied docilely and scholarly;
Land stretching from White sea and Iberia
To Black Sea and Siberia.
O Europe, my virgin obsession geographical
Is verging on possession sexual.
Other continents are jealous - Africa is so island-poor, so peninsula-penniless,
And of rivers, capes and bays it has many less:
It would give a pretty penny to have just one Iberia, Jutland, or Scandinavia
To excite its smooth coast and other geographic behavior.
Australians would love islands with romantic names Capri Lesbos Rum Eig Frisian
Or an archipelago-infested sea like the Aegean.
South Americans cry themselves to sleep at night because they lack
Such Nordic coastal features as Trondheim or Skaggerak
Beijing would give all the tea in China because she must
Satisfy her desire for an Italian-shaped peninsula, a bootless lust.
Of course Asia feels no envy, for it has kukri-shaped Kamchatka
And the only large island in the world, Sumatra,
Which rhymes with the best singer in the world, Sinatra.
This Map of Europe is something I just have to possess.
My life is incomplete without its caress.
If I didn’t have it, my world would be a mess.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………….
NOTES
1 * “Objectum Sexual” is defined on GOOGLE as erotic
love towards an object of any sort.
2 N. B. This poem is purely fiction
Have no idea where I am off to
I am bot lost, cause I have been found
My job is done here, the best I can see
Roll my bed and grab a thing or two
Going to be looking for some new ground
You see it is about being free
If the Sun comes up tomorrow
I know that I will get an early start
Come evening and where it sets
Where I will hang my hat without any sorrow
Sleep well and no anger in my heart
Been a good life with no regrets
From outfit to outfit has been my life
A tumbleweed and a rolling stone
Never was one to like a barb wire fence
Life is to short for all of this strife
With his love I have never been alone
Living by my wits and using common sense
If it is my time to go and my number is up
I won't be one to keep the Good Lord waiting
I know that the angels will take me up Angel Trail
About out of coffee, maybe one more cup
Maybe some old grounds for re heating
And the head out on a new trail
It is not a end, but a new beginning
The trail has been twisted and long
Sometimes I got tired and took a nap
In the end it is all about winning
I have been promised he will forgive me of all my wrong
"No Sir, I do not need a map"
The sphere of influence influenced me spherically
With no core
Left brained hemisphere confused
Like right handed athlete
Co-ordination on my medulla-oblongata
Peripheral nervous system shuttered down
As cranial nerves refused to send impulses
Failure to interpretation on my cerebrum
Lead to my confusion.
Response
Follow the map, they say.
Rules were set to obey
No glitch for us to delay
What if there is another way?
Follow the road, they say
No detour or there will be a plight
Endure, it is just a phase
Don’t fight, for there is no space
No judge will the case.
Follow the map they say