Long Map out Poems
Long Map out Poems. Below are the most popular long Map out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Map out poems by poem length and keyword.
No form, no organization, no verse.
A crescendo followed by silence and screams.
A wooden home locked inside of a concrete tome,
With a world collapsing while we keep relapsing
And again the past resurges; what we bury tends not to stay that way,
After all, the piper must have his pay.
A dark closet and we’ve seen fit to rot in it
The Devil in the details told me to be his advocate.
And El Dorado’s gone because a city of gold just wasn’t sustainable
But if it’s attainable then you’re damn right it’s going to be painful.
And death isn’t an option for those of us who feel compelled to keep walkin’
On the sand-- or is it ash? It doesn’t really make a difference while they slash
Their prices by depriving kids of rice and pin open their eyelids
For their twenty hour shifts ‘till they try to plummet themselves off of
Concrete cliffs.
And Macondo is Columbia, unless it’s in the Gulf of Mexico,
but you already knew that, Mr. Critic.
But what are you going to do with it?
Frankenstein was the man, not the monster
The confusion first came when our blame ceased to reclaim
An association between dissociation and our relation
To whatever the truth may have been
‘Cuz it certainly isn’t the truth anymore.
Blank pages in our textbooks and you ask me to memorize it
Regurgitate it and tell you what you want to hear--
My foods teacher says no eating in her class
And sees fit to harass her students with her utter lack
Of discernible knowledge while we cook some Kraft Mac and Cheese.
But who can blame her with the pay she’s getting?
No Telemachus on the television—Nor do we see Stephen
Not while the Situation is breathin’, cuz that’s what’s loved by the station.
Where’s the frustration? The indignation with the ignorant elation
That comes with living in a used-up world?
Dig a treasure map out of the trash and get it unfurled,
You walk to the ‘X’, but it’s been dug up—no wonder it was in there in the first place.
And the esoteric is what they find hysteric ‘cuz they’re all in on the joke
That they find so funny ‘cuz the system is broke.
Politics in work, in life, in marriage, in LIFE,
The wall of separation was torn down it seems, and soon you’ll find them tapping your dreams.
Enjoy watching your people’s nightmares, O Creators.
Tell us it’s what we want.
though thine wife gladly
(and long time ago)
verily swept passed
her final child bearing year
this house broken husband
genuinely hankers to father
(yes sire re:to set sea men
"NOT FAKE," nor NONGMO
free and reduced)
and longingly participate
in parenthood again
donning baby proof couture wear
analogous (as aye imagine dragons
fire breathing worth tolerating),
those who fervently veer
yearning to undergo
sex reassignment surgery (SRS)
with unintentional surgeon's delicate tear
aye thru thoroughly anesthetized flesh,
(especially genitals under going
transformational substantial removal
via said - bravely bite ting the bullet -
sharp pinching shear)
contemplating, formulating, issuing
personal specifications to cutting crew
validating, testifying recapping re: questing
genitals do not reappear
since significant surgery purport, some hetero
sexual person might coon sitter *****
yet no doubt a homosexual
and/or lesbian would ap pear
to understand completely if he/she
didst unwittingly accidentally overhear
confidential conversation,
yet warmly reassured the speaker,
they did not intend to get near
enough to glean enough information
that said transexual could reduce wardrobe
with women and/or menswear
and this once distraught,
distressed, and distributed
without willingness unfairly
fated to live stemmed,
undoubtedly wrought from sexual misalignment,
would post surgery
hover off the ground and modestly
swagger off into the sunset
(this scenario projection strictly of mine)
anyway he/she could map out in one direction
destiny describing,
an upswinging trajectory linear
once future freed where gender now nsync
???????
with physical gonadal accouterment
unconcerned if urge arises
to swivel derriere with flare.
-------------------------------------
duyeer93
st
america
online
dot
com
matthew scott
highland manor apartments
schwenksville, pennsylvania
19473
USA
I try to move the ship but enough water was not in the ditch
The water kept rising and falling and sometimes it feels as if my
Sprit is drowning; there are several avenues around me and all of them lead to the sea and that is where I will get the victory.
You have to fight on dry land as well as in the middle of the sand , my beams are too high and the light in the night sky is too visible in the middle of the sky are causing collusion when the temperature dies.
You have to map out a new path, when you fly in the dark, fly above or below but never let them know which way you go; and when the day is foggy or the rain clouds appears in the sky take a quick dive and cruise slowly in the behind the radars; stick to your route and if in doubt, elevate your altitude even when there is no shoes.
The gutter snipes are coming to town, robe in jackets
Looking like clown, they wear that familiar hat but they were ushered away and taken to the back and when they search the whole town Jonah could not be found, and so they send someone to search the ship and there he was hiding in the ship’s hole examining his soul. They pull him out at once and throw him over board and he found comfort in the belly of the big black whale for three days until the curse went away.
I have thought long and my spirit began to sing a strange song not a sign of life was there and the people began to fear, no-one knows how the crowd ends up in the yard.
They came from abroad to celebrate the return of the mountain Gods but the fortified city had no one in it, except a few pine trees with broken street lamps and a cross buried in the ground and the people were nowhere to be found, and so they went in search of a city that that once exists in paradise and now it is floating on the ice.
Anchor my soul in the city that is full of light, anchor my soul where there is much delight, the place where I can walk freely in the street and talk freely with the people that I meet, I can walk out in the middle of the night and appreciates the sentiments around and listen to the melodious voices resonating from various building across the city Anchor my soul in the city where people never sleep.
Every time I plan to fly there is some disruption in the sky. Every time I plan to fly the eagle appears out of nowhere above the sky, flying at an altitude that cause everyone to be confused, several of them coming from the East jostling in the breeze searching for a place to land but they have to keep moving around, there is no space to land on the ground.
Today is Martin Luther King's Jr. day, England's bank holiday and summer tranquility in Japan. Some people are just going home with lots of jewelry and crowns, they seem to have enjoyed the trip, feasting on fish and chips but just when they are ready to go, they meet up on a traffic jam in the middle of the show and everything comes to a standstill, nothing is moving.
You can play your games on the street but destiny is concrete, what you say here doesn’t count; you must find your own jurisdiction where destiny is bound. If you board the plane to east, you might face a huge defeat; you must look where the traffic is flowing and where the birds are going.
If you are running in the wrong lane, they will drive; you insane and you will fall down on the track and break your sturdy back. You must study the heart of the game and you will never be ashamed.
Every time I plan to fly, I have to search for an alibi; I have to go around the world just to get out of this miserable town. I have to take a hundred and ten cab, change twenty-eight air plane, drive through 30 cities before I can board my plane.
This is a hard road; you have to bold, walk with courage in your right-hand and integrity in your left hand. You have got to map out a path before you plan to depart; the wind is not friendly but the sky is heavenly. When your timing is right you can make that sacrifice.
Every time I plan to fly I have to take off before sunrise, at this time I can view the city and delved into mankind’s sanctity.
There is no trouble at that time when I am at peace with the divine, everything just flows and I know which way to go. Every time I plan to fly, they put me on standby, I never get upset, I always sing because I know that the forces of nature are trying to tell me something.
See you soon, I will meet you in the rose garden at noon, we have some details to go over and all the directions of how you will cross over.
I know that you are full to the brim and your diary is laden with “sins”, you have ten appointments today and you must fulfill them before you go away.
You have a meeting with Ambassador Pork and a luncheon with Dr. Session.You have a conference call with professor Gut and a schedule visit with King Tuft.
The old lark is sitting in the dark and you have to get to the airport before the dogs' barks. Someone is waiting at the boarding with an important message about the arrangement for the journey.
Keep your eyes on the prize and weigh the pros and cons before the day is done take a cold shower if you can to purge yourself from the heat and the sun.
The butterfly is flying around the blooming flowers and this is my most splendid hour, I can feel the adrenalin running in my vein and paradise embroiled in a terrible feud beneath the sky.
The bees are there too making honey for me and you. They have made the hive deep inside the ground so be careful how you play around.
Take a look at the old rules book and recall the moment when you had to cook, you remember the contract that you made with some foreigner and the reservations that you made with the engineers?
Something significant happen during that time, the cables that were laid were not mine, they came all the way from Asia and the Middle East and they have a timing to rise up with the breeze.
They were custom made; Go back to the book of old there is a significant story to be told. Everything is set at a particular time when the rapture will be divine. Map out your evacuation path before you go wandering in the dark.
See you soon,I will be waiting for you at noon and if you are late just meet me at the big gate, I will help you with your luggage and elevate your courage there is more to say but I will conclude for the rest of the day.
Jump out of bed for breakfast, the time is 3 am
Knock on Uncles window, have a quick cold feed with him
Gather up the rods and gear, sinkers floats and line
Looking up into the sky, cloudless and looks fine
A day like any other day, a boy goes out to fish
Uncle votes Corangamite, against the young blokes wish
Get there and the South wind blows, the long walk is for nought
Turn around and head back home, there will be no fish caught
Many times it went that way, six miles of soft sand track
If almost there the winds spring up, can only head on back
Can't count the times it happened, we liked to persevere
There is not much that you can do, pack up, get out of there
Then there are those other times, when all is good to go
Long hard walk was worth the while, when just a breath does blow
Stand out on the rocky shelf, the bait cast to the south
Then you must be patient, 'til it's taken in the mouth
Then set the hook and hang on tight, while you play the fish
They all fight in different ways, to keep out of the dish
Snapper are the prize we seek, big bump on the nose
But ocean Bream are valued too, that is the way it goes
The rocky ledge points to the South, big currents come from there
Bring in big fish that don't belong, because they live elsewhere
Even catch a Kingy, when the bait fish come in range
Or using cabbage for a bait, big Drummer for a change
Now I get the map out, check where we used to fish
Think of all the fun we had, and if I could make a wish
I'd take a visit to those younger days, naturally quite sprite
When a highlight of excitement, was to fish Corangamite
Where is this spot of many fish, you have the right to ask
In sight of many beaches, where the families may bask
A place in Southern New South Wales, where even surfers play
It is at St Georges Head, eastern point of old Wreck Bay
I feel like my brain is always plotting in secret
As though I don't know
Like, it has a whiteboard up somewhere
in a vortex like corner, where it knows I can't go. Scheduling meetings without sending me an invitation to respond yes or no
They take place when my brain thinks I'm not paying attention, but I know.
It's planning my demise, solo. It's been doing so, For quite a bit of time.
I recognize this,
as I map out the blueprints it has created with my mind
It's diabolical the lengths in which I am willing to go
to help myself find
more reasons to put myself down
Time after time
To reassure my mind that
I'm going to fail because I do all the time
At least to me in my mind
It's crazy
How this brain sometimes does not feel like mine
I try and control it
But it goes into auto pilot and
I am no longer the pilot flying,
80-90% of the time
we are falling
Don't worry, I'm always fine
Catch myself playing a role
That was designed by me but isn't mine
It's a past character I have no use for
It was useful during a certain time
But these positions my brain continues to assign are no longer roles that suit me in this state of mind
These brains we have
Are weapons
forged over time
We were not born defenseless
We have been scheming and plotting since we left the womb and assumed life outside
Our brains have the power to override information that has no space in this current time
But we have to be aware in the moment it is happening in that very time.
How the heck can I catch my brain slip
When I am constantly 5 steps behind
You can't, and that's what I learned
You literally have to drop in on meetings and share new words
Stop raising your hand,
it's time to take your damn turn
Send a memo out to the crew
We have
Extended the renovation time
An internal renovation,
For you.
Two score and a decade have past
It's time to be reflective
To take account of all I've done
And put it in perspective
All my wild oats are sown
The grain is in the bin
Sometimes I wish I had a way
To show just where I've been
I map out my destruction
So those who come will know
The roads that I have taken
Are not the way to go
I've climbed the tree of life
And sampled all the sins
The good ones and the bad ones
I've set foot on every limb
I've bathed in pools of sorrow
I've danced in pleasures rain
I've walked through fields of glory
And suffered human pain
I've battled my afflictions
I've embraced the joy of love
I took what I was given
And thanked the Lord above
Not everything was happy
Yet all was not that bad
I'm grateful for the journey
Through the life that I have had
So now I sit in retrospect
Of all my living days
Writing down my words of life
To put them on display
The echos of my mothers words
Still linger in my head
"Don't mess around with all those things
Or one day you'll be dead"
My father lived to eighty two
He drank and smoked and cussed
My mother lived to eighty one
And never touched the stuff
He sat there at the alter
Of his favorite bar and grill
Drinking sacrificial booze
And giving up his will
She was pure with heart of gold
She never went astray
Yet life left her a decade with
No thoughts of yesterday
Alzheimers was her reward
For doing all things right
Bed ridden in her final days
Until she saw the light
Who's to say how it will end
Or where that place will be
A gutter in the streets of life
Or home where I should be
So as I sit and contemplate
These moments of my past
I think about the road ahead
And how long it will last
Rockman :-)
Life can be relentless and unforgiving, stumbling at times crumbling under the pressure of trying to be normal, learning from the obstacles that we must jump over with precise patience.
I’ve discovered you must be careful on who you choose to share your life with, the forever witness to your good, bad and all that lays in-between.
As you begin to track each other’s footprints from pass lives you map out previous trodden tracks and discover each other’s tempo
And witness the sweetness in between the bitterness and you both see each other for who you truly are.
Because learning the melody of our love language aids in discovering the remedy in our solace
And echoes in to all our tomorrows.
At times we are burdened with reminiscence of ourselves as 12-year olds? Pondering on the injustice we faced.
Overcome with sadness that, I couldn’t be your compass to guide you through that madness
But would this love taste, this sweet with the absence of character building bitterness?
For now I will wrap my golden wings around your monochrome tones and ascend you to soaring new heights as we take flight.
Fill you with my loving light.
Play the games that we missed out on like tag and listen to you brag about how good of a basketball player you were. And end with a game of I spy... Why? because you are the most beautiful girl that I spy with my little eye.
We would return to earth as idols knowing that our tale is one of survival.
In this moment dispel generational curses, sculpture our future with the knowledge that no one can stop what is destined
Kismet is what brought us together, understanding, patience, respect and eternal love is what will bond us for infinity.
Always a Star!
You’re a star in my night’s sky that’s brightened with years,
not because we’ve grown closer in distance (perhaps),
but with age, we are wiser, trust more in ourselves!
Though progenitors looked to the stars to find Truth
(as the home of the Gods), now few honor such dreams
or claim stars map out lives. Some think love plays a role!
But it’s clear genes express what’s required to survive.
Fixed stars (constants before) now seem fleeting at best.
No one knows where they’re headed! Do trails have an end?
In the past, stars seemed solid, though some with loose ends
(were revealed to be planets) proved not stars at all
(just reflectors of light!) They’d move forward, then back
(a conundrum at best) to cross scar of milk’s plow!
‘Weird’ named “Wanderers” (“Planets” in Greek)! The name stuck.
In real space, there are rarely twin stars but for luck.
If a double sounds great, then three stars - ‘cat’s meow!’
In mind’s space, stars drift in, then sail out of one’s sack!
Caught in gravity’s well, what’s the purpose of call?
Truth’s too big (can’t you see?)! Time is all the heart spends.
All stars wanderers, too (though small minds may pretend!)
Grace seems equal to Truth. On day seven choose rest!
Does your foot rest on gas (or love brakes?) Can you drive?
Does it matter that much who spins truth (who’s the pole)?
Does the boy catch the girl, or is she one who schemes
(if a “game is afoot,”) who’s more kisser (mans booth)?
Let philosopher play; bless the lover who delves!
Let the driven love rest and bone weary take naps.
It’s my guess this could birth a world freer of tears!
Brian Johnston
6th of April in 2023