Long Mapping Poems
Long Mapping Poems. Below are the most popular long Mapping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mapping poems by poem length and keyword.
The bricks glitter
with passing snails,
in natures beauty
all else pales
The dew on the tips
spectacular at dawn,
fields like diamonds
glitter the morn
Rays of light
shoot in the sky,
mapping a course
in my left eye
The rivers breeze
caresses the trees,
tugging on leaves
watch their frieze
stillness surrounds
the red back hills,
everyone asleep
on last nights pills
A Kookaburra laughs
waking the dead,
shushing him I say
"You'll wake up Fred !"
Finally the sun
decides to arrive,
this is when I love
just to be alive
These hours of alchemy
pass by me again,
can't wait for tomorrow
just to be in this Zen.
My love travels lengthy distances,
Before yesterday and beyond tomorrow.
Its journey encounters many obstacles,
With raptured joy and painful sorrow.
These times yield lessons always, that is,
If there's a willingness to learn.
While supplanting some long-held beliefs,
Though fearing failure if you crash and burn.
This emotional energy displays great power,
As it navigates through day and night.
While maintaining a course ever forward,
Mapping through blazing sun or moonlight.
When all the words are spoken,
And everything has been said.
The love that consumed, finds eternal peace,
Among the living and the dead.
In the mystical mists of twilight, leaning on an ancient railing,
I gaze deeply into the water to see my reflection gently rippling,
And the little fish weaving their paths
Through the blurred contours of my shadowed essence.
I wonder if these ethereal beings feed
On my floating thoughts, lightly nibbling
At the strands loosely interwoven
Into the very fabric of my existence,
Embarking on an effortless journey
To the deep, dark recesses
Of the shadows I cast upon the world around me.
I almost perceive
Their delicate fins brushing against the secret chambers
Of my mind, mapping the labyrinth of fears,
Gracefully winding
Through the tangled webs
Of doubt and wavering indecision.
Descending even further,
Their fervor seems to grow with discovery,
Bringing to light hidden treasures that feed
On enigmas cloaked
Even from my own consciousness,
Diving beyond the shimmering surface
Of my self-reflection.
They plunge into the hallowed temples
Of my thoughts, where shadows intertwine
With forgotten dreams and
Partially outlined longings, suspended in partial fruition,
Navigating through the ethereal liquid currents
Of the deepest sanctuaries of my soul,
Unseen guardians of mysteries
Perceptible only to their silent and adept presence.
In these sacred, submerged gardens,
My inner world unfolds as a complex tapestry
Of lost hopes and budding marvels,
Where the little fish, in their silent pilgrimage,
Unravel the hidden strands of my heart’s pains and joys,
Unveiling sanctuaries and
Echoes of a consciousness
Intertwined with the dance of creation and despair.
In the tranquil depths of these ethereal waters,
Where my essence fluctuates between reflection and obscurity,
The fish illuminate the dark shadows of my spirit,
Revealing the intricate ballet
Of melancholy and wonder
That flows silently beneath the surface,
An endless, haunting stream, interwoven with magic and mystery.
It began not with a crash, but a slow leaking of color,
A heavy velvet curtain, drawing shut upon the sun.
For years, I lived in the basement of my own mind,
Where the air was thick, and the mirrors only held
The pale reflection of a ghost I used to know.
I learned the geography of the void,
The silent, arctic cold of a heart that dared not beat
For fear of breaking.
Then came the slow, stubborn, agonizing rise.
It was not a sudden flight, but a creeping vine
Pushing through concrete, a single jagged leaf
Turning toward a sun that felt too bright, too loud.
I learned to forgive the bed that held me captive,
To praise the hands that could only tremble
Lift a cup of tea.
I traded the grand, sweeping hope of the healthy
For the quiet, minute-by-minute survival.
I learned that recovery is not a straight line,
But a spiral, revisiting old shadows with new light,
Woven of small, unglamorous mercies:
The smell of rain, the warmth of tea, the breath
That moves in and out without asking why.
Now, the silence is not a prison, but a sanctuary.
I am a mapmaker of my own scarred landscape,
Mapping the deep ravines of past sorrow
And the surprising, vibrant flowers that grew
Only because of the rain.
I am whole, not despite the broken pieces,
But because I learned to gather them,
And hold them, gently, in the palm of a tender,
Hard-won, and beautiful life.
Drifting aimlessly
I have sipped the ladled blades
in this cold chicken soup
Set upon a table of just deserts
on the far end of the horizon
Spoon fed disappointments
staining a multi-colored tie,
hated for what it’s worth
and only half as much for what it means
Navigating a narrow hallway
of slanted photographs, framed and fading
Dripping down papered walls,
torn designs, baseboard gatherings,
stopping only for locked doors,
weather worn carpets
burning my hands and knees
The spiral staircase teeters on its polished axis
as I weave my way towards the furthest star,
carbon copied desires on an unending page
rolled and stuffed in my shirt pocket, mapping
each pie slice step, counted and forgotten of
crusted blueberry footprints…crumbs
falling through celestial cracks,
drifting aimlessly
The rainfall pulls me in
swooping over everything
every inch in every depth within
whatever it may bring
swarming sultry upon my brain
informs me it’s absolving time
It washes Mother Earth clean again
Her lush pleasure garden sublime
I splendor in life’s grapevine,
the olive trees,
I drink its wine
and dine with its oil
It’s with these
I am of those who’ll spoil
wash away exterior walls!
groom your insides
rainwater rising falls
dripping down my cheeks
pounding pavement
the path a river that peaks
sweeping me in wavering repent
swept up then for ransom held
Rapids reach out—it petrifies
the wilderness in my soul
begging for its alibis
—to keep me from its toll
I’m caught up in it
saturated in its wet fury
my sticky skin is lit
with colors of curry
dissolving velveteen mascara
it runs, mapping the lines on my face
like something from the common era
The Messiah, there’s not a trace
Mopping up what’s on my mind
in a world that drags me down
pouring drips of brimstone bind
leaking baths of sulfur drowns
my enemy, the nemesis that was I
the Universe enacting retribution
from on high
Alas, stoned by the thousands
reborn and boughten back to life
out from the alabaster sands
bitter salt no longer rife
suffocating the sum of all sins
thanking the Heavenly Father
A poet begins…
…renews all with His renowned rain
prophesizes us as Epicurus rises
as does the absence of pain
a philosopher’s sonic temple baptizes
This love gives
Its kinetic pleasure purifies
It's katastematic satisfaction!
Its universe verifies
Till the rain comes again
This tranquil life lives
The tales you uphold have woven themselves across the thread of breath
Flowing through us as a guiding light underneath a new moon
Rays of the earth painting you in it’s image
Holding truth in the slumber of your hippocampus
Segmented before me—you’ve caught my attention
Sorrow arises as the sincerity had always stood bare
You’re evidence of an unspoken gospel
Rising beyond the insanity I dance in
Mapping the secrets of our lineage—you stand
Storing energy from the steps imprinted through resilience
You didn’t ask to bear witness—or did you?
The sole survivor of us
An anchor against the shadows of escapism
Methinks it's time for me to create
A rhyme.
My marbles have been scrambled and
Methinks it's quite a crime.
To lose the grand red Highway running athwart my mind.
all my T's and F's and Z's are running amuck.
It is the Amygdala's disambiguation
Messing up my brain.
I was making such amazing progress!
I was starting to achieve,
Intrigued I am - about just how the Amygdala disambiguates.
Hower, mussitation in the definition of this disambiguation.
Have left me with a headache of metacognitive frustration.
* Amygdala - a ganglion of the limbic system adjoining the temporal lobe of the brain and involved in emotions of fear and aggression.
Verse 1
Yo, it’s Jacksonville, where shadows linger long,
The streets whisper tales, but we gotta stay strong,
From 103rd where the echoes of pain,
A fatal shot fired, left families in chains.
Once the crime peaked, like a wave at the beach,
But hope washed up, yeah, it’s within reach.
Homicides fell, yeah, we fought and we bled,
But violence creepin’ back, heavy thoughts in our heads.
Fast food fronts, where the masked faces lurk,
Caught in the hustle, feel the pressure, it’s work,
Armed robberies striking, they’re takin’ our dreams,
While the city stays silent, plagued by sirens and screams.
A woman caught in crossfire, what’s the plan?
We gotta rise up, unite, it’s a call to the land.
Jacksonville’s a canvas, painted in gray,
But in the heart of the struggle, we find a way.
Chorus
In these streets where we hustle, where the struggle is real,
We’re dreamin’ of a change, yeah, we’re searchin’ for heal.
From the blocks to the beaches, we’ll rise from the ground,
Jacksonville’s resilience is the strength we’ve found.
Verse 2
The Avenues mall, it’s a spot where they caught,
A shootin’ that rattled, left the city distraught.
But we breathe life in the face of the fight,
Combatin’ the darkness, ignitin’ the light.
From Moncrief to Beach, we’re takin’ a stand,
Gather ‘round the youth, let’s uplift our own hands.
Targeted violence? Nah, we aiming for peace,
In a world full of chaos, we yearn for release.
We navigate these streets with our eyes to the sky,
Mapping out a vision, no more askin’ why.
The cycle’s gotta break, we’re the change that we seek,
In the land of the bold, where the strong never weak.
Through the stories of pain, we’ll weep and we’ll hope,
In the ink of our struggle, learnin’ how to cope.
So let’s build up our city, brick by brick,
In Jacksonville, Florida, we’re stronger, that’s it.
Chorus
In these streets where we hustle, where the struggle is real,
We’re dreamin’ of a change, yeah, we’re searchin’ for heal.
From the blocks to the beaches, we’ll rise from the ground,
Jacksonville’s resilience is the strength we’ve found.
Outro
Yeah, this is a call for our people to stand,
Through the trials we face, united hand in hand.
Jacksonville, rise up, let the world know our name,
In the heart of the struggle, we’ll ignite the flame.
I spend my nights with galaxies,
with spirals of fire and frozen light,
mapping the curvature of space
where time itself bends and listens.
Yet when I turn my telescope inward,
toward the small universe behind the eyes,
I find the same geometry at work—
the same quiet architecture of wonder.
Neurons stretch like cosmic filaments,
dark-matter threads of living thought,
webbing the mind the way gravity
laces the heavens together.
String theory tells us the cosmos hums,
that every particle is a vibration,
a note played on an invisible string
tuned at the birth of everything.
So I imagine the brain as a starfield,
each synapse a trembling constellation,
each memory a resonance
echoing from the first light.
The universe learns itself through us—
through these brilliant cords of mind and matter,
where physics becomes thought
and starlight remembers how to dream.