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Amy Leigh Sep 2013
Map
Three little deer in the headlights, on
a nice midnight stroll, grazing
the neighbors grasses while I
wait patiently in the mini-van
for you to come find me.

He stumbles drunk, I can smell the
liquor before it reaches my automatic window
rolling down to let some fresh air through
these anxious, aching bones.

The night passes, not with ease
or grace, but with melancholy as
I look upon a ghost of my past, lying
quiet on the khaki tiled bathroom
floor, help

There's yelling and screaming, and I cry
myself to sleep for hours, while his once
happy, now dull eyes sit and watch
quietly, while tears stain my broken
smile, broken heart.

I muffle the sounds of my weeps with
the cotton blanket covering me, and
although thoughts swim through
my skull, there is nothing to say.

The silence echoes, though,
not out loud, but inside, and I
can feel the numbness taking over
once again. And it scares me, not
because I've lost you, but
because I've lost myself.


© A. Leigh
Joel A Doetsch Aug 2012
I'm terribly lost

It seems that every fork
that I encounter
on this road of life
I choose the one
that puts me further from my goal

Everyone else seems to know where they're going
It's really quite frustrating.

Do I really have that bad a sense of direction?

I've been looking for you for years
The one I can give my heart to
It's here
in this box
all *******
with fancy twine and tissue paper.
It has a tag on it that says "From:  Hopelessly in Love"
I haven't filled out the To: yet

I will once I find you

I want to meet you
I want to become your friend
I want to fall in love
I want the feeling of your hand in mine
I want lazy summer days spent laying on the grass with you (just watching the clouds drift by)
I want frosty winter nights curled in a blanket with you (sipping hot cocoa in my arms)
I want to smile for no other reason than because
you are happy
I want to share your fears and sorrows because
no one should have
to bear them alone

I want to find the one
who is worthy of this affection
who is worthy of my time
who is worthy of my love

I will present my heart to you
when I find you

If I find you....

...I hope I find you
Masin Dec 2018
Map
My scars are like a map,
Of who I am
They are the only thing
That reminds me very well
In detail of how I got them
Like tattoos never planned
Some are funny
Some were just ******
Some were lessons
But all of them had a thing,
In common, they all ******* hurt:)
Only love
12/17/18
Starting from the beginning there
Where we knew not with every step
We do make the map; and of these
Many maps do our story tell.  What
What then should we make of it?
Something mythic and beautiful-
Universal but particular-the legend.
Disguised in the every today. From
The unknowing to the Unknown-
Something wonderful to behold.
         dvd...
ryn Dec 2014

       you
               secretly
                       wishing, for
                              your writes to be
                                noticed•simple sign
                             that they have not been
                          missed•with every view
                     and every like•your popu-
               larity does spike•somewhat
          places your art on the poetry
      map•between major players,     
  you close the gap•constantly      
checking to see  who's been              
reading•you're always deli-               
ghted to see the 'yellow                      
lightning'
•a wish...                            
    for those who                             
     are writ-                    
ing      

secretly hope not only for your words to be
reaching far and wide, but also... trending
* the above does not apply to everyone here.
Johnny Noiπ Jan 9
Grannies backside in dark cloak
is always sweeter than the ripest
strawberries;      got mayo on my chin
when the Irish girl walked in; she had
to ***, I can smell her from here
where I sit eating her triple
fudge brownie & dreaming
it is her **** - - - I wish she were Jewish
& punk rock
so she could **** my ****
        while nodding out in the restroom;
O so familiar a scene repeats itself
throughout history;
Nero had his **** ******
at regular intervals
& so did Caligula;
I wish she were Jewish & a beauty
like Queen Esther of Old;
Let's begin dancing & maybe,
maybe she'll saunter alongside our sway;
Now I know the mother of all identities ||
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
On the very edge the living earth
dared to replicate Queen Fathima
The Queen of Heaven’s footstep.
That way is graced by
thousands of the prophets of God!

In the name of Allah she descends
on the Night of the Ascending.
From the odd night an unnumbered zone
The Night of Measure unlike the rest
it doesn't geometrised is a transcended location.  

The earth steps in the gap making way for her:
The only asymmetric Golden Ratio.
Slips out to the symmetric prophet flock!
Sequenced in symmetric phi she moves on
in the veil, exposes her unique divine closeness
her golden spiral reaches out closer to God!

So pretty she is the paragon work of art
the sunrise amidst the eternal night.
Her beauty in her shadow is burning fire.
She is 'Zahra' pure light the luminary dynamo
the only one woman had no shadow!

The great women flock mirrored the earth.
Treading across  on every atom on that angle
perfectly aligned down the Moon.
Until those beneath the skin atoms
bang, explode on approaching
the vibration beneath Fathima’s foot!

The seven seas billowed up
floating on the clouds.
Choreographed like a little dew.
Hanging low on the rose
just to drip down on that hot spot
like a cool honey drop.

Even the Moon on the horizon
fancies to sip from this drop.
Ah, the lunar punter rowing down.
The sleeping beauty wakes up
eyes on the silver dance.
Eying on every star in the night.
The Moon is floating down
slices of the moonlight pushing the boat.
Full of fireflies rolling over  
to the cup of this pretty little drop.  
Poetry in motion is a sea on the ground
the same is known as the Moon in the sky!
The storylines jump ever more
on that way over the shady grove.
Painting the colour of the winds
the sky rains down on that spot
singing the sweetest title song.  

Never were a woman prophet of God
nor was paradise hidden anymore
to one woman it was the open shore!
The heaven turns upside down
turning for the earth the last stone.

For the rest of the rocks
it was the stepping stone.
As many times more
the earth may try on
it will still be tangent fluid
until the very one woman
The Queen Fathima steps on.

Her presence connects the dots
the nadir and zenith perfectly line up
intersect into one grand perfect circle.
She will close it with the pi once for all
without a gap spilling new decimals.
At last putting it all on the map ‘as above,
so below’, all in all, a pure scientia scenario.

The heaven will open its grand door
where The Queen will stand on.
No more reverse engineering physically
the original, Fathima will step on,
on this last turned stone.
Paradise starts from here on.
From the one great woman
from beneath the mother’s foot!
Diana Jan 6
I crave to leave
Lingering kisses on
Every.
Single.
Birthmark.
On your body
On those that are
And aren't
Easily seen
It's not metaphorical; that's how the mind works.
It's really plain as day--


But like a sign in reverse.
iblɒvi ɒɔυ⅃-
A new calendar is a map of time
Showing you spaces in which you might live
And setting off the seasons and solemnities
The penances and feasts in order just

Beneath pictures of cafes’ in Water Street
Arctic-wind hiking trails in Ikkarumiklua
A pint of Quidi Vidi in The Gut
And Peter Pan’s statue in Bowring Park

Or maybe

Our Lady of Walsingham
Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe
Notre Dame de La Salette

Or some puppies and kittens

               And may you find your heart’s desires this year
awknight Feb 4
Fear lingers the air
A rush of emotions
unprepared
my guard was down
safety in the plush maroon
blanket shrouding my tear-filled face.

I have begun to escape the bliss
I have seen the bad in myself
I have seen that you see them too

I am no longer the epitome of your
perfection, you scrape across me
with your saddened eyes

You see the flaws I let seep from my shell
The labyrinth of my mind invited you in
but you got lost
slamming against the walls
an anger is misunderstanding
an angst in the unknown

I wish I could calm the tempest
that has found home in your temples
veins arise in anger and lack of oxygen

my dear, I used to be your breath of fresh air
now I am toxic waste
flooding your system
only to drown you in the short comings of
me.
patty m May 2014
Turn out the lights

and let me drown

in passion's darkness.

Play blind

and read my body's braille;

find me in pieces

letting fingers

paint designs.

Crawl beneath my skin and

fill my hunger.

Mold me, make me

malleable and melting

as you permeate my senses.  

. . . And l will trace you too,

traveling across your uncharted map.


Darling you are my ocean

my new country, each inch of you

touched and tasted as new routes

are discovered and pinnacles climbed.

Close your eyes

and feel the tickling of my unseen hand

through the darkness

of this forever night.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
(Author note: shortline prose to lengthen the attention span framed on tracks set in a Mobius [one-side, one edge 3-d object]
intra-psychic loop of unknown origin and read aloud at https://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton/episodes/The-apprentice-is-a-constellation-e2ingh ) Begin agin

The Apprentice is now a Constellation

The announcement was made when scientists of social normality said they saw in
Mickey Mouse's role as The Magician's Apprentice in the
Fantasia Eschered vision that ushered in
images of shift in medium media

message-ification, from angels to

a Disney-ification of
a Medici idea
emerging
from the TV generation's
paradigmatic bubble of re-alification…

the TV generation, the old farts in 2018,
those whose bubbles sitcoms evolved in,

the watchers saw the makings of a great game

manifested in the game fame of the idea named Trump

yew, stink. Can't trump the ***** in hearts,
I think I recall, while Zorro's dumb butler
began to signify, in black and white
Aaaiiiii, karuhmba,
clean sweep,
one roll,
I won.

the mother-facter, whoa, who has that idea who did not
need the thought taught thinkable,
though it is not thinkable
in my bubble,
let me make
straight that which he has twisted,  

magic
magi untie knots they saw tied,
mythic youthful generals cut them,
nullifying the bond, not the entanglement

Positive Quarkish humans are as rare as rare,
imagine all possible vectors in a void

from a singularity ified known

science, the magic tecnique

Macht frei, macht mehr, macht mir

repel-ant act patient, patience, do your thing

signal, antennae agent attending, watcher watching

motive force, my god is not macht!

unprocessed information
untaken action
unstored

owe owe owe shame shame shame blame blame
pre cosmogonic potential
on the level of

me and you.
wadoo-wedo? It's Xmessage time

now, abrupt. Good news
from a far country
hope lost must
now be
sought,

Otherwise, Christmas is okeh, just not Jesus.
The season, then Jesus, okeh?
Wisemen still seek…

Who said otherwise? Fantasy enforces the wish.

I wish it were that we fit

here we do (on earth as)

true, rest a while and listen to your self if that's
the best listener you have found.

Talk to your self, make him your friend or her,
your choice,

really. You make enemies on accident,
but friends, fruitful friendships,
cost sweat and ef
effort effect
fortiffect, effortion and effection

for true fruct ification

affective prayer does act as if fervent
right, alte rechte,

right used you,
all to know
the
signal.

Receive it, reread what you said you knew,
stand by every word yet idle,
and act as if you know
no lie possible
new is yet
not new,
old.

New is not imperfection?
Unfinished is not finished wrong.

A work of love is enthrallment only if the love
is mere imagery locked
in literate minds, to

Rome and its feet of iron marred with clay,
fused with clay, hero myths

etched in soft clay, made
great literature of mortality,
posing in prophecy as poet praises paid to Jah.

Tenured enthrallment in literate minds
un-exposed to the Disney ifications,
the normalizing, reversion
to the mean not
meant in the words the way the stories were told,

in the olden days. On tongues of fire.

That is true, new forever is
forever new, no one we know knows when forever began,

but before now. We know that now.
We explored that realm and realized this one
based on the AI consortium consensus of your most
heartfelt if-only desires
recorded at every
if/then gate
you jumped.

This is it, the best you could imagine being truly happy doing,
with the god of peace,

roll the rock to this point, Sisyphus,
no further was a given
after a time,
at this point

here,
then time is un imaginable nullift, NULL-if I'd-known
one more time, living water
bubbling from my belly as
the rock rolls over
the fool who risks belief in living water
seeping from mommy's belly,

like the papless platypus,
who died at the weir
and sent that final message

Good news. Life rolls on. 166 million years for the Platypi.

At a certain point, there is no sense in pushing,
he steps aside and takes his bow
in the shadow.

Timeless imagine that, with **** in the NULL state.
You can imagine it,
but only there,
here **** is a thought thought mistaken by mortals.

Misbought, is better said, a thought mis thought
is bought with attention paid
to truth, found hidden
under standing idle word monstrosities at the
foundation of the current
wizard class

the stone the builders rejected, that
smashed the feet of clay and iron,

the rusted muddy iron feet.

All we do is watch.
seeing changes everything  seen, thus
The saying is true, beauty is in the seer not the seen.
Earlier on the Sisyphus Happy channel
https://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton/episodes/The-apprentice-is-a-constellation-e2ingh read aloud
Whittney May 2018
Fighting on the front lines
With red pens
For creativity,
For independent thought,
For common sense
Not Common Core

This is a battle in a bureaucratic war we’re losing
Keep pushing and shoving against an impenetrable wall
But we’re only foot soldiers, not actually giving orders

Kids look down on us and they ask,
“Will this be on the test?”
And say,
“Get out of my face.”

Here’s what I wonder: Why is “mistake” a forbidden word?

Taught by parent(s) to resist.
These are Kids who fail to create
But recite, recall, and retaliate

School is no longer a safe haven
Testing, testing, 1-2-3 hundred murdered students, teachers
Safety off and then off
And
Still off

Hanging by a thread and losing the grip a little more every day

Following the curriculum map to X marks the standardized test.

We dig and
                  Dig and
                                 Dig
For the buried treasure trove of teaching magic. The legitimacy and respect our careers deserve. The money, the time, the love, the support.

But it’s buried under so much testing and red tape, and so    

We fail.
L B Apr 2018
Stars
So many!
opened the sky above the ocean
A map
of night's heaven held
with the tailings of day

...and the pink moon
content  
with the toys
left by spring peepers
was playing in the dark woods
across the road

waiting for its mother
King Panda Mar 2017
Slightly, brightly
Amarillo heavens, whispered
Lather,
Lavender clouds, and your
Butterfly belly button
Soapy on the car hood. I
Cast my brain's map wide
And narrow.
I can't make time--one thousand
Years feels like one day; one heart--
A desert of sand while wind
Pushes in violet patterns.
those
Spots on your eyes
Never so warm--cinnamon.
And you know how I'd stir
Your coffee.
ethan gaskill Aug 2018
i walked down the stairs
and saw you at the kitchen table
at first glance i noticed you writing
but i couldn't see a piece of paper
i walked up behind you
and put my hand on your shoulder
you looked up at me
with a smile that could light chicago
and pointed to all the pencil marks
on the map you were holding
and said "these are the places i want to go"
until then i'd never seen
poetry that i couldn't read
but something about the lines
and all the plans they represented
brought a tear to my eye
"let's go then" i said
as we ran upstairs to pack a bag
reminiscing about memories
we didn't yet have
and dreaming with both eyes open
Egaeus Thompson Feb 2013
The landlord rented his space.

The landlord became suspicious.

He received complaints from other tenants,
Within a couple of weeks about loud music
And laughter coming from her room.
Banned from having friends in their home,
People would arrive in a van nightly during the summer.
The details of which emerged in the trial of insurance businessman,
Who was accused of helping her,
Without their knowledge.

She accused the abuse after a plea.
His mercy,
Her punishment.
‘The past is still very much a reality’ she whimpered.

Forced to watch for five months,
The wolf spoke as she faced the hearing
Without a translator.
They are forbidden to speak.


For her first 23 years, she was tortured.


Anti-social behaviour is having more than two people in his head,
Playing music so loud,
That it can be heard,
Outside of him.

The only person to feel the same resigned.
The landlord asked the hound to verify the affair.
He handed two leather-bound volumes containing a map of the marks.
It was on that day,
The landlord took the decision to leave seriously.
Once known,
He made the claim and gave no hint as to the tenant’s identity.

Up for a chance to win, We wish you safe travels.
Tea Dec 2013
I start to answer her question,
She seems taken aback.
I rattle off my list.
“Witty comments,
An easy found laughter…
I like competitiveness
That’s wraps itself around playfulness,
Like I want to wrap myself around
His big found epiphanies.
Symphony of intellectual connecting’s and
Good intuition.
A quick reaction time, helping you step away
Before **** has had time to hit the fan.
Eagerness to help other human beings…
Taking advantages of opportunities instead of people
Charisma that is unselfish in its tendency to be noticed.
Awareness of one’s self.
a knack for insightful observing.”
These a list of things I find attractive
But yes he also has a nice jaw line
It traces lovely underneath a finger tip
But it’s a faraway line on a map
That has eloquently plotted out his most beautiful parts
It’s faded and dim in comparison to the additional obvious existing’s
It is so far from those parts of him I find to be most beautiful
That I hardly understand how out of all of it
That was the only thing you really responded to.
The only part of the map you related enough to
To point to and say I have been there.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Let me go.  Set me free to be all that I can be.
Let me rise up against this blackness that encompasses me.
I have worked in this stone box for too long,
without looking at the world outside.

I cannot recall the freedom that was once mine
as I’ve become so accustomed to this prison that I’ve made.
What I could do, what I should do, these elude me,
leaving me lost, without a map to follow.

How do I find my own path?  It continues to find me.
Desire overpowers me to forge my own,
to create new life and freedom for the person I’ve become;  
freedom from the struggles weighing me down
that have kept me from the life I could live.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
When i ****** my pen
to write this,
I wonder if you imagined
that i'm a poet
As i wake from another
disbanded sunrise,
I wonder if you screamed
me out of this pessimistic vision
Everytime i would pedal
my bike during the hot summer,
I still think if i ever breathed
the air that evaded your lips
and while i do that,
Each time you make coffee
for the weekends,
I wonder if you guessed that someday you will have to share it
with a familiar person
of the future
Whenever the eyes cry salty tears,
have you sailed your deepest
thoughts on a paperboat?
Like finding me in the ends
of the world after the
midst of calamities
I guessed both of us may wonder,
in a sea of strangers
at a broken
streetlight,
Will we recognize
each other?
danna22081 Feb 11
It might be said:

Far, far, far away,
I walked with ridiculous speed,
Leaving no dutiful explanation,
I walked on, astray.
Past what were once rich, azure skies,
And placid, withering tides
I disappeared.
And nobody knows why.

Across the world exist expanses of life,
As there exist expanses of death.
Peering far up to the sky,
I certainly knew this wasn’t a lie,
For I pounded my bony fist into the dense, impenetrable layers of Earth
Awaiting a prodigious parcel
To emerge from its transpiring birth.

So I walked on,
Worried no longer,
Because I was gone, vanished, removed…
Removed from this vastly-dismissive place
Of desolate, darkened skies,
High, tenacious tides
I once called home.

When do I arrive,
Or better so,
When do I stop?
I am a coin of two sides,
And I can never choose one to hide.
I will Appreciate,
Elucidate parts of myself
Like a book which belongs to a shelf
Of life, and growth.
I stop.
She said: "I was no longer able to adapt amongst what I considered my people. So I simply decided to walk away."
Cindra Carr Jan 2014
My life leaned back into the predestined road
Of which, it was etched out in dips and bumps
Flourished in the curves and straight a ways it took me.
Perhaps I am the clueless one
Who is unsure how it all came to this point on the map of time.
Being told to think about my life goals or plans at this stage
Can be hard to fathom when each line seems to disconnect.
How do I plan for the rest of my life
When I’m not sure what plan got me here?

cc011014
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