"roadmap" poems
A moonlit dance beneathe constellations
not Taurus or Gemini, Delphinus or Orion
but stars we named together
linking lines from star to star
hands pointing in air so cold
a tear falls and
another
leaving a roadmap on my cheeks
that you
chase
chase
chase
lifting the palm of your hand
so cold to the touch I shiver
feeling the beauty of my tears
that glisten like Venus in the midnight sky
of this cold Parisian night
you smile in jest and
I misplace the space
between you and I and that sky
whispering "do you love me?"
how could I resist the beauty of
our second to last kiss.
© Sia Jane
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
this is a poem about how you sleep,
how your body grew cold like a corpse in a mortuary.
how it felt wrong to reach out and touch you.
did you know that you turned away from me
every time i tried to face you?
did you do it on purpose?
maybe you were afraid i would be able to see
you were dreaming of her,
that i would read it on your face.
lines by your mouth like obituary,
like roadmap, her bedroom,
the destination, mine, a pitstop.
loving you was like attending a funeral service for myself
and sitting in the front row. no.
loving you was like watching you pick out a casket
and call it practice. ****
i know how sensitive you are about death.
i know it still hurts.
i know how everything hurts.
i am sorry for just being another thing that hurts.
i think i'm afraid to let you forget that you used to want me.
like if i can somehow dig deep enough,
wound you into remembering me.
i keep weapons-grade nostalgia in my back pocket
for the days i can feel myself slipping from your consciousness.
i was born with scar tissue where skin should've been.
but this isn't about me.
this is about the way you sleep
like you're waiting for someone to close the lid,
cover you in dirt, and read a psalm.
this is about the way i tried to sing your pieces back together,
and the way my voice gives out
when i read the things you write for anyone other than me.
lover, friend, stranger,
i just wanted to show you how to love your darker parts.
i never meant to become one.
i am so ******* selfish.
but i swear i am trying to unlearn the steps.
and you used to think my two left feet were charming.
i am out of time in more ways than one.
i keep stepping on your toes.
i can't seem to stop tripping you up,
hoping that you'll fall back into whatever this was.
- m.f.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
The teardrops run down
And fall off her nose.
She cries in hidden places,
Where nobody goes.
You can follow the tracks,
From her eyes to her chin.
Years upon years,
Of letting "it" win.
And her eyes tell a story
Of anger and pain.
You believe that she's happy,
But you should look again.
The scars of her past,
Hidden under her clothes,
Are a roadmap to places,
That nobody knows.
Her smile is now painted,
She's a master of disguise.
But you can see it all,
If you just look in her eyes.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 9:36 PM UTC
She followed my veins like a roadmap,
said I was the trip of her lifetime.
My arms began the journey
and the others
she said
were just paydirt,
her sweet dessert,
the beginning to the end
of her roadtrip.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
Your eyes smoulder with an imagination that is even bolder than I could have dreamed and colder than this toxic air we've been forced to breathe.
You write poetry across your face to form a Gas mask of rythym, blocking out the hate yet sealing in ideas that might frustrate you.
You hear the birds in the trees and you read the articles in every magazine, you take in information like the bees to the Queen.
Your thoughts radiate an aura surrounding your entire body, you bleed history and pop culture facts, you need the written word like an addict needs their cigarette packs.
You're empathetic to your core, you feel what everyone else does so you hide yourself in your mind until you can categorize the emotions from the lies.
I know you can feel the love in your heart even through all the cracks, like a weathered and torn apart roadmap but you're taped together perfectly and even with a few wrong turns you always find your way back to me.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
Return to the ancient path,
the roadmap of greatness,
the elders call must be obeyed,
thoughts of the ancestors is enough,
everything is hidden within it.
It is the beginning of healing
for all of us and our land.
With your ears to the ground,
listen to the secrets offered.
The lone voice heard has a
message for you.
To obey the call means life.
Oh! you children that heard it,
carry it like a fire within you.
Let it burn into your bones.
For your strength lies in it
and can't be taken away.
Your destiny is already shaped
by your culture mixed with their sweat.
The blood of your forefathers
was shed to earn you a place thus far.
Put your ears on the ground to listen
to what they have to say.
Tilt your head and look up for
the sky bear witness to this truth.
The air still sings their music,
even the waters also whispers their songs
for they drank from the same well as you.
The ancient trees in the arena
where they lean their back
stained by their sweats still stands.
The flute and the talking drums
are still calling out their names in
the dark under the moonlight amidst
the people with the elders,
the elements and the stars bearing witness.
My people return to the ancient path
and save yourselves from thunderstorms.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
The ice I wear is silence.
As for diamonds, I don't own them.
I save ruby for my lips.
I save swagger for my hips.
I save crystal for my gin.
And the only thing I age is grace.
As for me I grow divinity-
The sin in me,
is confidently rising as I walk into the room.
If I make you feel I'm naked
when your burden down with fur-
"What does he see in her?"
If I make you feel uneasy,
and hold him just so tighter
because my steps are lighter
although my thighs are trunks
like mighty oaks they hold me high
so I can match Tiffany eyes
to the Tiffany colored skies.
Wear your silver, wear your gold.
And I'll wear nothing loud and bold.
How dare I not adorn.
Not care about your scorn?
I am the bracelet that wraps the wrist,
I am the earrings lazy laying.
Designers drape me in goddess garb
while your childish glitter is fraying.
I wear years like men wear watches-
Proud and vainly count the notches.
Watch me slither, watch me wander.
Helpless but to become fonder.
Oct 8, 2020
Oct 8, 2020 at 12:06 PM UTC
I want to travel the world
Wanderlust
Off road
Living in the dirt and the dust
Throw the roadmap out of the window
I wanna go where no one’s been before.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
I have found God on my knees,
read scriptures along your lifelines.
I sang your praises into my hardwood floor,
memorizing every note as they fell from my lips.
Hold me close and make me believe in a deity I can only see by starlight.
Our bible is not written in ink.
It is a roadmap of purples and blues scattered along my collarbones,
parables of passion bruised into my hips.
I will give you this body
if you will show me divinity until the glints of morning touch this church of hollow promises and hot breath.
I will murmur my sins into your skin
until the morning makes us mortal again.
But for tonight
make me your disciple,
let me drink you in like sweet ambrosia
until I am sure that the stars spell your name.
For tonight,
make me absolute.
Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 4:09 PM UTC
Honey beads up in its combs
Honey combs his short summer hair
Honey runs thick in heat like this
Honey runs for miles on County Route Eight
Honey-bees cling to our window screens
Honey shut the screen-door when he smelled rain
Honeysuckles grew on the side of our road
Honey had a roadmap open on his knee
Honey-bees know when the summer is ending
Honey will wait out by the car for me
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 7:33 PM UTC
For every single time I stumbled on loose sidewalk brickwork
I have allowed a so what? smile to cross my face
this is no roadmap
flat as the earth was all those years ago
this path is uneven
and littered with fragments of the lives of others
others who at one point may have walked down this same sidewalk
only to stumble on loose brickwork
so what?
and each parked car
that I may have kissed while backing up
has its own life
maybe the owner spends hours in discussion
*how the hell did I get that scratch?
well you are welcome -
so what?*
and just maybe
if you call that number
stenciled and fading in the weathered concrete beneath the bridge
you will have a good time
so what?
the homeless man I saw one morning
taking the cans out of my recycling bin
and putting them in a duffel bag
was once a ten year old boy
who did things that every ten year old boy does
so what?
and maybe every single dumb poem I pen
makes its way into the heart
of just one person
and maybe they just fly upwards
into the atmosphere
where they dissolve into wind
so what?
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
.
Meet me for a pint after work.
Take me through the days, weeks, or months
We've neglected ourselves -
Overworked and inebriated respectively.
You've never been without a job -
But don't neglect a word.
Take utmost care through the moments
That define your time: The trials, troubles,
And metamorphic events which reframe
Your view of the world, or your relationship with it.
Tell me about the ones who make it easy.
We'll allow time for the detail.
Your moments constitute a vicarious roadmap;
A means to improve my world.
In return I can offer up a Dublin dinner:
The best advice I've never followed,
My sincere admiration,
And a proper pint of Guinness.
.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
There's no straight lines from A to B
No compass does it show
It shows my life as it has been
It doesn't show me where to go
As time goes by the pages fade
Just memories of past times
At times the present's blurry too
There's just so many criss crossed lines
No pages show my future
Just blank, unfilled, unset
You can not have a road map
To things that have not happened yet
Some roads it shows are darker
Roads you'll want to use once more
And on other pages, blankness
You don't know what they were for
The map is everchanging
It's not always the same
You can blame the old mapmaker
It's your mind that is to blame
You trigger things with songs and sounds
And others you might lose
It's a map that should show where you've been
But it's no good without clues
A compass in the corner
Doesn't point which way to go
It's your life, there is no answers
You get to choose which row you ***
It's not an easy map to follow
Hills and valleys all around
But, somewhere there's a spot that
Is where your best can be found
A page that now sits empty
Tomorrow, will be mapped and show the way
But, it won't show you where you're off to
It'll show where you were today
So, enjoy the roads you've travelled
And the experience so far
For this is not a map you'll ever
Find inside of any car
As I said, it changes daily
There's only so much room for stuff to stay
So, remember just what's important
And make the bad stuff go away
It's not a map that can be folded
It doesn't show you where to start
But when you go and look back at it
You'll see your life was full of heart.
.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
'Tis
A roadmap
Each word, neigh each letter
Mindfully
Placed
And carefully tended
Cause this is how
Wild things grow
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
She models
With nothing but her earrings on.
Gold tendrils
Dancing across her shoulders
Lost in a sea of black curls.
Her beauty
Is that of an angel.
A halo
Of sheer radiance
Glistening around her wings.
Her body
Is that of a woman.
Lost
In unmarked territory along open winding passageways that
God
Didn't even create a roadmap for.
She can fly,
He said.
The only eyes to witness were her's and God's
And the eyes gazing back at her through the mirror
Watching her model
With nothing but her earrings on.
Gold tendrils
Dancing across her shoulders
Lost in a sea of black curls.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
boys with lanky limbs
and ****** up feelings
boys who whisper dandilion wishes
and then rip out your capilliaries:
one after the other
boys who outline the roadmap
of your body with their fingertips
boys who demolish your soul
with their lips
boys who say i love you
and mean it
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
her nails are a powder blue
each finger adorned with a ring
that has a meaning and place in her life
this one she got in her hometown in the south of france
this one she found roadside leaving denver
each has a story to be told
as if her hand is a roadmap to loves secret places
her delicate hands weave her thoughts
on the air when she speaks
the brass bracelet with her moonstone
and the silver ones ****** softly accenting her lovely voice
her elegant gestures flow and ebb with the conversation
but her soft hand always finds its way back to mine
and in that warm embrace of her tender fingers
where i find such joy and love
i could spend a lifetime telling
you about all the wonderful things i love about her
so let me begin by telling you about
her nails are a powder blue....
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
Love belongs in the back seat of a convertible,
Parked somewhere in the summer night's dark.
Lips interlocked and cheeks flushing vertigo
The ignition to her transmission is
Push to start.
He shifts into drive.
Limbs, like open roads, quickly spreading apart
His eyes mesmerized along the highway of her thighs...
Love doesn't always exist in the heart.
It exists
Behind the steering wheel of his ****
The roadmap of her love canal is truly a work of art...
Voyaging between thighs so thick...
Parked somewhere, in the summer night's dark.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 11:58 AM UTC
gone into the deepest part
of summer sunshine
where i was blinded to my own heart
all that i have whispered to the darkest of night
hoping to hear answers unique
desperation has no cure
except in the mirror of the minds eye
where the wet soul hungers for light
where the better angels of loves delight wait
like brides to be on wedding mornings
the day dancing before them in beautiful eyes
wait now for the words to come
as easy as they once did
as right as rain
soft wet warm
i have gone into that deepest part of
summer sunshine
i found it while brushing my lips
across the freckles on her shoulder
like a roadmap to heaven
tasting of such bedroom intents
soothing the soul like a dark wine
in moonlight
i have gone into the deepest part
of summer sunshine many times before
lost there in the sweetest moments of deranged thought
where there is no fear
where there is no tears
only the whisper of my lips
on the freckles of her shoulder
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
“I’ve become lost in the cross hairs of love and lust.”
His line of thought became stagnant with no one to watch,
spellbound by her snare looking for someone to care,
her words would trimmer proving to much to bare—
“it’s just not the same, in the way that i love you,
something doesn’t remain.”
A sword breeched his heart that day,
vessel went off course filling with black waters of spite,
lines became blurred, compass askew,
naive conceptions of a roadmap wouldn’t do.
“Rain washed away our chalk, it’s not all lost”
this thought’s become seared,
simmering in his mind until the time would come.
I can’t talk of the grilling in our prince’s kingdom,
except that the tyrannical king, made hell his home.
Acidity was palpable, yet still he continued,
never ceasing words kept him through—
“but I do love you” until the fat lady’s tune,
sulking in the nostalgia of her swoons.
He continued to praise her more than the moon
thanks the sun, for illuminating it’s room,
in the sky, and the stars scream out cries,
for the mangled prince lays waiting only for her shine;
however the lyrics must stop, at some point,
the fat ladies pitch will drop,
until the nightingales love song stops.
Scared to be hurt once again,
a vow has been made that no more friends will be lost,
or bring pain, but this came at a cost.
Drowned by sorrow he knew only one way to manage,
cut everyone out because they can do damage.
Reclusive, seclusive, he shut out all,
friends’ unaware, the ball couldn’t have dropped further;
ashamed, self-disdained the thought feels like ******
What of the piper that doesn’t pipe?—As grim as tales come,
stuck between a gloc and a hard bane.
“Baring may be impossible” he said to cold steel,
heavier than expected, ice-like to his lips,
sitting against the wall, with a cumbersome grip.
Last text sent “Take care of everyone for me, you’re now the guardian.”
Panic set in friends, but it was all to late to heed.
Until the end comes, he looks into the cosmos of his mind,
and lastly to her shrine; final thoughts unknown,
except to the wall and rug bellow
but here I’ve presumed— “I will love you forever”
trigger pulled, death concludes.
RIP- Clay
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
She's just touching the surface
reaching no more than her own pain
losing days trying to wash her tear stains
the world's wishing her to rise above
look in their eyes and see the truth
to see what they try to allude
there is no straight way, no easy route
and everyone is the passenger of the same boat
looking for the very same perfect coat
But no one will get something which is not theirs
fate has decided everyone's own roadmap
there are some small steps, some big traps
Wait for the check points, rather than all stones
the game of the life, all to achieve and leave
don't just halt at one step to grieve
because she's just wasting her time.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
2010
learned to swim in an ocean filled with
jellyfish that didn’t sting,
seashells,
and more hands than i needed to hold
in a party that of more than four,
our brand new family strung together with salt water.
this time, everything is for the last time.
2011
this
is the
first ever time
my decisions are the
children of orphaned thoughts.
they swing across canyons of hope
attached to no rope.
reality is a maze with no roadmap.
2012
there is so much lesser now, than there used to be,
there is also so much more now, than there used to be.
somewhere nestled inbetween is satisfaction.
2013
today, my heart joined the gym.
the mission? twenty seconds of bravery.
2014
mission accomplished.
twenty minutes of bravery,
here i come.
2015
there was a time before.
there will be a time after.
from today, there is no going back.
2016
the trek has led to
an obstacle course.
let the games begin.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
I am a cliche poet.
I compare most of your parts
To the cosmos;
I refer to love as immortal,
The soul as ethereal,
The spirit as bird-like,
Death as a cave, surely dark and lonely,
And nature has a magnificient part
With all its pathetic fallacies,
Sunrises, sunsets, tides.
I once compared a man's legs
To an aerial roadmap,
And a ***** to a bull frog
In the Savanah.
O, the crosses I've borne to explain saying
I love you
Without sounding trite.
I may resort to prose
And dress up the poetric mantra.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
I wish,
that there was a guide to the human heart.
A map to how to make someone fall in love, because, that would make it all so much easier. “Just buy some flowers and she’s yours!”
But there is no roadmap. No shortcut, no magic formula.
It is like walking through a desert, looking for an oasis. You think you have found “it”... but,
when you raise your hands to drink…
the sand falls through your fingers.
One among the sea of faces, there are many fish in the sea, but I see one.
Shining bright as the moon in the sky, one pair of eyes, that will make you want to lie
Forever
Stargaze with me, no you don’t have to leave, we are infinite here, take my hand and have no fear.
You are not alone, don’t be battered by stick and stone, you are infinite… and they, are, limited.
Trust me please, take time to breathe.
I will run across the world and jog back around if I could just hear your voices beautiful sound.
We will fly high, and if anyone asks why
We will tell them to give it a try.
Live with no bonds, no chains no shackles,
and wonder why you ever listened to cackles,
people knocking you down to make themselves feel higher,
just wait eventually their judgement will tire.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
If not for pain, I think life would be a grand mistake. It is the roadmap of my scars that I will follow to my life's destination. Without pain, there would be no growth. No change. No movement forward. Pain is what pushes us, what bends us and breaks us and molds us into what we are. It erodes our weaknesses, it tests our strengths. It riddles us with holes so that the winds of time don't blow us backwards, into mistakes we've already made. It burns us to the ground so that we can rise again, better. Not everyone is a phoenix. Not everyone gets up. I get that. But those who do live differently. Pain is what makes each moment a precious wound, an ache in our hearts, a treasure so unutterably valuable that we must grab hold of it, cherish it, that any departure from what we truly believe is right is a terrible crime, for we will never live that moment over again. Pain is what life is truly about. The feeling of it, the surviving of it, the avoidance of it, the overcoming of it, the attempt to forget it. Life revolves around pain. How much of it you've been dealt, and how you use yours. You bond with those who have suffered the same sorrows that you have. You seek out ways and people and moments that alleviate your suffering, whatever it may be. The fact that we can feel pain allows us to feel joy, to notice the little twinge in every happy moment that keeps it sweet, and lends it the necessary tension of something that will inevitably end. Pain is what it's all about. And once I accept mine, I thank those who caused me pain. Not because they were right to do so, not because I forgive them, but because I love who I am, and I have grown because I have suffered. Change isn't pretty. Change isn't slow and subtle, soft and sweet. Change is a lightning strike. Change is cataclysmic. An explosion, or implosion, of everything that you are. A wrecking ball to your mind and heart, an earthquake reducing the city of your soul to rubble. Change is meant to be deeply disturbing, deeply upsetting. (Yes, you're doing it right.) Because we do not tend to change unless something forces us. Change is the most agonizing thing you can go through. But as somebody I am quite fond of once said, "Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation." The roadmap of my scars will take me where I need to go, and it may not be an easy way, but at the end I know I will find happiness.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC