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Heart to heart
my heart that old whore
magnifies what it deserves
a home and a road map
and another small heart
it being out of order
or much cast down
Poemas sobre el tema: map
Poemas sobre el tema «map» en Poets.by.
Introspectator
there is a map of my mind
I resolve to find myself on it
but no second thoughts
my coffee is an empire
my car the very end
of the world that I know
Journey without Maps
Could you walk- with
Your hand in mine?
Could you see – life
The way I see?
Would you care- to
Share my pain?
Would your heart - beat
As would mine?
Would you love- the
Things I do? Would you
Trust, would you be true,
Would you have faith as I have in you?
You said yes? Then come!
There is no road no map no light to guide
Only my love to ward off the cold
It might be short or last forever,
* * *
(as you go into Seir or Ives)
once worlds were
small as battleships
or nine dozen ballfields
enough to be perfect
but a number of things
now go wrong
mysterious expectation
with the worlds merged
no god-like power
that we can conceive
we see in front ahead
and why not be there
while math is quite the bag
of a half nonillion tricks
so Goya went mad in the end something like
* * *
trembling like a truck
through tiny lapses,
delirium tremens.
logic describes
lazy circles in the sky.
adios mes amigos.
fucking amid the maps,
views of rivers,
and so forth.
Traveler
I’ve taken the highway, that path that leads from here to
there, from anywhere to everywhere it seems. Over
mountains and valleys, across rivers and streams, I’ve
hitched my way through cities and deserts, from ocean to
ocean, back home and away again. I’ve stood by the road
in the pouring rain, cars rolling by with somewhere to go.
Each time I look in a rear-view mirror, mile markers
passing by, my thoughts drift back to where I started,
when time was on my side.
There is always somewhere to go, something on my
mind, even if that something is nothing more than
venturing into the unknown. I’ve walked away from pain
and into the arms of love, each time the load a little bit
Sonnets from a Lock Box V
In such a cell with compass and with scale
Some quaint geographer might subtly trap
The oceans and the earth into a map,
Painting the sea and sky with colors pale,
Embellished well with many a quaint design,
The elephant, the bullock and the ape,
The apple, the corn, the winepress and the grape,
The battle axe, the frigate and the mine.
Lo, now, we see the tabulated scheme
Of all the earth; its diagram of story;
But not its mysteries of pain and dream,
Its love, its pride, its passion and its glory.
So Fortunes lie on paper and make no sound,
But with its seasons still the earth turns round.