Best Formulae Poems
The Complex Math of Living
By Franklin Price
4/3/2015
The complex math of living
In this 21st Century
Is all about the numbers
Don't add up for you and me
Billions of people live on earth
Trillions of dollars spent
To cost a million of either
Would not even make a dent
Such thinking is the danger
To see just what I say
Look around the equal sign
Does not add up today
Nor do the powers want it to
For millions count as one
It's not too much to buy them
With trillions it is fun
Subtract the cost of purchasing
A people or a place
Divide and power conquers
Much of the human race
People multiply like rabbits
Power needs so few of them
Attract a small percentage
Find the ones whose wits are dim
Make promises that can't be kept
To add more to the crowd
Truth lost in presentation
When the words said very loud
Convince them all to work as one
To follow formulae
Put the blinders on them
They will follow 'til they die
If you are of the masses
Check the math of what I said
Don't follow power blindly
Don't support them 'til you're dead
THE MAD SECRETARY
Hunched over the computer, I am mystical,
With mental white gloves and a karate belt -
A daylight cursor, but on my bicycle,
A word and energy transformer, a flickering Celt.
Such metaphysics I can make into sensation,
Turned into binary formulae by the boss,
My passion is for punctuation-
But the lingua franca doesn’t give a toss.
I see the point. I accommodate the pause.
I rinse the cups and make the coffee sweet,
I am saving myself for this man of laws,
Of Brehon provenance, who will entreat
Me to be his love, his partner and co-genitor,
Of a life graph, where he can trust the monitor.
(c) Rosemarie Rowley
From IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)
** Devotion Poem, VANTAGE POINTS **
(For Jim. #17 in Devotion Poem Series)
“I’m not a romantic,”
you announced at the very beginning
With a side-flick of your hand
As if you might then stand
To exit…taking along your trail
Of cool colors — the blues and greens —
Too unwilling for any startling
By my sun yellows, tangerine oranges
Or my bleeding reds,
To disturb your eyes.
But committed to staying, you added,
“I’ve never been able to wink either,”
demonstrating that disability as if
To say, “At you, I would if I could.”
Hypotheses and proofs, have
always linked
In your engineer’s character,
While crayons and ongoing arrows
spread out through mine,
Which, like our colors,
I thought were complimentary,
But now it appears you
might have thought
were just me being childish
And not about any inspired creativity,
from the other side of the brain, so
Alien to the light-green violets
On your side of the color wheel:
Where the palette of intelligence
has formulae —
Not unpredictable outbursts
Or random integers of emotion.
Once, you held me like the first
Glimpsing of a winking Venus
in the dusk
Presenting to all
Her prelude of heaven’s lights
To continue on through the night…
But now, paddling deep in
an ocean of years,
I fear that you find me
Like a flicking bedside candle
Meddling in your wish to sleep…
While some galaxies
in my cosmos
Have darkened
With my own self-depreciation
and decline
So like
Those stars
and dreams that have gone aging.
But inside,
My sun’s risings and settings
Still glow blessed
With vibrant, surging color…
Wishing to be held by
your morning’s horizon-blue eyes.
———————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 3/22
Thanks be to God
You speak of love as Chymistry;
as if t'were not a mystery
Yet no science can explain this thing,
of which poets write and minstrels sing
You speak of love as elements;
of atoms, bonds, not sentiments
Yet there's no formulae that can explain,
what Shakespeare's words doth make so plain
You speak of love as if t'were matter;
not a rhapsody, or a heart in tatters
Yet there's been no man, nor alchemist,
who'd concoct this thing we cannot resist
You speak of love as molecules;
as metals, crystals, things with rules
Yet there's no laws of love, nor of the heart,
no knowledge, skill, there's but the art
You speak of love as though you knew;
what part was false and what was true
Yet no substance is there to be measured,
only feelings, aye, these must be treasured
That three-dimensional solid so symmetrical,
Suggests how life could be - understandable,
With only six faces, all square for equal sides,
And a formulae to describe what makes us stable.
This staple of stability is taken, unchallenged and assumed -
The rational is included unthinkingly in life’s plethora:
Carted to anchor that which horrifies and saddens,
And bread to float and strike chords which harken.
You can also make a cube into a sphere,
That circular goddess that looks like a globe,
Reminiscent of the earth’s fullness and dwelling,
With freedom, liberty and happiness so giving.
It has space, dimensions and co-ordinates,
And its tesseract is plottable on a graph;
Other polyhedra can be related to it
Its symmetry mutations of tilings laugh.
Understanding and sense derive themselves well -
You can't laugh at the cube’s skeleton;
Furnished, not flawed or gaunt by posture,
It's structure sits regally for exposure.
Descriptions are it's glory, that flushing realism,
The Cubism movement pushed academic boundaries;
Said that paintings can be made of shapes and cubes,
Which built a monument to reductionism’s theories.
That we can be reduced down to basic matter,
Particles, atoms, cells and molecules,
Is cubism's gust and enterprise for all,
Who gather so as to hear its paintings flatter.
I love cubes, and always have,
They’ve offered hope in times of despair;
Their eloquence and beauty spark with naturalism,
With natural life’s inevitable repair.
~~Planet Earth And The Oozlum Bird
There was a question I was asked - just the other day
Is the earth flat? - Well what do you think I'd say?
I looked out of the window, and pondered on this thought
A flat earth not round... but I came up with nought.
A flat earth maybe, but we could fall off the edge
Or is it surrounded by a great big privet hedge.
How can we tell from our own window frame if the earth is a ball or flat -
To work it out is my aim, and thats hard from where I'm sat.
The formulae for finding - the horizon of the land we can see
The assumption being it’s round - or spherical to you and me.
Firstly distance from the observers eyes to the horizon we must square,
This equals the square of the height of the observers’ eyes - I suppose that means the pair.
This must be added to two times the radius, multiply by the height of the observer.
Now I am getting a bit confused but I carry on with a fervour.
The assumption must be according to this equation
That the earth is a ball - so on this occasion...
I consider the planet a bit like - the legendary Oozlum Bird
If we go round in a straight line - now I know this is absurd
But as the bird ran round and round chasing its own tail
It disappeared up its own ass - have you heard that tale?
Round and round we go on this planet ball of ours
Chasing our tails sometimes - for hours and for hours
The planet is round and I think... not a flat earth
Or we would never have the chance to return, and laugh with such mirth
As we see everyone chasing their own tails on their own ass
We know like the Oozlum Bird if we are not careful...what will come to pass.
Made from different alphabet
Can I learn can't bet.
The group of letters and numbers
Learning each taste like bitter cucumber.
It's a number's play
That forces you to say-
Oh god!! how the great scientist found,
These formulae to me which horribly sound.
Chemistry to you it's my humble request,
Give me tricks to make it a easy set.
I came from a village
Very fortunate to have attended college
He came from a cottage
Got lost on his quest to finding courage
I need not waste time for I have no future leverage
During the busy day when both the minute and the hour arm of the clock
Fell on each other at the very top of the clock
Signaling the day in its half
When the sun becomes shinny and unfriendly
They sat in the class all catchy and quietly
Seeking to decipher the key to unlock the answers
to scientific formulae and mathematical equations
I walked bare footed with a single arm shirt hanging to my west
With a very flat stomach as though I have smelled no food in the years past
My skin pays no more attention to the burning sun
For they now look like father and son
I travel from one town to another
Looking for what?
you will wonder my brother
People stared at me and wonder
Most people think of me as a thief
But those who knew me look at me in grief
I am no thief nor mad
I am only a boy who is grieved and sad
Searching for a way to making my future glow and my progeny glad
I am the scavenger of the waste metallic materials called scrap
I am not solving scientific formulae and mathematical equations
I am seeking the key to unlock my future from the shackles of poverty*
My palms are all callused and nails fractured
My teeth lost its purity for it knows no tooth brush in a while
My beautiful toning black African colour left without notice
My youthful smile gave way to a sadden old age
But I was brimming in determination to succeed
I shook off my lethargy and fought on all odds
I walked, scratched and bled just to work
Most people said I am useless and or mad
But I was just a hard working lad
Working so hard to see myself through education
So to you I say, see me not as destruction
For all I need is your kind word of motivation
And do show to me the right direction
So that I may be among the beautiful generation
In contributing my quota to building the nation
That is all I ask, I plea thee
It's past midnight; the witching hours
softly creep through the darkness.
Music muffles out of an open doorway,
shadows thump as hearts beat.
Seeing fluid bodies merge in time
I'm the wrong piece in an incomplete jigsaw,
watching chargeless as giggling electrons
attract and repel, weave an
intricate dance amongst pulsing protons.
Chemistry was never my best subject,
much less the murky peripheries
where chemistry meets biology,
the hormonal collision of chemical bonding
with fusion and reproduction.
Walking home, constellations map the sky.
The moon cycles its rhythmical shifts.
There's safety in physics, cause and effect,
bound in formulae, logic and reason.
By: Liam Wilson
Just like
Mages learning
To memorize their spells
We poets study formulae
To vex
Soon as I realized I had married this dude for life
I tried some tricks and formulae to be a happy wife
Every man has a weakness and thankfully his was food
With delectable bites on his tongue, he could be subdued
Understood that the key to his love lay in the pit of his stomach
Started trying recipes from his mom’s cookbook, hoping for some luck
A naive cook that I was, many a times, I burnt my hands
But knew with a little effort, at a vantage point I’ll stand
Now, as the aroma of his family’s food in my kitchen lingers
I have him wrapped around my skinny little fingers
As the morsels of his favorite food slowly traipse his esophagus
He looks at me dazed, as if he’s lost all his consciousness
The pulverized bits and sips in the intestine sing him a sweet lullaby
And he says yes to about anything I wish under the blue sky
But these poems of mine I should keep in check
If he finds out, he’ll surely wring my slender neck
Written on 09/10/2016
Contest:'A body of work' by Viv Wigley
Body part names used:
Stomach
Fingers
Esophagus
Neck
Hand
Tongue
intestine
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXVII
IF you pull a long poet's face
All things you write go awry
E'en fans who cuddle up offer no solace
Remember Kipling's " IF " the price to pay
If you pull a long deserted face
E'en friends plot with club members to assail
You lose will e'en to tie loose line shoe-lace
Damn could e'en petty sins cause such travail
If you go on pulling that long worsted face
Lines you lilt and rhyme sound airy-fairy
You push pen you powder verse till tears race
Creative college rhetoric plunder words weary
Yet if you pull this long-lined sick face
Grinding teeth biting lips till red ink spray
Ask who cut off Van Gogh's ear to spite his coal-mine face
Will a Gauguin mock a Brando's South-Seas belles-ballet
If you pull a long Art-for-Artifice sake face
Ask whose Kafkayesque trials plagued a Welles's Moro-Jacobean play
Holy-Wood chef-d'œuvres dictate classic post-modern pace
Kaleidoscopic formulae : rape batter murder on Tolstoyian vertebrae
© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 31, 2019
Limitless as it plays in its macro structure,
On the nano level breaking new theories,
Is the big Bang an illusion of infinite design?
Reality, an illusions of consciousness to our existence.
A foray into an unending process to define the divine?
What of the God particles from a collision course?
Reinvent bench marks in our formulae formations?
Would the constants hold with the ground breaking rules?
It is the beauty of nature and the infinite will;
That aid concepts and create illusions in our being!
Disgrace
Aloof the satisfaction of my indifference, I identified this taboo that seem to chime deeper into the ears of my heart demanding the poet's write undivided attention.
I got cut off from the rest of the world in a Bamenda depicting swag
Tethering but leaving the serpent lair untamed.
With first sight of no country man problem, the Atanga's arouse and sustain the coffin man revolution and concur the name of colonial master.
And who could tell the contrary? When all you did was to brutalized, kidnap and terrorized the country man
To now deny and define taboo the same country man you came bargaining with and begging to buy!
In a usual manner of the 90's we applaud and witness country Sundays in renounce police murder And bogus uncanny theory of we are one and indivisible!
In slits of time and yet unnoticed, you purged those you marked extremists to the satisfaction of your Nkondengui dungeon.
Mobbing Bali, Wum and tagging Ndop with another colonial slap, you earned without need of an arithmetic proof the formulae of fear and confusion.
Like a fanatic of undivided attention, you repeatedly called for school effective resumption while adjoining a case you long lost even before putting them behind bars
Helas!
What a caricature of yourself you've made?
Leaving me with no description than a grotesque disgusting La Republique that need redemption and awakening!
Copyright DePoet 2017
Oh'President of State, you understood the value of a weapon, I've a salute.
A weapon message of death, cruelty, tyranny taken place in school killings,
your soul wept out, incident compelled me to identify the running pollute.
State hired most of the brain of societies to produce weapon to supply,
my land combat three times with my neighbour; state tanks 'd big cry,
killed million, raped thousands, orphan crippled poverty cursed no lie.
politician forced youngsters to fight with other nations they 're stranger,
they killed them as an enemy, language, boundary and race was dumb,
you experienced 1st and 2nd World War and Vietnam, served as Ranger.
you waste natural resources to invent or test a formulae to sweep human,
Living a different standard, opposed policies and condemned pain service,
you taken a benefit of your growth to stop others with an intellect ban.
Is Muslim has brain, exploited them, 're terrorist killed million brothers?
Islam compelled children to suicide to achieve heaven as a martyre slot,
women 're raped no God appeared on earth to aid them who bothers.
Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria as Vietnam known American blood grown up,
New shots touched thorns kissed sun - rays, wind smiled on bird's crop,
State support them as a poor nation that developed nation has exchange,
Oh' President of State, I salute that you touch the burn of fire for peace range.