Best Graphed Poems
Jump Start My Heart
The pulse is barely detectable growing weaker every second
Oxygen, breath of life so thin the moment he went through the glass
Emergency, emergency, code red means critical care needed
Emergency, emergency more time the monitors have pleaded
Through double hissed air lock doors the gurney comes to rest
Only if time gave a little bit more to save these eyes from death
Emergency, emergency critical DOA arrival for the morgue to receive
Emergency, emergency donor card active what organs can we retrieve
Systematic checks and tests to match up with lists of lives who bleed
Cross referenced and graphed a positive match for a heart in need
Emergency, emergency redirect the gurney into operation room 9
Emergency, emergency start to finish we only have a few hours time
The DOA lays bared, incisions everywhere, the largest in mid chest
The helicopter awaits, a panic state, flying a cooler way out west
Emergency, emergency clinging to life left with little chance
Emergency, emergency the EKG is flat as death gets a transplant
Life anew stitched in, arteries in stints, preparing to revive a heart
All plugged in, wired skin, electrical pulses give life a jump start
Emergency, emergency failed revival on the first three tries
Emergency, emergency on the fourth life beats to opening eyes
Written for contest: "Wake Up My Heart" 11/04/17
WON 1ST PLACE IN CONTEST RESULTS
**Dedicated to one of those nights where I lay awake at night and feel the weight of the world fall upon me in the dark...**
I struggle trying to balance success and doubt..
They both carry the potential to wipe me out.
I lay awake in the dark, strangled with these thoughts...
mind blots with ideas, that storm about.
Fist clenched, teeth grind,
knuckles turn white, brain paints vivid scenes that flood my mind.
Fluorescent, incandescent, negative and light,
flashing bright till it renders me blind.
Which will take me first, the pleasure or the pain?
Perhaps both, cuz without struggle there is no gain.
They compliment each other like lightening and rain.
Both dangerously attractive in its own special way.
So how do I respond to the darkness as it throws my mind on a curved dim lit path,
when hope seems down and life can't be graphed?
Do I succumb to the evil opposite of light?
Compromise tempts me with smooth whispering cries...
But I take the high road instead, look the beast in its eyes,
I smile, wink, and chuckle "nice try."
To find a maximum that’s relative
You have to walk these steps defined in full.
Remember, relative extrema live
(Or are) there at numbers critical,
And they should be continuous at “c”.
Monotonicity, after the lull,
(In here there is no measure of degree)
Just find the plus or minus interval
By choosing terms inside each chosen span.
From here you solve the “f’(x)” by use
Of chosen terms. A part whose graphed slope ran
Upwards-down is maximum, perhaps obtuse.
These things are all you have to keep in mind
When finding functions, some numbered or lined.
(In loving memory of my big brother, Reg)
Right within my den
Calligraphic letters you penned
Surfaced as reminder of the love we shared
I see picture perfect portraits
No negatives.
You do appear on wings of time
Like sun's penetrating light
In spaces, deep as the Caribbean Sea
Yes, you are reflected
In multiple hews, brilliant as you...
Blood of my blood;
Imagine fortified versions of you
I see courteous crews...
Beyond seven saintly specimens
Now your name is set abroad
As though Griot who ruled.
I remembered, you tamed my fears
And rose to pave smooth
One perilous path I walked to work
Yes, weary women in need of warmth, were
Cloaked in hand woven peace, given by you
Now, you're laminated photo...
Graphed upon walls of grateful minds.
I have seen you prodding time
Through lens of your mind
Tall as mahogany trees
That cools, and shelters multitudes
Now; who but time, will seal
This empty space
I feel within my soul?
You'll never be you I once knew.
*
Schooled in hard knock sufferance... -
soulful scribe matt er fact - seeks solemn sanctuary
Despite always pledging
allegiance to the flag
academic performance traced, narrated,
graphed... unfavorable zigzag
vertical lined spikes across
x-axis and y-axis displayed
dramatically sharper increased crag
when promoted one grade to the next
how comprehension did lag
attributed to allocating, dag
gone nabbit budgeting, crafting... productive
time usage, plus an affirmative nod,
whereby yours truly did lallygag
evincing object lesson procrastination
study habits shucked off cuz mum did nag
obfuscation regarding illegible note taking
I moost definitely haint gonna brag.
Deplorable curriculum vitae
not hearty and hale
equals pathetic academic performance
now displeases me,
yours truly did wanna fail
no matter parents told me, I got smarts
severe psychological dissonance
affected this male
in retrospect,... a tell tale
sign everyday existence
arduous, horrendous, perilous...
lifelong struggle analogous to quail
caught between cross hairs
tis pointless foregone opportunities... assail
self pointless, hence no surprise
metaphor locked within jail.
Report cards highlighted
plethora weaknesses bred
teachers exhausted markers
especially black red
spent small fortune replacing
regarding this jughead,
who practically proved deficiencies
prevailed within his head
arising and undoubtedly stead
dully contributing living
antisocially he approximated
being gratefully dead.
Search for acceptance during harrow
wing during formative years absolute zero
earning michelin equivalent laughing stock,
where mummified pharaoh
each arose out sarcophagus (cue Thriller -
Michael Jackson), a hero
cash equalling cow Jackson 5 era
before disgraced pedofile,
now keeps company with Nero
roman around within underworld
plus disembodied spirit Clarence Darrow,
who scopes, karaokes,
moonwalks... with monkeys.
Sundry dead souls heave pens, gogol,
and trumpet like Donald duck,
their afterlife I envy mingling sui generis
versus yours truly down on his luck
dismal flying colors
analogous to mire and muck
no man iz an island, yours truly isthmus
squeezing thru narrow passing lane,
this bummer doth aimlessly truck
this late bloomer summoning forth
long suppressed pluck.
Apparently I’m just a tool
Destinies fool.
But I refuse the jesters part
Of this proceeding court.
What map has fate graphed?
That stalks my epitaph
What star harbors doom?
The ethereal gloom
Must my ship,
So gallant and fierce,
And blades tip,
Unjustly pierce
The veil of this play
Fates arranged day.
Where can chance ring
Where I can freely sing
My path unfold
My future withhold
My destiny untold.
what lurks behind the shadows takes refuge in the
places that one cannot speak without a lawyer and
a place to stay when the going gets rough in the
shadows right out there buried & bustling without
restraint without subjection to the parameters in
which the most of us dwell & operate so obediently
on a daily basis throughout the utter insane boring
mundane nature of everyday existence & whether
or not you yourself choose to abide by these lines
drawn round your own individual life is of course
no one’s decision but your own but know that the
crayons in your hand are your own crayons and
there is no one alive who can make you color within
the lines if you feel that you don’t want to there is
no force out there that can make you sharpen the tip
with the convenient little crayon-sharpener that
resides on the back of the crayola box & of course
there’s no one out there who can make you draw on
lined paper, graphed paper, or even construction
paper for that matter if you want to you have the
right to draw all over everything around you the
chair you are sitting in the walls the floor the
pavement outside all over your clothes the windows
as you walk down the street the street itself because
who is going to stop you the worse that will happen
is that they will smack a label on you and lock you
up somewhere where the first thing that they will
do is pump you full of free drugs and place you in
a craft room anyway where you will receive a
pile of crayons and the whole process will start all
over again fear not those that want you to use your
crayons “correctly” for they cannot truly harm you
they can only wish silently inside themselves where
they think that all their little secrets stay hidden
that they could be just exactly like you and live in
the moment coloring whatever you feel like with
these beautiful crayons and leave the rest of life
alone to its beautiful shadows its wondrous “liars”
& “cheaters” & “thieves” & “murderers” & folks
that never for a second agreed to live by anyone else’s
rules except their own who let the untalented
uninteresting doorknobs of history decide in their
wake their value to society.
Many patterns appearing within grasp these few months avoiding them like hurdles cuz they reach into my depths to much
expanding and evolving, scaling my thoughts, weighing 1,2, or 3 tons just mathematical coincidence, sends me into a sphere'd sum,
replications and ratios, dimensional roots of perfection but what is with the confusion and decision of the graphed selection
parallels to coincidence, perhaps it's just theory, but for me it's to natural and it's a bit to eerie
geometric shaped thought bubbles thrown like a curved ball and ideas are placed and they vastly install
segments of variety, organized enough to function, nature,math, science, and words become 'a matter of fractual con-junctions'
magnified or reduced, it's locked into position, and no matter the altering, they still keep from switching
never losing consistency it's a stable setting, combined in combination of emotions I hold dear for mainting
moving with smoothness steady into place, abstract complexity with a divine sectioned base
a connection of 'a butterflied effect' mirrored image of familiarity like a doplegangered copy a direct similarity
such an opposite pattern, yet there's a such common denominators
almost can see patterns forming like I'm a prognosticator.
Rhinos in a line eating hay often defecate simultaneously and with such a thud it writhes the snakes out of a hibernated slumber. But a single dotted line is neither a breadbasket overloaded and overweight nor is it a queue of paper planes. But zero plus zero on graphed out paper is often a sign of a fork in a skirt and high wellington boots. Signal to an elephant tower and get a wave back. Extremely high towering elephants snore in a two hour period and so intermittent friendliness is quite often a case. Getting stuck in vases is problematic for sheep. But putting cattle grids in zoos is often perceived as hazardous to five fingered sharks whose fins are only developed for smooth grounds. And in the dark of a tapestry park there is no space for a stain upon the ground or on a tree trunk. Trot trot trot is neither a trit trot trit nor is it a fir tree acting as a tuning fork. For to tune is to ting tong says the little fly whose eyes move rapidly across the many atoms in the air. Circulating causing charms cutting creating chins. And the chinking of the clank is the clacking of the clicking clock. Chimmichanger chime with a lime. But not a line dance. Posing and posturing. Hahaha force nine gale smiling in a teapot. Hahaha duck in a hood. Xxxxxx gesticulations Z Z Z Z Z
Flowers still blooming in a place people care
lemon Trees, rose bushes
honey hives growing in pairs
weed plants, trees graphed, fruit bushes
growing like stairs,
yellow stripes, proof essential life still works to share
i appreciate they appreciate
they dont complicate i dont contemplate
being worried about just scurrying around
to avoid a stare
just the heat
just a piece
just for peace
can we please
see the seeds
bloom again
any where anybody really cares
many wonder
but most wouldnt dare
to ask for rain
“Excellent. Thank you.” - My hasty
gratitude sliced through my tongue.
“Excellent. Thank you.,” She mirrored,
with veiled mockery.
“Been on this earth for twenty three years,
and that’s the best I can do.”, I impulsively
announced - struggling through the silence
of Jim Morrison and muted mumbles
in the café. My voice was searching,
like a stray, blind bird,
to nest in someone’s ears.
I plunked into my chair.
My cup grazed the glazed wood,
and hushed to a perfect pose.
The white bellowing in through the windows
surged through like a wall of frigid wind.
It was imprisoned by the dam of depth,
where golden ceiling lights poured graphed
arcs down pine walls.
A jungle of empty utterances mingled
with the breeze of music to sound a unified silence.
The servers’ steps were patterned in an infinite loop.
Stragglers would tumble through the door
to be swathed in eternal stillness.
The air, stained with the dirt smell of coffee,
soaked ever deeper into the fabric;
never spilling beyond it’s net.
The whole café was solidified as immortal.
The only things that die at Starbucks are inevitabilities.
Paying forward kindnesses done...
courtesy family, friend or stranger
Appreciative when nonagenarian
papa telepathically hears me yelp
and/or non twisted sisters,
who time and again offered
unsolicited beneficial help.
Indeed unable to reciprocate
that's not quite all he wrote
when kith/kin allotted this ole goat
specie, paper money, and bank note
I experienced collateral
fallout unable to float
mine vessel, nor without
ability to emote,
thus underwent "non Fake,"
agony, I don't sugar coat
albeit analogy to sinking boat
(think Lusitania), thus
this scrivener doth gloat,
whenever he proffers
random act of kindness,
yet never can match,
nor approximate sum total denote
ting cumulative countless
dire straits immediate family
came to rescue one lame
(damn silly word wizard),
whose destiny when graphed
resembles infinitely jesting asymptote
approaching, but never
reaching financial solvency.
Hence yours truly doth attend
impossible mission to contend
despite contrary rumors,
he doth really wish to extend
to assist family member friend
Romans, countrymen, yes to lend,
(or lease) helping hand to mend
ever widening gap,
when charity bestowed
payback doth equal
obligated (boot unable) to spend
small fortune in order to secure
necessary Brownie points
approximating largesse describing
series of fortunate events that didst trend
all throughout mein kampf thee end!
Ha... ha... tricked you dear reader
yea me annoying
as mosquito buzz feeder
of Fake news, who
unfortunately happens tubby,
our crudely inept, mishuga,
and vulgar leader,
he doth trumpet disinformation
fast as rabbit breeder.
Whenever ripe opportunity doth arise
to avail - even toward
someone I might despise,
whether gendered person(s)
gals and/or guise
self satisfaction awakes to realize
to give unconditionally and tries
affecting humanity positively
free effort plus also wise.
Bravado and gaiety,
Marked the laity,
They were intoxicated,
From the problem they had been extricated,
There was a man,
Who was the swan,
Among celebrating also swams,
He gesticulated victorious,
And puffed and smelled the air,
His chest was pulled out,
As he marshaled his winning army about,
The folk jumped, danced and laughed,
Their future was free and well graphed,
Their year long fears were buried and dead,
This man had braved and stemmed the rot,
The drunken day went on for its 24 hours,
The man was lifted on shoulders that day,
And on the next there were suggestions to “lift” him in society,
However something was not right,
His lieutenants were not feeling bright,
They thought they had as much fought,
And deserved the “trophy” sought,
They conspired and brought the hero down,
His opportunities were stolen,
As juniors sighted not a pint but the full gallon,
They grabbed all that was offered him,
And became the controlling generals,
They let him be,
And run errands to their fancies and whims,
The hero had won foreign unknowns,
But in his own land he was brutally drowned.
words written in graphite
eraser in hand but the pencil is sharp
traces leave their mark and point to the truth
ink from a deep fountain
smudged by a wandering quill
inches forward on paper thin canvass
invisible imprints
scripted from a fanciful mind
empties hesitation and impressionable doubts
stylo-graphed images
peruse fleeting sculptures
transcend illusions of permanence
an empty page
demands representation
ready to receive uncensored flow
01st March 2021
I grabbed my steel machete and chopped off her head.
She is dead now, she is dead now, she is cement dead.
My first husband slept through it, I can hear him snore.
I got my boss, I can get you too, I say, my imagination full of gore.
My hazel eyes pop open and I realize I have done it again.
I kill my boss nightly, in my dream world, surely this is a sin.
But she deserves it, I think. My latest review was mean.
She is haughty and stuck up, fancies herself a queen.
During the day at work I pretend I like this arrogant woman a lot.
I fawn and grovel, pretending she is not Kansas City's biggest snot.
Today she was talking college words way above my head again.
I visualized myself cutting her measly throat, surely this is a sin.
Are you with me? She haughtily asked as she graphed.
I saw the ornamental sword on the wall and I laughed.
Seeing her head rolling around on the floor helped me a lot.
I cannot wait to see what I do in my dream tonight to the snot.