Best Graphs Poems
Cityscape
The artist’s hand reshapes yesterday
In straight lines
Of hard edges -
Peaks of
Right angles perfected
Missing oblique or obtuse –
Claiming the horizon
In full frontal
Silhouette
Cut from ebony shades,
When daylight sinks into the shadows
And twilight goes down meeting midnight
One dimension pyramids,
Floors layered by steel reinforced
Triangulated honeycombs,
Octagonal rounds
Gather cotton clouds
Topping off their naked crowns,
Lofty spires
Scrape the midnight
To gather far flung stars
Flat rectangles with jute box tops
Soar with arches -
Lines leaping up and sliding down -
Squares low and squat,
Took up their space,
Yanked from the line,
Openings left
Like toothless
Grinning;
Concealed within the cityscape unblinking
The murmurings of urban sighs,
No rise and fall of breathing,
Foundation’s feet bound in stone
Swaying only when magnum cores
Tremble moving plates east to west, north to south;
Unseen
The doorway cradle songs
Of shivering dreams,
Desperation
Pacing
On the nineteenth floor
Fauna’s night perfume
Floating up behind dark floral gates
Of swirling iron
Grids of neighbors – blocks of neighborhoods -
Graphs of boulevards winding round,
Absent from the cityscape.
Inspirational verse – “When the lights go down in the city and the sun shines on the bay; do I want to be there in my city….I want to be there in my city.” Journey
Multitude of numbers,
Multiply, add, divide,
Minus, percentage, graphs,
Metres, centimetres,
More trigonometry,
Merge with geometry,
Magic of solving sums.
10.02.2020
For Joseph May's "Pleiades" poetry contest
HOW MANY TIMES ?
Now I’m a commonsense-o-holic
But when I was a practising catholic
Confession was always a trial or a show.
The guy behind the wire-gauze fence
Always seemed to want to know
How many times I had done the offence.
Well the most common offence, though odious,
Of young teenage boys is obvious:
And sometimes I used to mentally advance
The following extenuating circumstance
Well twenty-eight times this week
Because my hormones were at their peak;
Well fifty-three times but I must admit
It would have been sixty you’d have to acquit
If I had had enough energy left for such crimes;
Well, father, it would have been four times,
But there's no lock on the door, you see
And my mother walked in on me, suddenly.
What did he do with all the statistics of my energy pent?
Of frequency ? Of offending commandment?
Did he report to higher authority?
Did he keep bar charts or pie graphs of me
Compared with other boys of teen-age?
Was I better or worse than average?
Confession is secret so I never found out
But to hell I am going beyond any doubt.
When I see Matt Hancock spin his lie
I can’t stop sing at his pink tie
He stands there like a demon telling us all what to do
He thinks we are stupid and don’t have a clue.
Take your restrictions your graphs and your tiers
You can’t control us all with your COVID-19 fears
It’s over now we have had enough
Shows us statistics we are calling your bluff.
We can’t be free with these measures In place
We are sick and tired of this nonsense give us some space
We can’t see our family other than Christmas?
We care, cause we see how you destroy our business.
If this is not an outreach of power the world has seen
Why do your worry about those who oppose the vaccine?
I Thought This Was So Cute And Just Wanted To Share It.
Jesus and Satan were having an ongoing argument about who was better on his computer. They had been going at it for days and God was tired of hearing all the bickering. Finally God said, "Cool it! I am going to set up a test that will run for two hours and I will judge who does the better job.
So Jesus and Satan sat down at their keyboards and typed away.
They moused. They did spread sheets. They did reports and graphs, sent faxes and emails and emails with attachments. They downloaded and did genealogy
reports and made cards. They did every job known to man but ten minutes before time was up lightening flashed across the sky and thunder rolled. The rain poured and of course the electricity went off.
Satan stared at his blank screen and screamed every curse word known in the underworld.
Jesus just sighed and sat back.
The electricity finally flickered back on and they restarted their computers.
Satan started searching frantically screaming ,"It's Gone! It's All Gone!"
"I Lost Everything When The Power Went Out!"
Meanwhile Jesus started printing out all His files from the past two hours.
Satan observed this and became irate.
He screamed, "Wait! He Cheated! How Did He Do That!?"
God smiled and shrugged and said, "Jesus Saves."
Form:
Labyrinth of Sighs
Wondering through a labyrinth of sighs
More platitudes with attitudes that never question why
A litany of afterthoughts about where we go when we die
An emboldened range of rude retorts refuting the reasons why I cry
A canon blazing wartime over a century ago
The night sky spent stargazing, wondering what we really know
A multinational conglomerate just phasing out more duplicitous advertisements that “flow”
A hungry orphan on a street corner, with nowhere else to go
Self-aggrandising promotion everywhere I seem to look
The wealthy uprising causing commotions, celebrities writing books
A typhoon on the island coast, Turkey on the day the earth shook
A morbid day that hurts the most,
An undignified Capatalist crook
The arrogant certainty of western superiority
The way the monotony forms around typecast minorities
The precedence of material goods conspiring to take global priority
The contradictions of individualism that consume the vast majority
The medical anomalies and surgical advancements
The incredible atrocities of cosmetic enhancements
A formidable ferocity of genetics and semantics
An incredible philosophy of frenetic theological pedantics
A sincere gaze of solidarity into another persons eyes
A mere phase of different polarities that use scientific graphs to signify
A Purple Haze of creative improvisational genius that cannot be quantified
A confused daze of inconvenience as another witness is proven to have lied
Returning to the central point of a theoretical discourse
Concerning a fundamental joint possible hypothetical recourse
A burdened soldier after war suffering the agony of remorse
An ancient boulder from the shores of civilisations geographic historical course
A curious mathematician, an inspiring original think
The spurious contradictions of a political candidate on the brink
A furious proposition concerning a scandalously placed eye wink
Human connectivity and the endless search for the missing link
Copywright Elizabeth Moroz
“For I have seen you from far places
Shinning in bold light because you are made
Of Copper and tellurium; CuTe,
You are like the transition metals
You display love of many colours,
You are the sunshine that speeds up the release of
Oxygen I breathe in gears of photosynthesis,
How cute?
Periodic table of my love,
May we physically bond?
And be like the ionic bond
To display our love like graphs on the Cartesian plane
May our love be hard to fuse like
Like ions with the intra-molecular forces of attraction
Be like an equal sign,
And you call me “Lo” and I’ll call you “Ve”
So we can produce a product called LOVE when we fuse?
Damsel you are like a sensory neurone to me,
You act like an enzyme on my happiness,
You duplicate my happiness to its level best,
You become a protractor when I’m down there,
My oxygen,
My love gene,
My star akin
That shines my goal scene
How?
You become a kinetic energy
When I’m drowned by poverty
Caused by long struggle of loneliness,
My love,
My heart,
You are the love in the oxygenated blood
That enters my double pump
Through the pulmonary vein,
You are like a scientific calculator that smoothens
My number struggle,
May I say?
May I play with you like letters of algebra?
May I be the gradient in that steep slope
That will take us to the home of our love?
I mean the periodic table of our need
Let’s heed through like a linear sequence
And be like…
Periodic table of my love.
Let’s make love and shine like crystals obtained
After crystallisation,
Accelerate uniformly like a pair of ethanol as it slangs
Between bonds of chlorophyll,
Let’s chill and make our love our quadratic homework,
So you will tell me when I’m wrong like when it reads Error 1,
2 or 3,
My periodic table of love,
I want to watch your curves that reminds me of the brackets in
Mathematics,
Touch your majestic body that makes me to cry when I’m about
To slice an onion,
May our love be like the mitochondrion?
May you be my nucleus?
And guide me like equations of motion,
Drive my innocent mind into your bosom akin to
That of an angel,
Periodic table of my love,
Be my love,
Be my time,
Be my tickler,
Be my world,
Be the periodic table of my love.”
Numbers hike off of the page
to venture around the walls.
I'm not day dreaming
Im trying to find the answer on the wall
(like any teacher is going to beleive that)
I had the answer. I swear!
Who hired the devil to put letters in math?
And then add fraction bars.
and exponents
and graphs
and functions
.......
who said numbers weren't enought to deal with?
Now it is x-4b over 30*836 all over 370y to the fith.
Im losing my mind,
hunched over letters I cant find
regretting this class,
I'd almost prefer mass.
rembering this class is required
can't wait for this class to retire.
My head is spinning,
dancing around the bonfire of answers,
that is right infront of me.
the point to give up approches.
Tears brimming the full glass eyes,
threatening to spill over.
The consepts are simple,
but when put infront of me,
An unknown language is all I see.
And to answer your question: Yes I am avoiding doing my math while writing this.
A Universal school exist,
Beyond thoughts and emotions,
With teachers that push and persist,
Of knowledge more vast than the oceans,
Yet there are no graphs or experiments,
No homework or exams,
No curriculum to implement,
No coach or a guiding hand,
Like how the Earth revolves around the Sun,
So does the Universe, around an Individual,
Let the forces of gravity become undone,
To restore all hopes to its pinnacle.
Everyone has a story, complicated yet full,
No matter the glory, hardship that pushes or pull,
Reality has only one task, to grow and evolve,
Through the questions we ask, let it sow to resolve.
A fork in the path that leads us to a choice,
To persevere or stay rooted to our knees,
No matter what, have faith and rejoice,
For it's never the destination but in the journey.
Illuminatus
I don't know how a prisoner fits in a cell
how the matrix of justice gives energy
to the inner thoughts using mitochondria
the dentist never seems to smile
the chemist does not like fire wax
and politician does like logic
like the mathematician
I don't know how many planes a pilot flies
over the Atlantic
aligned to the meridian
to the upper half of the hemisphere
at the top..a nipple
it was the hand of the child
and suckling of love
So we meet the lawyer
perusing the journal of a psychiatrist
who argues the existence of psychic energy
yet it seems the mist misses spirituality
and the ghostly scenes are unjust to conformity
so help him God
he has already lost the case
Here I am a feeble poet
playing with mind of logistic
creating planes and vertices
graphs of time in the fourth dimension
I fell in love yesterday but I feel it now
its time against matters
what matters against reality
as I write creativity rules logic
So here I am
applying ohms law on the smartphone
as long as electrons have kinetic energy
concentrated to diffuse for potential difference
it will light
this love that diffuses from this heart
if you re creative..create an electromagnetic spectrum
illuminate love
magnetise the unlike poles
choose the path of least resistance like electricity
and shine the sky
for NASA to study
for you re a universe
science dreams as fiction
©Riddle Code
Everyone they say, has a soulmate in a way
Those lucky have met, or will meet theirs some day
The rest might really never know, what true love is
Love knocks on their door, not to enter but to tease
The soulmate is an angel, in form of a person
One with whom you can share, the same kind of passion
Men have conquered the world, only to find it not enough
What they were really looking for, was someone to love
God made man, then a woman from his lib
That’s why men feel for women, a love so deep
But men took love for granted, in favor of their greed
They betrayed their hearts, and the love marching ceased
Mankind survived centuries, through plagues sleeping on floors
The soulmate hardly existed, throughout famines and wars
Men bled for their kings, thousands dying of broken hearts
Without their soulmate present, they died impoverished like rats
By the time peace and prosperity, found mankind again
Men were faced with, a new kind of reality and pain
Just when they could afford, to flirt and share some laughs
The availability of the soulmate, depended on economic graphs
So that men could only marry, women they could afford
The soulmate was again betrayed, and love again was flawed
Still there were those very brave, who dared to still believe
They must meet their soulmate, and wipe away their grief
The soulmate knows you better, than yourself and beyond
The soulmate and you, are two peas in a pond
Without the soul mate, you are a face lost in the crowd
But you stand out from the rest, when your soulmate is around
The soulmate is worth, more than riches and gold
You can’t place value on someone, with whom to laugh till your old
Sadly not everyone of us, will find his or hers
More than riches and gold, the soulmate is scarce.
Before Rene Descartes does this world depart
he gives analytic geometry its big head start
from bugs that draw graphs crawling on his ceiling;
as he lies sprawling, sick in bed, reeling.
To be sung to the tune of Both Sides Now by Judy Collins
Rows and rows of subtrahends
Repeating decimals without end
Regression lines to mark a trend
I've looked at numbers that way
But now they only add up wrong
Even though I stayed up all night long
Like missing words in someone's song
Words that seem to say
chorus
I've looked at numbers from both sides now
From left and right and still somehow
It's numbers' illusions I recall
I really don't know numbers at all
Secants, tangents, arc-cosines
It seems like just a game sometimes
What's my number, what's my line?
I've looked at trig that way.
Now all my graphs have gone awry
I've lost the will to find out why
Perhaps they'll make more sense by 'n' by
But who am I to say?
chorus
I've looked at trig from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It's trig's illusions I recall
I really don't know trig at all
Edited 5/9/2016
Written 7/14/1986
I scorn thee, Puberty! Damn thee as well,
Thou abominable herder of shame,
Will thou findeth glee by my told sarspell?
I beseech thee of ineffable name,
Rendereth thineself as quiet slain game,
For thine cruel ends be reached, let thine eyes droop,
Immortal Rite, meeteth Poetry Soup.
Forsaken specs findeth young Phillip (me),
He the first noble son born of Sir Mike,
That betrothed Diane, mother of he (me);
Neareth NASA lived they by Houston’s dike,
We plus two girl offsprings I still dislike;
Turneth back time to nineteen ninety five,
Thus now the setting as ocean, we dive.
I of ten years then plus three more years aged,
By mine mom’s woven hand rags yet adorned,
Draperies bindething spirits encaged,
Mine lot too ignorant still ‘be forlorned,
For two years would pass ‘fore Nike I yearned;
Looken now friends, at thine narrator’s dress,
Mine costumes for school were each mismatched mess.
And hath we not yet speaketh mine afro?
Then let us for humor’s saketh too laughs
For atop mine snow pale flesh did it grow!
It was beneath that nest mine brain did graphs
On one Tuesday morn; during sixth grade math,
Unbeknownst of a sneaking wretched pest:
That ineffably named prepubescent guest.
Still in present times remember I can’t,
What the hell kindled mine loins ablaze,
Yet fiery flames of embarrassment
Secretly smoldered through my brainy haze;
When mine teacher upon me called that I raise,
And thus stirred the scene I’ve oft reflected,
The moment I’ve chosen for my most embarrassing?
When in 6th grade math class I stood up…
…fully erected
My freedom, my interactivity,
I owe to you and your stickability,
Tho’ you be dead and dumb to me,
You have a voice in my vocality.
The cemeteries and the epitaphs,
Are the courage and valour graphs,
Defining the mechanism, the paths,
Of the affirming victory day laughs.
I do not patronise the direct benefit,
Of remembering our heroes, the fit,
Because they did conquer and out wit,
Communism, death the Nazi’s pit.
Near to me through my late RAF dad,
Through his terror and in the hell he’d had;
It was for us that they were deeply mad,
Intent on life by ending Nazism bad.
Thankful for this November time of year,
It's a time to appreciate those near,
To ISIS, to the enemies that we fear,
So that we can live and love clear.