Best Miscalculation Poems
Russia's losses have been greater with their Ukrainian invasion
Compared to nine years in Afghanistan, another miscalculation
Many towns and cities in Ukraine are now being taken back
As Ukrainian defenders launch, a devastating counter attack.
At a river in the Donbas region the Russians tried to cross
But were met with fierce resistance and suffered a great loss
An entire Russian battalion with tanks and vehicles too
Have met with a horrific end, as Ukrainian missiles flew.
How many more losses can the cowardly Russians take?
But they'll never admit, that they have made a grave mistake
Their substandard ageing weapons are being put to the test
And are no match for NATO weapons, which are simply the best.
The first war criminal is in the dock, and his trial is underway
For an act of cold blooded murder and with his freedom he'll pay
He'll no doubt serve time in a prison cell ,for a very long time
But surely that is too lenient and he should be hung for his crime.
Russia will never conquer Ukraine and it's a war they won't win
The civilised world is sending a clear message to Vladimar Putin
Russia's botched invasion has now caused NATO to expand
Two more countries will now join the alliance, Sweden and Finland.
Russia is threatening the West and NATO, saying it may go nuclear
It's just sabre rattling on their part and they're trying to instil fear
Even if they launched their missiles, it would invoke article five
The Russian state would cease to exist and they wouldn't survive.
Russia should now do the honourable thing and admit defeat
And for Putin to give the order to his forces, in Ukraine to retreat
Acts of aggression won't be tolerated and the west will not give way
And if you invade a peaceful country, then a high price you will pay.
Written 15th May 2022
Bedsprings crochet bones together.
His back is sutured to gripes
stitched to gummy joints.
In the toilet, avoiding the mirror,
humming softly,
shunning conversation with himself -
the ceiling drips a sump of memories.
The park --- Frances revolves confused.
"I don't understand."
A phrase with self-winding words.
A slight miscalculation,
a turning away at the precise moment
she turned towards him;
an error of timing really.
Frances whirs on "I don't understand."
Later he understood she overdosed.
He imagines this lethal power
over her life to be his.
Time whittles cavities with calcifications.
Softly the spine of a storybook breaks -
where one stitch patches a sorrow
a spur prods and rips.
When he listens to the hollows
between the long vertebrae of his life,
he hears a theory crumbling away
under slowly grinding cogs.
We should teach the chimpanzees to read
the names of certain things. Objects like tools
for instance
then label the tools: hammer, saw, axe,
screwdriver etcetera, then screws and nails.
Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
otherwise they might turn into poets,
and god-knows we don’t need anymore of that.
The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
They will, of course have no use for words
like romance, religion and politics.
If they wanted to fight among themselves
(as chimps often do),
they could simply go back to grunting,
screaming and throwing sticks at each other,
as we used to.
I might have made a miscalculation,
maybe tools for low-tech apes
eventually leads to holocausts and Hiroshima.
Perhaps after all,
we will just teach them how to write poetry
for those who prefer their muse
to scream and grunt a bit.
Then maybe we can start on the dogs and cats;
force them to play the piano for a living.
Pessimists call Maths, abyss of a subject,
A subject invented to detest their brains,
A subject of arithmetical errors,
Errors, that need a heap of stint to complete the puzzle.
But to the Poet, I call it,
A common mistakes subject,
Like the Romeo and Juliet miscalculation,
That can only be nursed,
Long live Shakespeare though.
And long live Mathematics.
What about some logic,
2+2 =4.
3+1=4.
4*1=4.
Now let's glimpse at change of a question,
-1+2-3+4+2=4,
Seems different queries,
But always, one solution, one focal point!
Folks let's not elude maths,
Because we need it,
In Finance, Procurement, Marketing, Information Technology and Accounting among
Long live Mathematics.
All Rights Reserved
T.m.T scripts
Cyberpunk melodies from a broken shell.
Fishing a crooked coin from the wishing well.
Slanted rooftops slash and burn.
How the trapezoid takes its turn.
Scaling heights beyond the skies.
Some are dark most are lies.
Miscalculation to the Nth degree.
All we really want will never be free.
Reality melds with fiction.
When it suffers from inproper diction.
The glass stained with blood and light.
Is it wrong because it's right?
We categorise our lack of society
With a gross abundance of impiety.
Never ill always well.
Cyberpunk melodies from a broken shell.
His client had a leg amputation
Oops! Wrong leg due to miscalculation
His client wanted to sue
But as the attorney knew
No leg to stand on for litigation
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Carolyn Devonshire's "Lawyer Limerick" Contest - August 2010
(Last line based on the old saying "You Ain't Got A Leg To Stand On")
Old Roxie is dead. She's gone to her bed
Near the drop-off where leaves are decaying.
Yet she rises again from that terrible fen
In a manner grotesque and dismaying.
The grave that we dug, although tidy and snug,
Was too shallow for her to be laying.
So the volatile gas that shot from her ass
(Excuse me for vulgarly saying)
Overexcited, spontaneously ignited
And created a monstrous spraying!
The guts and the hide were strewn far and wide,
Festooning the branches, displaying
Those rotting remains and even the brains
Of her corpse. The crows are buffeting!
There's no consolation for miscalculation,
No comforting words for allaying
Our grief and chagrin for committing the sin
Of the mess for which now we are paying.
One day they gave a mighty global war,
The likes of which no man had ever seen.
The war was fought entirely by machine.
It lasted seven minutes and no more.
Two powers ideologically opposed
Created a mechanics' paradise.
They did not need to manufacture lies
Of how God's will and bias were disclosed.
No hero fell. No patriot died blessed.
No coward fled from hell with double scorn.
Homogenous battalions had been
In anonymity is power best.
It sounded like a million crashing trains,
Gouging limbs of steel and spurting oil.
It left a plain of black and battered soil
Strewn with plant and animal remains.
The war soon ran its course, and both sides lost.
Miscalculation made a lasting peace.
Neither side had wanted war to cease,
But neither side had thought about the cost.
The muted smiles, the solemn eyes
Shifting in their chairs
No one quite knows what to say
Death caught us unawares.
A cruel miscalculation
Death came for you too soon
We thought we were invincible
But no one is immune
The cars outside keep driving
The birds are full of song
Why does the world seem to imply
Its trivial you are gone
No mention on the evening news
No notice on the wall
Does the world not recognise
You were ever here at all
You were not incidental
This was a tragedy
To the world you were just a person
But you were the world to me
A is for Arrogance, a proud unbending prince,
B is for Burden, his stony heart of flint.
C is for the Court, Arrogance's royal home,
D is for Dunce, a learned little gnome.
E is for Elegance, a beautiful princess,
F is for the Fabric, that built her lovely dress.
G is for the Gems, that glittered in her crown,
H is for her Hair, that shining shimmers down.
I is for Intelligence, Dunce's greatest gift,
J is for his Joking, for Dunce's wit was swift.
K is for the Keel, of Elegance's fated ship,
L is for the Lighthouse, upon the fated trip.
M is for Miscalculation, by which the ship did sink,
N is for Nonsensical, for the captain didn't think.
O is for the Oddity, by which Elegance was saved,
P is for the Panic, that dragged the sailors to their grave.
Q is for the Quality, with which the princess swam,
R is for the Rock, she grabbéd with her arm.
S is for the Soldier, who spied her lying on the shore,
T is for the Time it took, to carry her to palace door.
U is for the Union, Dunce had secretly long planned,
V is for the Violence, with which Arrogance kissed her hand.
W is for the Wedding, which Arrogance then desired,
X is for the Xeniums he gave, to keep his love from being tired.
Y is for the Yes, compassionate Elegance gave the feller,
Z is for Arrogance's saving grace; his wife, the royal young Zitella...
His heart is kinder now, people have been heard to say,
And he rarely ever frowns, even to this day...
A gardener, I became by chance
a purposeful man with detailed plans
With a thought for each exigency
and a strategy for each contingency
I organized and theorized
I categorized, I normalized
I estimated and resized
and finally, I stabilized
I did this from a calm perspective
all done with the express objective
to prepare a comprehensive list
for mitigating potential risks
I worked, I worried,
I watched in horror
as my garden finally failed to bloom
Where did I fall? Which step was missed?
What miscalculation wrought this doom?
I sat in thought
(and deep in shame)
that what I'd wrought
had somehow failed
What was the task I had not caught?
(Or, was there something else to blame?)
Gantt chart, always at the ready
I began again, to make a plan
Pen in hand, as ever steady
a logical, beast; a thinking man
No change; no matter what I tried
the garden was again in ruins
at wit's end then, I simply sighed
and whistled doleful, mournful tunes
But then, a sunbeam warmly shone
upon my face, right through the pane
as I looked, I saw the rain had gone
that was the point, that I grew sane
I ministered lovingly to my plot
with patience and humility
gratefully accepting what I got
and forgetting old futility
No more planning, no more flailing
I saw the sun and rain as friends
Loving both despite their failings
and thankful for what each one lends
I watched in peace my garden grow
my focus reduced to just a glance,
indebted for what I'd come to know
that all things truly come by chance
Form:
Rampant reckless retrospect rushes
The present blurs in blues
The mistakes of the past make me miserable and low
And so, I give up and the feeling grows
And in wait for time to make things better
I push living further into the later.
I don't know if it's butterflies and sunshine, later
I just hope to pick up pieces, as the time rushes
But do I hope in vain? What is better?
I feel worried so I look into the blues
Of the waves, and the moss that grows
I just give up and lie low
Down as the weed, in the roots I stay, much low
In hopes to remain rooted, even if they mow the green later
And then in good time, a leaf of me grows
And with that the past rushes
Far away into the grey oblivion in the sky of blues
Is that it? Will that be better?
Is living in later or present better?
How do I duck every time and stay low?
Is future colourful or just shades of blues?
And then again, I wait for later,
And with that all my time rushes,
My youth and life is spent, and the autumn grows.
Or do I try, and fight the past clumsily and my present grows
Maybe things will shape for worse or just get better
A calculated risk, but miscalculation in my head rushes
Or as decided, should I stay low?
Or maybe fighting today becomes synonymous to later
The tipping scale of probability plunges me in dark and blues
Is it all clues I look for in my moods of blues
A clue for bliss and happiness, a feeling of numbness grows
Today makes sense, not unpredictable later
If I want to live the best I gotta try to make it better
I have stayed for a long while, down and low
Now with my present I walk, unprepared, wherever it rushes.
And in all the blues, and the running second that rushes
The more low I feel, with actions the strength grows
In hopes of better, if I work now, maybe all I wish comes to me later
PER CHANCE TO DANCE
Synchronization
Such a simple concept
As per a preconceived precept
And both so delicately adept
Fluidly
As one
Every step a humble bow to the sun
Every beat a reverent blessing for the moon
While ceremoniously synchronized to the tune
Every move calculated by an ovation and an overture of purity embraced
Each of our steps, by the other, so flawlessly traced
Two hearts too close and each made thus to race
While made, by the mysticism of music, to move with utter grace
Synchronization
Following each others lead
Dedicated to the dance indeed
No errant thoughts to collide with memory’s miscalculation
Just two souls adjudicating adulation
Whilst waltzing with a partner’s poised potential
Synchronization so reverential
With the essence of an essential
The embodiment of perfection as you are urged with urgency to float
Lilted aloft by every preordained note
As I sweep you around quite so sensually such as silk caught in an Autumnal breeze
And you with such embraceable ease………if you please
A pair fastened together by fascination while emulating an immaculate emotion
Synchronization
Such a very special notion
(c) 2013....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Sitting betwixt these margins outside their box; exactly
Where they wish as need to be ? Growing somewhat weary
Artsy-craftsy's aurora australis articulations; dangling in poetics
Literaturistic high wires acts an arobic miscalculation ? Lese majesty
Essential's evolution morphed their scenes alabaster she and, a revolution.
Form:
I uplift and sip the morning tea imagining your face beholding
Going to bath bed I get your winsome smell while blending the shower gel
Standing then in front of my mirror, see you mocking at me
Finally all miscalculation I mend listening the morning door bell.
Standing there you, bearing a charming smile at face
Wearing a pink –shiny, glamour morning dress
Red tulips beholding in both glorious hands
Waiting for a honeyed, unforgettable kiss….
I won’t let you miss!!