Best Statistically Poems
soothing your soul self
a knowing within your heart
what is best for you
dream state magic
introspective sureness
living your truth
bathing your soul self
hearing yourself realistically
being the most healthy statistically
living your joy artistically
following your absolute truth mystically
your angel guides know the eliminations and
inclusions that you will need to delight in
your bliss and live your true soul self
It is the best of the worst.
I say this optimistically.
Instilling hope where I can.
Pulling us up statistically.
(Almost a Shakespearean sonnet :) )
The Second Law of Thermodynamics
Explained in terms of probability
And at a time with scientists frantic,
Statistically reprocessed entropy
H-Theorem, Boltzmann T-Equations born
Statistical Mechanics founded, too.
Connections with across divisions formed
A new branch of physics because of you.
And yet they criticized you for your works-
Demoralized to the point of suicide
You gave a whole section of science birth;
You’re more than favorable in our eyes…
Today you help design our vehicles!
Your contributions are unbelievable!
4 and 20 Pies – No Blackbirds
Oh, spare me the plethora of pies
the thumbs-up plumbs,
the pie in the sky dreams
of the pie lovers,
the onerous moooo
of the piebald cow
being milked
by the pie-eyed farmer
as his pied piper wife
lures the chickens
into a pot pie.
Pie charts to measure
children against nourishment,
who cuts, who chooses,
statistically
who wins, who loses,
“pies the type”
of apples on the floor.
It ain’t that simple, Simon
say the “pietist”
who fear
that if Pi can’t be squared
pies end is drawing near.
John G. Lawless
10/9/2014
submitted to – Sheri Fresonke Harper
Plentitude of Pies – Poetry Contest
O Magog,
from the sterile land of Gog,
thou rejoicest over how thy biological idol father
hast devilishly embraced thee
Spiritual mathematics
offer free radical theorems
of probability analysis
Doth thy Gentile nuclear goggles
allow thee to see
the virtual microbe mushrooming variables
in a decaying half-life reality?
O bastard son
of a thousand fathers
Raised on sour milk doctrines,
from the hard paps —
Udders on an impudent heifer mother
of a thousand harlots,
has weaned thee
in the ways of greed and destruction
Canst thy cannibal siblings,
Tiras and Meshech,
help save thee
with their scientific, canine calculations?
O Magog,
from the mutated land of Gog,
will thy incestuous father’s
Tubal-cain covetous leprosy
overtake thee?
Thou loveth thy beauty spots
inordinately
Brimstone salt cities of wanton lasciviousness
pepper thy mutilated land
The merchants of concupiscence
travel ceaselessly upon thy algorithm waves
Slavishly trafficking tainted wares exponentially
in thy free marketplaces
As the integer worms of digital reproach
feed upon the Kittim kabuki faces
Probability analysis
predict with prescient accuracy:
The radioactive remnants
of a cancerous tumor civilization,
shall struggle mightily
to revive it’s flag half-mast past glory
O Magog,
the war dogs of death
howl oppressively for thee
Thy merchant ghost ships
of Tarshish
has become floating debris
Glowing green false profit wreckage
washes upon
thy polluted Gog shores continually
O Magog,
who shall account for thy losses?
Does not the tabulated numerical conclusion
reveal the astronomical costliness
of thy prolific, propagating cloned vanity?
Which of thy mariner children
shall read
the technological epitaph
on thy submerged Titanic tombstone?
Triple digit uncertainty doth statistically vex thee ...
because of the frightening probability analysis,
which thou vile reptilian mind didst not take heed
O Magog,
chief Gentile prince
from the barren hinterland of Gog —
There is no upraised hand
to retrieve thy dropped divining scepter
the list that was a fist
a) it is possible
b) it is inevitable
chained to a million pleasures
an astonishing compendium of compulsions
honed bright with a fool's ardor
the kind you'd wish for in a movie script
undulating at the tar pits of amor
the land rich with autographs
bruised and humiliated reciting the alphabet
backwards on the curb with Officer *****
a limited perspective but not without its ironies
blazing trails to metabolic equilibrium
using every crutch and cane there is
to seek out and embrace ignorance
in a fanciful play of medieval shadows
colliding with the grace of mosh pit elbows
and that pretty much nails it
the rest is a problem of amplification
if looking can blind you I'm blind
he seems to have a button gone missing
ripe to the skies with the stink of deduction
hell was upon us and none grieved
in statistically relevant numbers
apparently they had finally reached
the bottom of the barrel
we still wage war upon feudalism
good advice for any century or cemetery
touch something holy once in a while
and mighty Thor will wing above
ah sure right uh huh you bet
needing humor the wires tried to sing
the blades of the switch bit the anode
all is broadcast everywhere right now
on all the boogie woogie coordinates
how's that for karmic indifference
some curse some utter gratitude
may the good fairy console you
and turn the illusion of warmth
up a little higher
since it hasn't yet been made a crime
to destroy your own mind
until the foundations of the world
thunder and come apart like cooked meat
but working on the problem
is better than nothing
even if you really don't know
all that you think you know
even if hideously scarred in battle
a terra cotta bust hot from the oven
smelling of sulfur and bruises
tempted by radiance and music and poetry
which could get you jailed tonight
so pretend you have wide angle vision
under a curse with an escape clause
in varying pedantic proportions
for another illegal exit
from Average and its Law
played to hI fives all around
kindling fires of rebellion
the Metaphor League saw to it
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
If I were a guy
I’d actually enjoy wearing a suit and tie,
I wouldn’t feel uneasy about walking down a late night city street
And high heels would become obsolete,
I’d sleep an extra hour every day, never worrying about running late
For id have no more makeup and hair to prepare when I had to wake
I’d be pleasant four weeks out of the month instead of just two
With No more cramps and mood swings to attend too
Id saves money on tampons, Midol and all the many types of underwear
It would be lovely to take off my shirt on a beach and have no one care
I’d adore my mate, basically worship her, while being extremely nice
For I no longer would have to worry about births physical price
If I gained a few pounds I sure wouldn’t mind
Plenty of overweight men have women who are mighty fine
Statistically speaking I’d have a better chance at making more money
Even if I was an egotistically dummy
I would get to stand up when I pee
This would come in handy constantly!
No more worrying about a lack of tissues or dirty toilet seats,
I’d give my Sergeant a little shake with no concerns about a leak
Let’s not forget all the hours spent on shaving
That would be another time consuming cost in which id be saving
My friends would not complain wine and gossip constantly
If a fight broke out id forgive them and we would all just let it be
Going camping and fishing would be easier for grooming would be so simple
I wouldn’t freak out if I had a sudden pimple
Plastic surgery would not be a thought that ever ran through my mind
For the older a man gets the sexier and more refined
Wrinkles and gray hair makes him look sophisticated
Women see these features and become completely jaded
I'd rarely have to be bothered with perverts at any store,
The simplicity of my beautiful life I would be thankful for.
P.S However, I Love being a woman...
I would rather be a statistic!
My little girl is my world, my star and my universe
distant from the unbearable quasar which is her mother
I cannot describe her while maintaining homeostasis or my positive energy
Vulgar clouds are storms
My terminology is so derogatory without intent
See I was made of sand
Almost every grain of me poured through her hands that which I am
A man holding an idea, a wish called love
We are two schizophrenics
I indulge in internal conversations and she locks herself in a state of paranoia and alarm
which dissolves my dreams
It is not right
I would rather be a statistic
Put me in a category!
All you know are bits and pieces of my gory story
On the cliff of an edge holding on to together
Call me fool, naive, young for investing in forever
Till the emotional bank told me insufficient funds, I tried to hustle cause I needed just one
more one
From heaven he says, "Money cannot fix it son."
I asked god, "How come? It is true where I'm from."
As a child, I grew up... believing that if a man worked hard enough he could change his
situation. I never wanted all the stuff
I had it rough and statistically predictably it interest me that I have to be unhappily faking in
this society.
Call me statistic, baby daddy, but never rogue father
It still will not faze me. I am here for my daughter
Form:
I'm reclaiming my throne
I don't have to take yo s__t
Forget what you thought you knew
And what you heard I did
Because I am not confined to a set place or time
Nor a date or a set state of mind
I'm back, back with a vengance
Never surrendered, Never bended
Bold as ever
Defeated never
Big lips, Proud stride
Big hips, Thick thighs
And d__ proud of me
Not statistically trapped to what you want me to be
Never seen beauty this powerful since the Black Queen Nefertiti
My bark is hard and my bite is harder
Hottest thing happening since Jesus walked on water
I'm not a minority, not deprived
I'm a formerly known Queen with a mean a__ stride
So leave yo comments in yo mouth
And leave well enough alone
Black women get like me and reclaim your throne
-Lyric-
Form:
What We Should Learn From Dallas
By Franklin Price
7/8/2016
What we should learn from Dallas
And the tragedy we pan,
Policemen killed cold bloodedly
By a sicken minded man.
Took advantage of a protest,
Of killing elsewhere by police;
Despised black on white authority,
If cops are dead it has to cease.
As of now he was the only perp.
There was no larger plan.
He felt he had to do it;
To get rid of the man.
Get rid of perpetrators
Who happen to wear blue
Whose actions are above the law
Don't have to pay for what they do
He was past considering
that cops are also bad and good.
Most protect all people,
And are doing as they should.
They put their lives upon the line;
Each and every day they work.
The bad apples among them
Are statistically a quirk
The media and politicians
Take sides to drive along
The minority views of both sides;
This direction is so wrong.
Reporting, on these deeds
At best is very mixed
Not only deeds, but also reasons
Are what's wrong and must be fixed.
I'm sorry you feel as if though. And I am coming to know your sorrow. Insatiable. Though you may not understand. Over communication or there lack of, sometimes undergoes one of many of which ways relationships will go. And statistically shows, that love, that once naturally bloomed, will one day devolve into seeds for chew. A strong and lingering, and bitter taste that I beg to be slapped out of my mouth. A mouth full of these hopeless seeds, now please. Now only insatiable remnants of my insatiable appetite they are. My insatiable appetite you hear? My senses have been compromised. What kind of rekindling that could ever ensue which would ever make me grow to love the taste? Again it is all too familiar, and what was once as pleasurable as oysters going down the throat, is now too hard to swallow. I do not fear death from starvation. I fear choking to death. Emaciated to decay is no dismay. Insatiable death.
Form:
Brain Scan
Diseased dined flu, thoughts rest rain in me,
every storm conceivable my forecasted mentality.
Never quiet, sins confusion wicked wits in use,
short fuse still burning, hot, tempered, amuse.
Brass plaqued new found theory of awarded frustration,
me the unsolved mystery, brilliance guiding madness to temptation.
Complete control over incom[plete thoughts that run astray,
ego-statistically humbled but it's impossible that, I, only think this way...
??
Over there in the rural countryside where I'm at currently....
Gravel road, water and electrical woes are challenges daily....
Hardly any economic activities that bring in cash money..
Barring the staff in the usual government machinery...
And those in some private enterprises and companies...
The village folks are really poor and severely cash strapped...
Saved those fortunate ones in the government or private enterprises...
So reporting average income has risen to rm6k plus...
Is downright nonsense and a gigantic lie statistically .....
Salaried workers are in abundance only in urban areas...
Using their incomes severely skew the worthiness of these figures.....
It paints a vastly different picture of the economic situations on the ground...
In simple English, only pompous supercilous coated bosses and politicians...
Can believe this propaganda that average monthly income has moved up to rm6k plus...
@#$//$$##!!!!
Note.... Reported in the news today, the average monthly income in Malaysia has
risen from RM5000 (year 2012) to RM6141(Year 2014)..
As I age
the formerly wide chasm between ecstasy and despair
grows narrower,
deeper.
I had not thought this an attribute of maturation,
quite the contrary,
but perhaps an aging crevice,
a thinning fracture
between played-out manic bliss, over-extended harvest,
and depression
nondually faces two extremes
of positive major chords and keys
with negative minor tensions
searching for each other out and in,
become too vocal, focal
looking for tacit evidence
apposition yet lives
on another side
of this darkening
enlightening
divide.
Dr. Jeckyll's confluence
redeeming Mr. Hyde's dissonance
double-binding midway balance
now become a treacherously tight rope
tensioned for resonance and buoyant bounty,
just short of snapping side against side.
Perhaps wisdom is learning how to equitably co-invest
in both wonder and shock,
without becoming paralyzed in-between these boundless awes,
deep wavering yes and please not yet,
not yet,
carving a gorge
deep echoing sacred reverence
and secular irrelevance,
ecstasy with ridiculing despair,
boundless sufficiency without endless satisfaction,
reiterating eternal integrity
not yet surely promised
beyond potential disintegration.
If solitude portends sublime co-operation,
what remains for aching loneliness?
Who and what could become redeemed
through double-binding isolations
within voiceless awe
for wonder indwelling silent shock
of ego loss
deep shadowing eco-gain?
To win to lose,
to lose to win,
co-arising deceptions again.
Deeply resonant depressions;
subliminal,
suboptimizing ego dominations.
Two delineations
with hairline fracturing co-definition?
What would be blissful contentment's promise
without any dissonant content
for comparison?
What are omnipotent spirits
without ego vacuuming materials,
evidence of necessary,
hopefully sufficient,
deep double-binding awe
that we,
even I within we,
have been something,
someone,
someone's,
rather than the far more statistically likely
nothing at all
evermore.
Hidden in the recess
Developing within the walls
A system to educate
A system that evolves
Statistically a witness to charts and scales
The beginning of the grading towards judgement
To pass or to fail