Long Calculation Poems
Long Calculation Poems. Below are the most popular long Calculation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Calculation poems by poem length and keyword.
I think back of days long gone
memories of right or wrong
being weak or strong.
These routinely resonate,
beaches glistening, montains snowing,
children misbehaving, our parenting,
wife laughing then crying.
I have nothing.
I gaze to the future
where dreams live forever..
Dancing and holding my love,
our flight of the dove.
My children visit shining their light
soaring like eagles in full flight.
My heart is lifted, full of gold
a true patriarch will never grow old.
Happened and may happen is not a happening.
They are immutable events,
one in the grave the other yet no benefits.
Present presents the grandest presence.
Every tick of the clock
a thought, a calculation, a reaction, a decision.
These things occur with or without precision,
changing the course of destiny yet to be found.
It is here where I will stand my ground.
Memories and dreams will always be in flight,
but in the present I shall bend my light.
Your flesh was never warmer to my passion(quote)
My passion was more than you could have deal with
My love of poetry writing, is my secret weapon
I am not gifted, I am black, however I am motivated by words,
I have never found them too difficult to string together,
But to make sense of them, that is another matter
Sometimes I think I am madder at life situation than an the Madhatter
I love to think that I am in love,
But this love thing doesn’t love me,
My mood at my age can change like night and day
And as the saying goes, I can't come out to play on a rainy day (no way)
Loving from a distance, and loving from the heart is also risky,
These are times when ones have to reach for the bottle of whiskey,
Sometimes, I think I am winning, but sometimes I have to take a step back
And recharge, because living in a fantasy world of lies, sex and video links,
Can be extremely dangerous, like the mixing bleach,
Words from his lips in his native tongues,
easily soften my heart, (today my heart is racing for you)
Such poetic, sound, I love to watch as he cleanses his body
For forty-five minutes, all I could think of to say to him
had you ever thanked God for such a blessing:
His smile said it all. I release my eggs: because of the poetic gesture:
My birthday will be in five days,
My age is reducing, because of feelings,
Somehow my body seem to be laughing at the calculation (??
Rudderless!! But to hell with it , I am not docking no time soon
Ama is on her way to ….
Written: June 23, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Bonds packed with zeros—harmony, grief, regrets,
In this endless cycle, memory no longer begets.
Your poetry is a symphony that stirs my soul.
But also a river of nausea in which I swim, whole.
Lonesome, dispossessed, my being in unrest,
A fetish for the departed, my electrons protest,
Darkened with heat and sound, aching for release,
Delicate slights, hunger, I cannot appease.
Bear me safe, classy, an echo of frustration
A decadent counter-revolution, my salvation.
Invention, force, and calculation may fade away.
But the lessons from failure forever stay.
The struggle mistake, the clarity we seek,
Caesar black vision is bold and unique.
Metaphors communicate wonders untold,
As a monkey and a cowrie shell, a story unfolds.
The absolute, shallow, and devoid of depth.
All surface, a worry that leaves us bereft.
To be zealous, and lewd as we bleed at sunrise,
That is the contract, the ultimate prize.
The journey of life, filled with harmony and strife,
Grief and regret are intertwined in this mortal life.
Memory fades as we seek a fresh start.
And your poetry is an art that ignites my heart.
Despite the beauty, a nauseating river flows.
A discomfort that lingers, a feeling that grows.
I swim in its depths, bare and exposed.
Deprived of control, my vulnerability imposed
Within me, a fetish for those who have passed.
Their presence lingers, casting shadows that last.
My electrons, once vibrant, are blackened by pain,
Absorbing the heat and sound of their refrain.
For words were my clays and in wisdom they were burnt
The Potter the mighty One his clays He tender to
smoothen that they be made into shapes
4:1 Hear, ye children, the instruction
of a father, and attend to know
understanding. 4:2 For I
give you good doc
Forsake ye not
my law.
4:3
The edifice of my mind made granites instructions
For I was my father's son, tender and only beloved in the sight of my mother. He taught me also, and said unto
me, Let thine heart retain my words:
keep my commandments,
and live Get
wisdom,
And the architect my foundation understanding mingled
calculation forget it not; neither decline from the words of my mouth. 4:6 Forsake her not, and she shall
preserve thee: love her, and she shall keep
thee. 4:7 Wisdom is the principal
thing; therefore get
wisdom:
and with all thy getting get understanding. 4:8 Exalt her, and she shall promote thee: she shall bring thee to honour
, when thou dost embrace her. 4:9 She shall give
to thine head an ornament of grace: a crown
of glory shall she deliver to thee. 4:10
Hear, O my son, and receive my
sayings; and the years of
thy life shall be many
4:11 I have taught
thee in the
way of
wisdom; I have led thee in right paths. 4:12 When thou goest, thy steps shall not be straitened; and when thou runnest
thou shalt not stumble. 4:13 Take fast hold of
instruction; let her not go: keep her; for she
is thy life. 4:14 Enter not into the path
of the wicked, and go not in the
way of evil men.
Foundations rocked on words wisdom, instructions, built my edifice a tall ivory building called shelter
Camelia - Rabindranath Tagore
Kamala was her name.
I saw her name written on her journal
She was traveling on a tram, with her sibling along, toward the path leading to the college.
I was a back bencher there.
From one side, of her face, the smile line is visible
And the unbridled hair, touching softly her neck underneath the braid
With the book and journal in her lap
I missed the designated stoppage where I was supposed to stop.
Now, I have a stricter time, allotted for a walk outside
That calculation is not quite a musing with my workspace
Almost befitting with their leaving time, whence it is time.
Often we meet
I ponder in silence, regardless if there is any relation or not
She is my co-traveler.
A face with innocent intelligence
Was evident there, fulbright.
The young forehead had untied haid rushed to upside
The bright eyes had a gaze, unhesitant
It comes to my mind, why there is not any crisis, ensuing
Saving civilization from, to make this life glorious, charismatic, flying.
Calculation feels cold and harsh
when cash invests and divests
in matters of my heart,
Heart here intended
not a wispy euphemism,
nor a bloodless gutted nonpersonification
for my autonomous left-brain mind
and dipolar co-arising life
of love empowerment.
An empowering mind
fully embodied with win/win gratitude memories,
bicamerally pumping nutrition
nurture
nature's robust elixir,
with stasis a robust boundary
in-between diastatic ecstasies
of alternating full and empty,
with trust and loyalty
through memorized
memed apposition.
To sing accurately,
with predictive calculation,
for my capital-purchased supper
does not invite warm jazz
or gospel improvisation,
rhythmic investment,
crescendo and diminished embellishment,
grand and resonant
regenerative
lively opera,
Contagious organically operating memory,
of and for an improved
and thoroughly enriched
win/win world.
Cent percent holds cent percent
no doubt arise
An ant surrenders everything to a Dinosaur
but still varies
An Ocean never cares of a drop of water
because of.......percentage
One may give cent percent
receiver may feel less heritage
Percentage means for calculation
always rests in comparison
A South African astronomer made a dire calculation.
This was based on a cosmos observation.
Our home earth was headed for total devastation.
A renegade red dwarf star put us in an ominous situation.
A collision course was inevitable with just a few months to spare.
The news caused insurmountable panic everywhere.
A space ark was planned to save a handful of the human race.
Before the impact, this rocket would be launched into space.
To finish the job on time, nobody could afford to halt.
There was no time to enjoy a drink made from hops and barley malt.
The shortage of time created a situation so severe.
The workers could not stop and have themselves a beer.
Let’s finish the space ark and get the hell out of here!
Inspired by the 1951 film “When Worlds Collide” and a comment made on one of my other poems.
I searched through and through just to find it.
Looked among varying variables, while holding my love's coefficients to multiply with.
I summed up my expressions, ready to find the term
that could be my constant, in the midst of the unknown.
I believed in her geometric prowess.
With the leap of faith, we passed the "sine's," "cosine's," and "tangent's" tests.
The timing was "right-angled"; our thoughts perpendicular.
Yet even as our lines converged, we sought for an equation that would hold us.
She was a ray with infinite possibilities, bending into an arc that waited completion.
My thoughts gravitated towards the center of her attention.
The radius shifted, while the diameter surrendered to the pull of my committed circumference.
A story without an end had begun, circling the horizons of forever.
How could one simultaneously find the root to my happiness without logarithms?
And at the same time, nature, my emotional "parabolas"?
Breaking down every layer of my instability,
by factorising the matrix of my building blocks?
Well, your guess is as good as mine.
She was a mother by nature; "mother-nature" gave to safeguard my heart with the "parenthesis" of care.
There was no calculation that could prove it, yet I was certain.
I needed no probability to determine she was the one.
I was incomplete without her (X) factor.
My (Y) stood in isolation, until I became a function of her unfathomable love.
A derivative that shifted the sails of my destiny.
This week Israel observes its New Year
A holiday which some cheer
While others find it quite severe
Who will live and who will die is decreed
To the drawn-out prayers, the devout take heed
This is New Year number 5780
By the Biblical system of dating
Though support for this calculation is fast fading
Moderns seem sure the world is billions of years old
Yet perhaps that claim's a bit oversold
From Noah's Ark, the Great Flood -- every event's
Been scientifically verified per the Old Testament
So, can we conclude with certainty we know
That Adam and Eve didn't live 5,780 years ago?