Long Geometry Poems
Long Geometry Poems. Below are the most popular long Geometry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Geometry poems by poem length and keyword.
This poem, which is loaded with math terms, is to be sung to the tune of Subterranean Homesick Blues. What was I thinking?
Johnny’s in the basement
Working on geometry
You’ll see my intent
A theorem in development
Presh is on the website
Hit pause, scratch head
Trick problem, misled
Try another approach instead
Look out kid
Better check it again
God knows man
Another paper in the trash can
You better try trigonometry
Lookin’ for a new way
The man with an isomorphic map
and a toupee
Wants eleven equations
You only got ten
Maggie writes chicken scratch
Paper full of cross hatch
Says she wants to attach
You better detach
You can’t find the hypotenuse
Maggie says you gotta use
Pythagoras or you lose
But the angle is obtuse
Look out mate
This spheroid’s oblate
Get on the rack
This nut won’t crack
Better get back from the ledge
With a compass and a straight edge
No primes, God knows,
Can decompose
You don’t need Terrence Tao
Can’t square a circle nohow
Add y, add x
See the roots are complex
Closed loop, subgroup
You need to jump through another hoop
Let’s see, try three
Take five, relax
Eat snacks, do tax
If you should fail, take an ax
Look out bub
Surely you’ll flub
By blunders, errors
Five-choose-two-sers
And logical abusers
Girl with a slide rule
Lookin’ like an old fool
Don’t copy Euler
Get yourself a lawyer
Ah add four, add five
It rhymes, it’s prime, then derive
One two, buckle your shoe
It’s one-to-one and onto
Square here, cube there, eggs poach
Twenty years of schoolin’
And you’re workin’ on a roach coach
Look here Jack
This nut still won’t crack
Break your hands accidental
Use a tail prehensile
Be inferential
You’ll find it’s exponential
You’re gonna have a fit
You’ll never solve it
Ken Chesebro says
‘Cause Mike Pence’ll take your pencil
With a huge geometry of bones and ribs
my father stands amidst us,
like an age-old iron pillar,
high durable, tensile and unbrittle
he is, the lonesome cantilever.
Though I know not,
perhaps he could be in immense pain,
or suffering from his terrible wounds;
but neither I feel nor touch
as I fear;
may be I his last crutch
or be the solve of sandal paste
on this body for ever.
Though I know nothing,
perhaps, for the sake of ‘oil and salt’ world;
he’d be even ready
to sleep on the bed of thousand arrows
and at the same time
he hides every sensitive worldly elements
within him, as far as
a star fish does every time
when it comes across a danger.
And always, I cannot move over
to his world of desires,
it’s the same show
the same grief
day after day.
The foot prints of his journey through life
are not lost in the sand storms of poverty
and in my mind as well.
Like the third bank of ever flowing river
Like a lonely Oar of way lost solitary boat
Like a distant star in the dark sky
Like a defiant soldier in battlefield
My father-
with dry tears and black blood
in his toil and lethal hands
continues his combat fight
against treacherous time
and treadle fate.
And with a twingle of hope against hope,
I feel every odds of life
and promise to myself a thousand times
‘I can be a nearby dawn
to remove the everlasting dark night’,
as my thoughts don’t go
with the distanced sun.
I
Dead groves of buried flowers,
for the modern to be and to appear ...
and innocence be voice off tuned,
only the voice of noise be flourish.
II
Hallucinate engines loose on the street,
causes the moon, flee, hide, and disappear,
carrying on her breast the night naked sheet ...
The sun aware of this, uncertain that appears.
III
All bucolic geometry has already collapsed
in this infamous madness, villain of success,
even joyful and lively joy are vanished
IV
fearing for such bestial evil intentions,
because only of ghostly aberrations,
so they wear the visors of progress ...!
they can't slip one past me
intellectuals, smarty-pantses
I know what my eyes can see
it's ninth grade geometry
good thing pilots and sailors know
the top of the earth is flat
I'm not sure about the bottom
where the roots hang through
on top, there's a hemisphere
that's where you see the sun and moon
why don't they bump?
only God knows
9th grade geometry works on a flat surface
Horace Greeley said it
go west like Magellan
circumnavigate the world
you end up in the same place
you avoid the edge
where monsters be
you've gone in a wide circle
I live in the center of the world
and cut a smaller circle
only thing I haven't figured out
what keeps the ocean water
from draining off the edge?
Here is my dreamiest, dream job.
I will get to drive a fire truck and use the sirens - all the way to work and back. The gasoline will be paid for by my company.
There will be no committees, and no paperwork. No one will be required to do anything they do not want to do.
Everyone will be the boss of themselves. We will get to design our own luxurious offices. We decide what our work is.
The woman next to me is designing houses for people who do not have them. I am running a creative writing center slash art studio for pre-teens and full teenagers.
The woman who envisioned this company pays us what we decide we are worth. My best friend spends her day in an enormous greenhouse creating hybrids.
We eat a family style lunch and brainstorm our terrific ideas with each other. There is a lot of laughter, the walls exude joy. We want to stay late.
We have a hot tub, a swimming pool, daycare center, school, and arcade on the premises. The school is manned day and night, even weekends, so our children can go to school and learn geometry or psychiatry, or zoology at any age. All they have to do is talk to the teacher. They can go to school on Saturdays and all night! They love school because the curriculum is designed around their interests.
We can play whenever we want to play, swim whenever we want to swim, design whatever we want to design. Supplies are unlimited. Paper, pencils, coffee, fruit snacks, lunches, and suppers, are all free.
We design our day the way we feel it should go. My perfect career makes me feel respected, and is fulfilling in so many ways. My friends are here, and we help each other so often, they are my family; I am part of theirs also. We each have an apartment if we want to live here. It is soundproof so we can sleep at any time. Naps are encouraged. The perfect workplace. The only time we leave is to worship, because it is strongly encouraged to get away for one day and worship the deity and religion or non-religion of our choice.
Mathematics used to be called Arithmetic.
I was the last one to know they had renamed it.
I was in sixth grade, and furious when I discovered no one had told me.
Addition. Okay. No problem.
Subtraction. A bit trickier, more of a stretch, but doable.
Multiplication. For some reason, I adored it!
And word problems. Oh ,yes, more please! Loved them.
Division. Not so excited; they took too long and remainders seemed dumb.
Pre-algebra. X plus three equals 5. Okay, that one’s easy but then you
add all those parenthesis and more and more letters, and it gets crazy.
Geometry was a foreign language I simply did not want to ever see again.
I did not understand any of it, and would like to never speak of it again.
Statistics. I had to pass it to graduate with my degree. Just choke me now.
And choke me hard enough that I do not have to do it tomorrow.
I knew I would never use it, and guess what? I never have.
The pool unfolds like a satin strip,
a tapestry of turquoise stillness.
Sunlight stuck on its facade,
a glass sheet spread to shatter.
A maroon reflective house
shadowed by two leaning palms,
their hushed fronds, the indolent onlookers,
impersonate the silent sky.
A violent bloom of serrated purity
in the stretch of sapphire serenity,
stillness splintered by the frenetic spout.
The splash, the chaotic vista,
a coronet of fluid wonder,
epitomizes the geometry of fading disarray,
interlacing the memories of elation,
rolling over the painted silence.
Inspired by A Bigger Splash by David Hockney (1967)
Written as a tribute to the departed painter.
Some will pass away
Some see the skull beneath
The skin,
Others will feel,
Living or dying,
A certain stillness
In the air,
A certain absence of movement,
Except perhaps,
When looking out of a window,
Leaves swaying gently
In the breeze
Or a blaze of colour
From early spring flowers,
But always a certain silence,
Crisp and solid like air;
And sunshine
Wrapping itself around
Contours of buildings
Revealing a geometry
Never noticed before,
All done quietly;
A seen but not heard televised
Ballet of medics on a ward
In a bubble world of ventilator machines,
Or silent images of trucks
On empty streets carrying coffins to
A crematorium.
The advantage of a plague year:
It never passes with a scream but in a whisper.
Poet's Note:
I’d like to take the opportunity to thank all those who are playing their part in the emergency ( whether in an active or passive sense ) but especially all those in the health sector many of whom are in the front line and therefore most at risk and also a big thanks to all those involved in providing essential services without which we would all be in a bigger mess than we are already. A big round of applause for all these folks please. Desi Gall
Our souls and Source
By Michelle Morris
17/06/2022
So often we escape
From what is deemed our destiny
We run as far as we can in the other direction
Only to run into it again
For the circles in circles, they stand
Ever tested by the sands of Time
No man can ever be different
Than what he has chosen before
Our souls and Source are planners
They work together for our enlightenment
To further the collective learning
To know that which seems unknowable
So often we cave
Into lives that seem lifeless and dull
So afraid of our true power
Having forgotten all that was ours
For the geometry and wisdom stands
It creates power beyond our comprehension
To stand in awe of all that we are
And to embrace all that is meant to be
Our souls and Source know better
They work together for our redemption
To further the collective cleansing
To empower all to be better beings
So, we can pray that it will happen
That we will become our highest potential
We rise like angelic beings
Where Heaven heralds our arrival at last
For the science and mathematics of the Universe
Cannot be understood by mankind on earth
We have to merge with our divinity
And become everything that is eternal
Our souls and Source are one
Our souls and the Universe glow
For we are fashioned from the stars
Our essence is of brilliance and hope
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Heart is at ease, yet mind wishes to know
Consciousness fulcrum, that keeps us aglow
We see around, sacred geometry
As our breath flows in continuity
Senses externalised, everything sized
Mysterious love touch, not realised
Scriptures aplenty but they all confound
How may origin, of our self be found
To discern the truth, we go in, within
Sensing stirrings joyous, of bliss therein
Ego rested, as thoughts become slower
We are still, so who then is the mover
There being no mind, we cannot rehearse
As awareness melds, with the universe
At ease in void and manifestation
Flow of aliveness, our meditation
Essence of presence, unbound and unstained
Swathed in love and light, that may not be named
It will suffice to know, God alone is
Felt within, as a rapturous bliss fizz
25-April-2021
Rhyming couplets poetry contest
Sponsor: Janice Canerdy