Long Graphs Poems
Long Graphs Poems. Below are the most popular long Graphs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Graphs poems by poem length and keyword.
“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.”
Every now and then I am asked to write a poem…an honor for which I feel blessed…
but yesterday, in all honesty, I received a very strange request.
I recently wrote a poem on how basic math relates to life…which must have left one reader in awe…because he asked me if I could do the same with…wait for it…Algebra.
Apparently he has grandchildren who need a little persuasion…as to why they need to study symbols and equations.
First of all…Algebra can be funny…it’s not all boring numbers, symbols and graphs…Here’s a joke that to this day…makes algebraic mathematicians laugh:
To answer the who, what, where and when in life other mathematical processes apply…but Algebra is the only one where you can find an answer for Y.
I know studying letters and symbols can be a source of agitation…but did you know we use Algebra every time we make a calculation?
As a child when you saw a toy across the room or even those candles on the birthday cake you were blowing…you were calculating distances, using Algebra…yes, without even knowing!
In sports any time you throw or catch or kick a ball…or when you’re older…determining the spread…all these moments you are instinctively doing Algebra in your head.
At thanksgiving as you cook your turkey…Algebra is there to please…it helps you calculate how long it takes to cook a 20 pound turkey…at 350 degrees.
Without algebra we wouldn’t have TV, or video games and over us a decision would loom…when we’re redecorating and trying to determine the area of a room.
Or how much grass we need to landscape our lawn…and we’d be considered a fool…if our calculations were incorrect and our back yard was too small for our pool.
Algebra helps us determine a healthy diet…more vegetables…less fries…
and given our height, weight and body mass…the best form of exercise.
It’s true we have Google, Alexa and Siri now…all products of Algebraic conception…but what are you going to do when the electricity goes out…and you no longer have reception?
So please go to Algebra class…do your best…you don’t have to be a whiz kid…
Because when you’re older looking at that 20 pound turkey…and Alexa has no answer…You’ll be glad you did.
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
— This poem describes our journey from the reality of life to the truth of death.
— The introductory “then” connoting ‘in medias res’ is reminiscent of the opening of Dante’s journey to the inferno in the middle of his lifetime.
— "Maximum point," "graph", and "function" are used in their algebraic senses.
— "Plumes" stand, metaphorically, for our worldly concerns; when they fall, we descend like a piece of stone!
— "Plane" is used in its geometric sense.
— "Seemorgh" is the source of knowledge and insight in Persian mysticism.
— "Truth", versus material reality, is idealistic and beyond the perception of the senses.
The following may also help in understanding this poem:
— In Persian mysticism, particularly in The Conference of the Birds (Mantiq-ot-Tayr) by Attár (the greatest Iranian mystic, 1145?-1221?, and Rumi's master), translated into English by Edward FitzGerald as Birds Parliament in 1889, birds gather and decide to start questing for their Lord. With innumerable hardships, only 30 survive and succeed to reach the peak of Qáf (/qahf/), the mystical abode of their Lord. 'See', in Persian, is 30 and 'morgh' equals bird. Their Lord, Seemorgh (30 birds), is their own reflection!
— In algebra, you can draw the graph or curve of, for instance, the mortalities for a time span. Graphs are drawn in terms of equations formed by a function and a/some variable(s). Some graphs rise to a maximum point and then descend, some descend toward a minimum point to start ascending afterwards, some only descend or rise. I've drawn the curve of men's life as rising to its maximum point in their youth, the peak of the Qáf, and then descending. I've also had in mind Sophocles's riddle of the Sphinx in Oedipus the King where man has been described as a beast with 4 legs at first in infancy, unable to rise from the ground, then standing upright on 2 legs, in the middle of life, and finally, when inclined towards the earth again, standing with the help of a stick (upon 3 legs).
No comments, please
The Atomic Café stays with me, over
even the most perfect of days.
I think about the arrogance of power
and how most people live in a daze.
I think on the geniality of the average citizen,
how willing, how trusting, how guileless they are.
The salt of the earth, reasonable men,
seen by their politicians as game that is fair.
Fair as in good pickings.
Fare as in someone who will pay.
Fair as in these are just the midlings.
Fair as in to assume they will do what we say.
I am sick to death of a society
that divides up into predator and prey.
One group seeking only comfort and security
and the other group seeks only power and display.
Who were these men of the Fifties,
that explained to us as if we were children,
that, yes, we could destroy whole cities,
but, yes, atomic power could also save men.
We bought their maps and graphs and cute cartoon
of jovial Mr. Atom and how he could help us,
while in hospitals these devious men of doom
experimented on innocents with plutonium inserts.
They explained at great length the threat from outside,
moved trusting men at will with just the sound of a siren,
sprayed cities with virus to see how it spread and subside.
gave acid to the unknowing to see how it affected the brain.
They demonstrated with a flourish the benefits of "our system"
and we in our search for comfort bought a new car and color TV.
They felt free in our bought silence not to mention Iran,
Guatemala, or black budgets we were not allowed to see.
All these are quite obvious some fifty years past.
Those guilty men at least thought it necessary to explain
their actions and are with us no longer. Their descendants at last
have clearly learned the game, our understanding of issues is lame.
The public, once bought, has no need for explanation, or outcome.
Constant fear is now the new game.
We all now mutter platitudes of gain and freedom,
and live our lives as if they both mean the same.
The rush of emotion,
The thud of adrenaline,
Amidst the commotion,
Scouting for medicine,
Those who speak, keep others in line,
Patience they say and all will be fine,
Those who seek, know things won’t easily resolve,
Eagerly scurrying to make it dissolve,
Official alerts keep people in check, informing them of what is allowed,
as unwarranted announcements dangerously mislead the crowd,
Reluctantly people stay meters apart and follow orderly entry,
Confusion, melancholy, as you walk on streets that are now completely empty,
Time drains endurance, and claustrophobia re-emerges as psychotic fears,
Supplies are torn from shelves as viciously as panthers strike deers,
Once again returning to the cage you call home, concealing, to avoid this pain,
Isolation is a temporary unprecedented solution, slowly driving us all insane,
Whilst frustration builds up, heart pounds, pulses race,
Families blind-sided, the grief, and longing for their embrace,
Others conspire against the data and graphs,
Throwing caution aside for barely a few laughs,
Amidst those affected by this cruel wave of tyranny,
The delusional rascals, mock and make of it a parody,
As long as time may feel like it drags on, alas,
A year then another does pass,
Technology advances, protection now attainable,
Whilst acknowledging that objection is no longer sustainable,
Hypocrisy at its finest, a political charade,
Restrictions persist, riots parade,
life then appears to go back to the norm,
yet this false sense of security is the calm before the storm,
Just as we reach a historic milestone,
Another variant, another unknown,
the internal struggle that is not addressed,
the emotional trauma now suppressed,
although it tore apart, it also brought humanity together,
Prevention is a start, the battle does feel to drag on forever.
Power points of dimensional spinning graphs are largely placed in cement viewfinders in aerated office space with dome foam chairs. Dome foam chairs are the salt of seats and seating is considered important for lengthy discussion tables whose droning voices appear to form no conclusion yet get salaried by the milliseconds. Thousands and thousands of bold shining gold bullion bars mean thousands of printed bull speeches. But leeches sit on beaches and sip nectar out if the environment they consider their haven. It is never really demystified, added up, or fractioned the carious deeds instead they are multiplications that divide and fracture causing much disharmony in a mustard coloured cereal bowl with many crunching sounds. Cresphontes calls crethus and cynortas then danaus appears in a silvery crown on a semi misted horse. For to be a simpleton at that time was to sport a dimple on ones forehead and bow easterly but only when a westerly breeze was chatting to northern flames. The burst of southerly inclines meant the little trotting army could approach from every angle and therefore a fisherman or shepherd could be made very alarmed and run around flailing arms in the air shouting aloooooo alllooooo alllooooo but no apologies were made to these innocent harmonic workers of the lands. Blup blup fishermen and Barr baaa basalt shepherds left their careers and began work on the structures that would stand to signal power. Processing plants of today are akin to planktonic paintings upon the grounds and are an eyesore to behold. Many an eyesore is many an era in waste. Napoleonic Neptune numbers nurturing ninety nice nimble nymphs nautically. Beam then. Go on beam. Great big grin. Split level chin wobble. Fantastic isn't it? Z autobiographical Z at seven jumping tennis balls in a stew pan to thirteen moons on motorbikes. Z xxxx z
Form:
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.
I’m a glutton for love you know
Yet I’m a sucker for pain
Heart on my sleeve everywhere I go
Not wanting sustenance of refrain
Red on my palms entwined with another
Parading around like a stalking saint
Spreading the word to innocent lovers
In message of insight and finger-paint
Thrown into the renovation trade
Rushing the blood to cheeks of the pale
Lessening trounce of quake’s tailor made
Damaging ratings on life’s Richter scale
Mourning profusely, smile without sound
Inventing new sketchings on solar graphs
Mending cracks in the walls all around
Stopping leaks from pipe burst hearts
Filling back up the tear of the hollow
Then swiftly moving along to the next
Extending hands with pride left to swallow
While keeping rejection within its context
The irony of this whole situation
Almost so vague it kinda begets me
Knowledge from past and foregone conclusion
Prolonging a word called simplicity
I’ve seen this before, I’ve loved and lost
Not sorry for wanting to share what I feel
If pain means healing or trusting at cost
At least then I’ll know of feeling surreal
That’s better than not being able to live
It’s so much better then nothing at all
With bountiful bouquets of love left to give
I listen for rose colored voices to call
The aroma next time around will be such
Allowing mitosis that seeks to enthrall
And stroke the face with a gentle touch
In the aisle to wildflower entrance halls
Reach out the hands forgetful of catching
Pick up the broken shards of metal
Trailing emotions while sympathy snatching
Garden bound barefoot on lying rose petals
Healthy and wholesome food for the soul
A soft patch for landing on feet with grace
Creation arranged in colorful holes
For the next time we fall into love’s embrace
Looking out the window at the world, I wonder,
Is there a consciousness that permeates every living cell,
Something that stitches together all life into a vast symphony,
Singing a score written by a solitary omnipotent hand?
Or is it all just a random scattering, discrete forms released
Into a mindless algorithm, biased towards the instinct to survive?
A world where even charity and love are mere selected attributes
To bring social advantage, just clever tricks to win the game of evolution.
What then is art—a sublime melody sung by the human soul,
Or just a construct of the mind, fabricated in the brain's workshop,
An instrument to keep our species occupied, nothing more than an evolutionary remedy
To prevent madness, while we are bound to our biological imperatives?
Yet so much seems superficial in the simple act of survival.
We build libraries, galleries, and concert halls, spaces to house
Evidence that we might be something more.
Is there something inside us that refuses linguistic reduction,
Something of an unearthly essence, pointing toward something deeper?
The heart yearns for a meaning beyond charts and graphs,
In moments when the stars mirror our deepest questions,
And moonlight floods our rooms with ethereal whispers.
Are we merely puppets orchestrated by unseen hands on a cosmic stage,
Or creators of our own stories, weaving magic through our art?
In silence, as the tapestry of night envelops the world,
This quest for understanding leaves traces in the sands of my consciousness,
Where thoughts glimmer like fireflies, each a tiny beacon illuminating the unknown.
The soul swims in the deep, seeking answers among the inner galaxies,
While outside my window, life continues its silent and mysterious dance.