Long Math Poems
Long Math Poems. Below are the most popular long Math by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Math poems by poem length and keyword.
He was not green not green at all
Trim and slim he was rather tall
His skin was more of a reddish-brown
His hair was pitch black with a pointed crown
Pleasant enough of a fellow I suppose
We notice each foot had just three toes
His hands were large and his fingers long
He was nice and pleasing but just did not belong
His voice was high pitch but sounded soft
The dust in the air made him sneeze and cough
His body seemed smooth no hair on sight
He enjoyed the shade and avoided direct sunlight
Large oval emerald embers of purest sight
His eyes had transparent lenses that for him seem right
If he looked at you and blinked his lens then eyes
You stood staring back hypnotize strangely paralyzed
His stomach was flat with the belly button gone
To us earth kids that was just plain wrong
His legs were long and skinny and seem to shine
We thought his skin secreted a secret slim
He was nice enough and always learned fast
Academically he surged to the head of the class
He excelled in computers science and math
When he smiled the girls blushed the boys laughed
He tried to be friendly but would not play outside
His tiny nose always in a book he became ostracize
Always helping teachers he became their favorite pet
When we saw his tail he was dubbed Martian Rat
His ears were almost nonexistent but hearing keen
He heard our thoughts he knew everything
We plotted to get him outside and whip his butt
But he knew our every move so we finally gave up
Slowly but surely we all came around
And he became the most popular boy in town
He told tales of heroes slaying dragons of Mars
He told journeys and dreams beyond the stars
He never liked winter hated the snow
The poor boy just really couldn't handle the cold
Summers and falls to him seem all right
Spring with thunder storms gave him the fright
He was the first boy amongst us to kiss a girl
Hot Holly by golly gave him a whirl
We all played indoors to be by his side
The feelings of yesterday we all denied
Than just like that Yarn was gone
His family went back to were they belong
We felt betrayed and misunderstood
We lost a friend and did the best we could
Late at night a group of us looked up to the sky
Was Yarn looking down to us from way up high?
Worlds apart but we become close yet he left so far
We miss our friend two big hearts within the boy from Mars
Young Raymond worked the bakery
was up 'bout ten to three.
Just eighteen, still in high school he
had dreams of flying free.
He worked as hard as most grown men
then walked to school and slept.
Took all his wages home to Mom
who thanked him as she wept.
His forte's were science and math
in those he could engage.
Yet beneath all his knowledge was
a silent, anxious rage.
He dreamed, "I'll be an astronaut,"
but worked the fierce hot stoves.
"Impossible to soar," he'd think
while baking bread in loaves.
Young Raymond lost his childhood by
the time he reached sixteen.
Quiet brilliant in mathematics he
soon knew bread as his dean.
Scattered among the loaves of bread,
the flour, water, yeast,
he lost that precious dream-hope and
became an aged beast.
One fine May day in Physics class
with windows opened wide,
most students lolling at their desk,
our Raymond jumped and died.
His skull was broken on the sidewalk
entrance to our school.
Striding across the room's wood floor
he dove into a pool
of warm spring air as he took flight
toward impending death.
We gasped and ran toward the bay
while holding back our breath.
Some of us thought he'd stand upright
until we saw the blood.
Our teacher pressed the intercom
he'd shuddered at the thud.
Somewhere inside that bright young mind
with dreams of soaring high,
the walls of Raymond's world caved in
and left him asking why?
Not old enough to be a man
yet lost to days of youth,
his brilliant mind found no escape
he couldn't cipher truth.
Epilogue
While deputies worked at the scene
we all departed school.
With camera, tape, and clipboard they
applied fact-finding tools.
Yet none could reason why he jumped
and in May chose to die.
His teacher and the Sheriff would
return to find out why.
A physics book lay on his desk
a paper on the leaves.
Mathematically he'd worked it out,
two grown men were bereaved.
He knew the precise distance from
the window to the walk.
His pen the feet per second for
his keen mind to meet shock.
He'd chosen one three story flight
over stacks and rowd of bread,
abandoning the ovens that
had given him deep dread.
I think of him on fine May days
rich with ambrosial air.
I hope that Raymond soars the skies
and sees his world as fair.
Losing Raymond
Bertrand Russell
was intrigued by systems theory,
appalled by systemic racism
within himself and others,
corporations and churches
not recognizing each other's wisdom
also found in temples and synagogues
and community investment banks
and poor houses.
He was also interested in political philosophy,
power of aristocrats
anticipating growing personal economic despotism
offering no respite
to green/blue democratic EarthLovers.
A contemporary of Einstein's,
who shared Russell's political philosophy
and perhaps his interest in 4Dimensional
prime NonZero-entropic space/time
co-arising dipolar bilateral
spatial/integral
physical/metaphysical systems
also sort of bicamerally structured
Russell writes,
"The reason physics has ceased to look for causes
is that, in fact,
there are no such things.
The law of [unilateral linear] causality
is a relic of a bygone age,
surviving, like the monarchy,
only because it is erroneously supposed
to do no [win/lose, either/or leftbrain dominant reductive] harm."
Here, Russell's parenthetical analogy
betrays his political philosophy
favoring natural/spiritual green/blue co-arising systemic democracy
of We The Healthy MultiCultural EarthPeople
causing and effecting
monoculturing
narcissistic aristocratic collective fantasies,
anthropocentric Naked EarthExploiting Emperors.
Causal systemic power travels down to up,
like root systems toward flowers,
nutritionally before,
secondarily, communication flowing back top to down,
like seeds embedding in Earth's co-invested future
multiculturing fertile soil
bearing multi-regenerational anticipated win/win fruits,
Dipolar co-arising in polyphonic apposition
more normatively nurturing
than win/lose bipolar challenges of monoculturing,
too aristocratically self-delusional
short-term empowering aggressors
leftbrain straight white western male predators
on organic polycultural matriarchal fields
of original nature/spirit win/win systemic energy
in which each individual ego
is EarthMother sacred
eco-politically born
For growing systemic
democratic cooperative green energy,
power,
empowerment,
enlightenment
of integrity's systemic multiculturing potential
for climate health,
internally ego-inspiring spiraling spiritual
as externally natural rooted
organic ecosystems of life
reversing monoculturing death.
I do it for the boys, the girls, men, the women,
plus Allah's unborn children look how I'm living
it's similar to, your situation no money making,
just chips and egg crates in front the Playstation.
Cable's late again my real friends know my struggle,
a rough 9 to 5 plus supplying studio time is my hussle.
It's just my father, Jibri, and I shacked in a shack
shackled to a broken home with no
welcome mat get back.
Everysince my mother left the building,
the feeling ain't the same pain is building
rain is killing the window pain.
Winters are harsh man, but I can take it though
as long as I'm wrapped up in these blankets
I'm a make it man.
I do it for the emcees, the djs, the b-boys, the b-girls,
hip hop is a growing culture plus it's a free world.
Free to manifest expressions,
free to rep your section focused over nice composures
flowing until the night is over.
Don't be like me just be like the music you like
use right rhyme and reason choose nice lines and preach them.
Watch the ones leeching watch who you be with frequent
cause you can end up with your dreams slowly sinking.
Only you can make it in this, it's a business,
forget the fame listen use your senses don't be senseless.
Be patient and grind hard if waiting to shine start
slanging tapes on my block & your block it don't stop.
Hit up every spot around,
it's a milion of us trying to get a milion bucks and
chill in a vila feeling the cool breeze.
I'm am who me.
the same easy dude speaking jeweles
do you I'm a do me.
I started off young with a pen and a pad lyrics I had
before that I scribbled on scraps forget about class.
Entered school thinking of rap,
grades sinking in math
twas either skip, go home, or sit in the back.
During lunch I read what I wrote
they said it was dope, within battles
no one put Bomb Threat on the ropes.
Six years later I.....left to go solo felt I was hopeless
in a group that wasn't hungry only one supplying money me.
Then the south was united, two years later divided
but Mama Glo, had the best ideas,
but I, down no man no way no how
cause if you make it in this game from the heart I'm proud.
FLA I will make this official rake up a pencil
for Jenah's sake I'm a make it
and mention you on an instrumental.
That's a promise I'm honest, show me love back
hold me down
southside is us you gotta love that.
It took many years for me to love me
For rich or for poor the body keeps the score.
Society is always on the go no time to be still,
no time to chill, we are expected to go with the flow
To be authentic, eccentric quirky, society resents this
to be different in society’s eyes is a no.
Present in the present everything must be fast no time to be slow.
It took many years for me to love me the way the I in the word individual
Deserves to be loved.
Society has a way of making one feel trapped and detached.
For all the math equations, anxiety frustrations the I in this individual
Has gone through subliminal it has took many years to find out that the
I in this individual never needed to fit in. Because I all ready fit within
The F and the T in between the word FIT.
For the love Individual I deserves is the IT in the word FIT.
The I in the individual already exists in the word LIFT
As the I begins the journey of elevation.
It took many years for me to love me the way the I
Deserved to be loved by a better half as if part of me was missing.
Half a man stumbling through life unsure about his place in the
World that places labels upon your existence twisting and breaking
You down expecting you to stand with a smile when life calls from an UNKNOWN NUMBER
the voice message reads “You better not frown”.
Don’t show your broken places, fractures or fragments.
This society’s systems can slow you down watch you drown and remain stagnant.
It took many years for me to love me
As if the I in individual was broken.
But the greatest love story I ever lived
Wasn't written in sonnets.
It was whispered in my bathroom mirror
At 3 AM when I finally said,
"I see you. I hear you. You matter."
The greatest love story started
When I stopped apologizing
For taking up space,
For laughing too loud,
For crying too hard,
For being too much
Or not enough
For anyone else's comfort.
This body has carried me through heartbreak,
These hands have created magic,
This mind has survived storms
That would have leveled cities.
These scars are not failures;
They are proof that I fought
And I'm still here.
I learned to fill my cup with kindness towards the boy I used to be
Now, when I love her, it over flows as we come together scars and all
on this journey called GROW.
Love without Beloved,
Beloved without Love,
neither alternative could be
me without you
you within me
both equivalent would be
We.
We without you,
or me,
this simply can not be,
we takes both equally
bidextrously
ambivalent
Without me,
just you,
or me,
which We cannot
co-arisingly be.
I could not be me
without a you,
nor you
without a me,
as I, you see
we're not at home
in silo-by-silo
universality,
confusing coincidentality,
poor performing
economicality,
dismal absence
of ecologicality,
teleologically teasing
merely biological We.
If no Earthy EcoSystem,
then no Me.
If no Me, then no exegetical
metaphysical
metamorphical
polycultural
permaculturing Be.
If no Belonging,
then no longing.
If no longing, then no hope
of Belonging.
If no becoming, then not Being
seeing
sensing
souling
solving
resolving
resonating
hibernating
sublimating
en-double-lightening We.
If synapse
were not quite so closely haunted
by relapse
deep learning might be
as boringly unpredictable
as gravity's self-creational
bi-relational
lapse.
When East and West learn to divest
of Othering culture's absence,
as South and North learn to invest
in Other culture's apart-sense,
then PermaCulturing Design
will co-redeem
sustainable We
polyculturing our healthy Planet
polymorphic economics
polypathic ecologic
becoming PolyWealthy Therapy.
Messiahs turn Left
to Rightly Prophet
and CoMessiah Right
to EcoProphesy Left
and back again
to revolution Earth ethics upside down,
with SunGod's cooperative rays on top
of Earth's economically rich
deep pie charts
and global graceful synergy spread wide
warm watery reception,
challenging bi-generic tree-ringed contractions
of grace,
karmic abundance,
a Bun Dance away from narcissistic ignorance
Ego's fancy prance,
of why when we each and all come together,
in love's full climaxing bilateral embrace
we turn our identities future side down
a pace
in this HereNow timely space.
We each come to redeem our Ego investment
born of Earth's long-spun
cosmic fun
regenerating narrative,
double negative binding Identity
creating SuperEco-Normic
sticky Bliss
Is not
Love without Beloved,
Beloved without Love
neither alternative could be
me without you
within me
both equivalently
must be
gummy We.
The cloud rained heavily on the boy, it stayed a while.
He tried to find somebody to help, but did not know the number to dial.
He stopped playing his beloved guitar,
Each dark cloud that passed him left a massive scar.
With the black cloud obstructing his view of outer space,
He was no longer able to rest in the puffy white clouds with his leg brace.
One night, a terrible feeling all over his body left him tossing and turning
A chill rolled up and down his spine, he woke up to his phone ringing and he started vomiting.
Kneeling over the toilet bowl, half asleep and fully confused,
He just knew something terrible had happened, this black cloud left this boy bruised.
The boy answered the call.
One of his good friend’s was found dead in the middle of the night they said.
His body fell against the bathroom wall and started to bawl,
He felt this coming with every toss and every turn that night.
The boy had the worst kind of blues so the boy and the girl went for a cruise
They did not know they were headed towards terrible news.
Stopped to get gas along the way
The boy started pondering if happiness is something he will ever find.
He thought his eyes must be playing a game with his mind,
He never thought he would witness a friend of his intoxicated to the point they were blind.
The boys’ friend drove head on into his most prized possession, his truck.
His optimism had already grown distant; his coat is no longer weather resistant.
The black cloud flooded his head with darkness; the boy knew it was no longer worth fighting.
The boy who was already weak from the clouds wrath,
Lost all of what was left of his hope; his mind was aiming to the most negative number in
terms of math.
The cloud rained heavily on the boy, it stayed a while.
He tried to find somebody to help, but did not know the number to dial.
The girl stayed optimistic, to this day she remained realistic.
Tries everyday to rid these clouds and help him from growing more pessimistic.
Tries hard to help him face the day and look beyond,
She is afraid of losing this boy and their extraordinary bond.
Using her knowledge and strength, she constantly tries to erase his negative mentality,
And fill that space with pieces of hopeful and positive reality.
But the cloud weighs more than he can take.
He believes the rest of his life is at stake.
I belong to metallic soiled Earth,
solar-fired water's atmosphere;
these oil and blood-fluent elements
would feel freer
not belonging to you,
to us.
They
we
are our belongings
but not our property,
commodity.
Our multicultural values
measure and calculate
design and develop
investing primal qualities of time
predicting secondary quantitative spatial outcomes.
Less time constrains freedom and value and love.
More freedom responds to surrounding needs and wants and relationships
with less dissonant restraint,
competitive response;
with more cooperative invitations
for mutual mentoring regenerate options,
our pacific path revealing positive intentions.
Missing freedom suffers,
as missing incarnation dissonates,
as absent polynomials disformate.
Incarnation's value grows enculturing time
measured with Earth's elements,
temporal functions,
systems design and development.
Each element
identity
system and set
contains regenerative potentiating value,
functionally forming network constellations
of prime-frequency, flow,
rhythmic relationships,
sustaining balanced harmonies,
an ecological economy
static until its season to unfold again.
Limited value decomposes from ego-systemic mortality.
Regenerate value emerges from eco-logical coincident, co-arising comprehension.
Space enacts time's liturgical rite of passage,
as time incarnates space's ambidextrous function
with fractal equivalent information.
Ambivalent eco-normic tipping points
out equi-valent ecological potential,
permacultural regenerate systemic nutrients
for sustaining polycultural maintenance.
We grow adeptly incarnating cooperative economies
as we become allergic to commodifying competition,
win-lose systemic incorporations.
Well-apprenticed permaculturalists,
Taoists,
Buddhists,
Fullerian Synergists,
enthymematic communicators
re-ligious self-with-other integrators,
economic ecological care of Other,
Earth Justice,
perhaps even Universal Intelligent therapeutic care,
evolves yeastfully prime rooted in multisystemic integrity.
We reach deeply and widely within remembering
our justice womb of poly-solidarity,
regenerate subsidiarity swimming
remerging toward light's bright flashing flight.
We belong to Earth
and feel freer longing with all of us together
in one Earth-bound network cycle.
The whole truth
and nothing but the fu(king truth
That laws, and math, only help solve
local temporary problems,
All of which fall way short
on the infinite needs scale
were we rely on estimates, theories,
and other manmade truths
Still here we are,
alone on a goldilocks planet
All 8 billion of us milling around,
living our lives
guaranteed nothing
other than this moment
and whatever came before
To think otherwise
would be presumptuously human
As for choice is there really any
other than try feed ourselves
and sate the instinct to survive and thrive
We are a civilisation built on
disparate societal values and creeds
Each day is an imperceptible handover
from one generation to the next,
with no guarantee they’ll do a better job
But the real problem is not truth,
It’s why!
Why anything at all,
Why life
Why the fu(k am I asking these questions
I’m apostate, No!
I have little faith, No!
I am honest, No!
A nihilist, No
It’s because I have a sentient,
curious, unapologetic mind
that compels me to ask why!
Sometimes I think
i’d be better off a sponge
floating in crystal clear turquoise balmy oceans
Soaking up oblivious unintelligible surroundings
Indifferent to mortality and the universe,
popping off a few buds every once in a while,
or whatever sponges
brainlessly do to further their species
Such basic life is so very tempting
but just doesn’t sit right
Never to experience love
however fleeting,
Never to endure pain
However crushing,
Never to feel like throwing in the towel,
Even if just to mop blood
off the floor like a sponge
See, I’ve had moments
unimaginably beautiful,
Alongside unconscionably awful ones,
Moments so real
they can’t have been synthesised
by any stretch of any imagination
I believe a God or the universe
created me as a vessel of interpretation
to perceive itself
from my unique perspective
Well not unique per se,
more a personalised handicapped view
I am nothing and everything
in the grand scheme of things
No more! No less!
One that uses swear words
language you may not like,
yet clearly understand
The weirdest part is not the feeling
I’ve written this fu(ked up poem
in previous carnations
It’s my swearing
just seems to be getting worse
By
David Kavanagh
Eldest daughter – I Praise
Twenty two years ago
December twenty second,
two thousand eighteen
"star student" born
this papa (and most
likely thee birth mother)
initially felt ecstatic,
dramatic (yes frenetic),
and careworn
as freshly minted parents,
but gifted with a daughter,
whose existence far
more precious
than any Earthborn
rare widgets, gewgaws,
gems, et cetera, despite
evoking unsolicited,
unpleasant, and
unmanageable forlorn
communication "dirt poor"
living (at least ten years
of wretchedness at 1148
Greentree Lane) unable
to toot your horn,
cuz unbearable, undesirable,
unforgettable, et cetera,
and manifold challenged ,
when beloved Shana
Punim evinced inborn
developmental delay,
(which severe electric
koolaid acid test
patience of this father),
much more difficult
than playing krummhorn,
now after tendering the trials
and tribulations, an
amalgamation of
poignant affects,
whereat your
permanent presence...
(must never NOT precede mine),
cuz..., I would definitely mourn,
your absence, thus felt the timely
opportunity to dash off
a birthday poem to you
in tandem with sharing,
(while comfortably numb
and figuratively licking war
torn psychological wombs) - torn
and ripped, queued,
peppered natty psyche
pockmarked with scorn
from self, (and those lives,
this dada immediately
impacted) particularly
your person roar'n
with cumulative anger toward
this insightful fellow,
(who claims to know
what thee feel toward me),
especially when ****
hours of valuable
time, now caught
(say, eh...approximately, fraught
upon the half life of rare Earth
element Eden), not
just strictly naught
heard thru the grapevine,
but forcing Math (hew)
analysis, via meditation, poetry
writing therapy, et cetera.
Hence...I apologize,
asper unasked for pain wrought
thee, sans being unemployed,
demeaning "mother Abby,"
bumbling, horrid house
keeper (Hagrid himself,
would turn down invitation),
plus Facebook fiasco,
imbroglio, and locomotive -
complicit in behavior
comparable to pedophile,
yet please let me conclude
by admitting total lack
of wherewithal.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR DAUGHTER!