Long Mathematics Poems
Long Mathematics Poems. Below are the most popular long Mathematics by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mathematics poems by poem length and keyword.
A fairyland fable is a magic table floating around but nit with a rallying cry. That is purely reserved for several synchronised cruise ships whose sunbathing missions thwart many a delivery driver. It is with great interest that an interest is neither a monetary aim at a bank or an inked out financial score singing a palate of possibilities. So go call the cat then. Go on. Meow meow. Dinner time. There you go. Fresh tuna is very scared now. Oh dear. And all the little flakes hard at work minced flesh in factories never really has a rest does it? Dilapidated dog during digging. And a great big wish from a ten thousand kilo cake is a celebrated glow in an outer solar sphere. Clap them all. Many cakes many spheres. Loud claps. And shouting at the mail is equivalent to eating beans on toast at several hundred miles an hour upside down in a bucket. It is in many weathers that a tall lanky snail circles a circuit in a rally car. Very very fast. Well done. There is a crown and a bursting champagne bottle whose antics on the plane were quite rude and non productive. However showering the podium with released bubble is quite a feat of engineering and requires precision mathematics too. So never ever become intoxicated if holding a compass, a text book, six lined sheets of paper, ten pencils and an organic cheeseburger with salad. Marketing making money moguls merry. And the swimming curry is out for the day in the lake occasionally resting on a Papadopoulos papadum boat who whips a papaya to create a cocktail. How rather quaint that is isn't it? How many radiuses are there in a pear? And how many tents can be made from a single pair of tights? These are highly significant questions to ask at a time when the antipepiscides are at the protest. Rioting. And tootling along the lane came a little green car whose plan was ever only to drink copious amounts of tea at the inn of then. Saviour not a sanctified secretion of a sweet set of stagnant striped silk. And enter no password of hi dee hi on a billboard for frames are allowing much to pass by over the cliffs. So watch out if carrying ten cars, a wobbly bus, and a twelfth century castle for it is the marksman who are marking a book from a diocese, a school and a university of agha banks. Couple that then. Great. Hahaha fantasy fig floating around hahaha banana bandana bringing bee balancing. Xxxxx metropolitans z
Form:
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
1.618 :
Number of Golden Ratio, mystery of Kaaba, Miracle of Islam and Koran, it is the high time for Divine Secrets, Divine Mysteries. Soon on display!
In a little while, you will see scientific proofs of unbelievable mysteries that have remained hidden in the Holy City of Mecca for thousand of years with your own eyes. Mecca is willed as direction of kowtow, convention place for billions of Muslims and as the holy center of Islam. Those Muslims, who can afford, are prescribed to arrive go on a journey through Kaaba, Muzdelife and Arafat and to convene in the sacred city.
Phi Constant- 1.618, superior design number of mathematics. The Creator has always used the very same number in numerous events in the universe; in our heart pulses, the aspect ratio of DNA spiral, in the special design of the universe called dodecehadron, in the leaf array rules of plants called phylotaxy, in the snow flake crystals, in the spiral structure of numerous galaxies. The Creator used the same number; the number of golden ratio which is 1.618…
As a result of his 25 years long study, aesthetician Dr. Steven Markout proves that each of human faces and bodies, created pursuant to this ratio, are completely beautiful. If the relative ratio is 1.618 for the components of any structure, then this form will be convenient to Golden Ratio, the perfect design.
So, where is the Golden Ratio Point of the World?
The proportion of distance between Mecca and North Pole to the distance between Mecca and South Pole is exactly 1.618 which is the golden mean. Moreover, the proportion of the distance between South Pole and Mecca to the distance between both poles is again 1.618.
The miracle has not been completed yet; The Golden Ratio Point of the World is in Mecca city according to map of latitude and longitude which is the common determinant of mankind for location.
The proportion of eastern distance to the western distance of Mecca’s solstice line is again 1.618. Moreover, the proportion of the distance from Mecca to the solstice line from the west side and perimeter of world at that latitude is also surprisingly equal to the golden ratio, 1.618. The Golden Ratio Point of the World is always within the city borders of Mecca, within the Holy Region that includes Kaaba according to all mapping systems despite minor kilometrical variations in their estimations.
Mountains never reach (money)
Count the sands
And tell me if
Numbers have an end
Sorry you base happiness
To just numbers
a mountain never reach
As your needs are full of
holes
Like a water pull into a basket
The more your have
The more and more
You need
Oh brother oh sister
You keep climbing
But you can't get on
Top of the mountain
For this money mountain
Got not end
Mountain never reach (money)
Why chase after the wind
When at your door step is
The plata of gold
Material satisfaction is not
Always necessary to be happy
How much money more
do you want to be satisfied
Oh be warn
For this Mountain you climb
Got no end
As you never can be happy
Oh brother oh sister
You keep climbing
But you can't get on
Top of the mountain
For this money mountain
Got no end
Mountain never reach (money)
Who is the richest on money
I bet you yet he is not satisfied
Large bank account
Yet less peace of mind
Is equal to vanity
In the mathematics of nature
As life is like a zero
No partiality on this formula
For what is worth more
Than a happy soul
Oh be warn
For that mountain
You climb got no end
Oh brother oh sister
You keep climbing
But you can't get on
Top of the mountains
For this money mountain
Got no end
Mountain never reach (money)
A pice of note
With arts of colours
And pictures
With deferent number
Figures
All like a pice of material
Oh Is this what make you
Lose your happiness
No this is not
enough to make
The world lose spirituality
Oh no this mountain
Is endless
those in
Chase of it
Keep chasing vanity
As they lose their soul
Oh be warm
For that mountain
You climb got no end
Oh brother oh sister
You keep climbing
But you can't get on
Top of the mountain
For this money mountain
Got no end
Mountain never reach (money)
Money money money
As we all cry
Why is money the only
Form of trade
A question like I don't
Know
Nature is irreplaceable
No matter who is
The best manipulator
Life is a free zone
Be happy
Live with a joy
Feel nature
For it more profitable
Never trade your soul
For money
As now
Be warn
For you see that money
Mountain
It mysteries has no
End
Oh brother oh sister
You keep climbing
But you can't get on
Top of the mountain
For this money mountain
Got no end
If I was to take a word, say focus,
Stand it on its head,
And ask with growing sense of dread,
Why my friend did you just now,
Fly upon this particular
Moment’s verbal locus?
Torture I might answer, like waterboarding,
Might explain a thing or two.
Indeed the stakes are dear,
And the coast far from clear-
For foggy shores clarity prevents,
The utter contingency of cluttered events.
Focus is the mine shaft of the mind,
Magnifying that which falls
Into categories of significance:
Signs of a trance, a mental dance,
By which thinking signifies
The magnificent follies
Of a man upside down
In a world of lies.
No subtlety there,
Poet banging hair chest bare,
The mental frequency hertz,
Screeching, scratching, snatching,
Lose bits of hurt out of the air.
The mathematics of falling
Made clear by Newton,
His numbers uncovering
What was
Always there:
A god already in free fall,
The Fall, the autumn of our birth,
The forsaken garden,
Two dummies hand in hand,
An undulating snake,
A world of entanglement,
All fleeing into a desert dream.
For what? To where? And why?
The three double jews of the trinity
Which Law forbade no One to ask,
Yet no body did
Put focus to task.
She reappears all the time.
The rabbit hole stood for what was to come,
The worms therein what was done.
The trip down was fun,
Getting out gave more than the sum.
The prism diffracted the invisible
Beams of light,
An assortment of possibilities followed,
The world explained, the mind contained,
A boundless infinite void of space,
Surrounding us,
Disgracing us,
For we had to face,
The borders of our place.
Trapped inside
We looked the other way,
Attic floors, token doors,
A distilled virtue, forgeries for another day.
The sky was not the limit, we were.
The atoms of the mind mere reflections
Of our best guessing games.
There though, lay our best hope.
After the bloodshed
She reappeared again.
But only after.
Choices like Templars into the night,
Distracted the courtesies of a harmonious cosmos,
God had blood and died,
Men embraced humiliation and cried,
Change, the abomination of free will,
Altered the fabric of time.
Focus put by for a rainy day.
Distraction, the play thing
Of an unruly monster lurking in the shadows of thought,
Vomiting a pile of disassociations.
You pop my heart so heavily to the rhythm of
“like a prayer”from Madonna.
You flare the stars at night
gleaming towards darkside.
You flame the solar sphere; before you,
I became ichor.
You wade your way into heaven;
you're a goddess.
Night with your scarlet lips,
is untamed.
A fluid from your cup is juicy
for it sends me
to cloud nine
dreaming of us in a canvass of artwork
made by rosy poetry
in a setting of dramatic show:
I, Suleiman
You, Ada
playing in Atlantics.
I come with a song,
make from it a dulcet medley
reciting how I found mathematics
at the doorstep to your heart;
my discovery of indices
sorting pleasures beneath your apartment
In a dark red light,
flaky as a clinker.
Woman, you must have thought the instruments
to twang at night
into something that crawls to the paw of the gale
knifing my ears.
call it an act of love
because at your feet
music ends and kick off.
My discovery of you is a quicklime
melding sacred love with holy kisses
over burnt and baked lies
without a draft of smoke
forming cloudburst of rue.
Allow me from your city stare
at roses crashing beneath your waist
affection that goest before your thighs
hallowed by thy bosom
into the gates of confession.
Allow me to snog thee gently
feeding on thy hipped blonde
to your gratification
lounging my spearhead along your riverside
to stir, montarily, moaning
like the touch of flowers.
Tonight woman,
I bring you a song.
Like the sun, crawling to buzz the horizon
I reveal to you the lips of a man
wearing the colour of red for the
eyes.
Do not go up
swinging between the stars
for I without you is tradegies of baked pictures.
Excel Chinagorom Michael
Finding a new phone case you want
Didn’t even get a follow back on
DVT HR in a while ago but
Thrift store in a while ago but
Ends with the new version is better
Ended my life and the rest of
Dusty to be the first half of
4/9/16
In case you're wondering:
DVT = Deep vein thrombosis
HR = Heart rate
This poem was constructed in the following manner: I closed my eyes and hit my iPhone text keypad five times, then hit "autocorrect" to get the first word. The next 6 words of each line were the first suggested word by the iPhone text program. Pure randomness, inspired by the random word orderer found in Gulliver's Travels:
"Every one knew how laborious the usual method is of attaining to arts and sciences; whereas, by his contrivance, the most ignorant person, at a reasonable charge, and with a little bodily labour, might write books in philosophy, poetry, politics, laws, mathematics, and theology, without the least assistance from genius or study." He then led me to the frame, about the sides, whereof all his pupils stood in ranks. It was twenty feet square, placed in the middle of the room. The superfices was composed of several bits of wood, about the bigness of a die, but some larger than others. They were all linked together by slender wires. These bits of wood were covered, on every square, with paper pasted on them; and on these papers were written all the words of their language, in their several moods, tenses, and declensions; but without any order. The professor then desired me "to observe; for he was going to set his engine at work." The pupils, at his command, took each of them hold of an iron handle, whereof there were forty fixed round the edges of the frame; and giving them a sudden turn, the whole disposition of the words was entirely changed. He then commanded six-and-thirty of the lads, to read the several lines softly, as they appeared upon the frame; and where they found three or four words together that might make part of a sentence, they dictated to the four remaining boys, who were scribes. This work was repeated three or four times, and at every turn, the engine was so contrived, that the words shifted into new places, as the square bits of wood moved upside down."--Jonathan Swift, Gulliver's Travels, Part 3, Chapter 5
Oh, We Can Instant Replay A Recorded Movie Reel
But That's Not Even The Same Point In Time's Flowing Field
When Its Live Action, No Rehearsal & Reality
Time Does Not Repeat Itself - Like Our Errors In History
Each Iota of Time Carries On Individually
"... See There It Goes, Ooops There's Another, Look At Time Wink!
Every Movement, Every Action, Every Touch & Every Eye Blink
Even Every Stillness & At Every Thought We Think
It Is Faster Than Our Heartbeats
& Time Has No Twins, Nor Repeats"
Time Is A Magnet That Attracts To A Point
Time Makes Sure That All Occurrences Are Joint
Time Pulls & Pushes Us Into Position
(I Told You Time Is An Interval Thru Intermission)
From The Place of Conception Time Goes On & On
From A Place of Concealment - Time Had A Home
To A Place Far Away, Time Continues To Roam
And To Those Left Behind - Time Is Gone
Time Is A Rate Exchange & A Scheduler of Life
Time Is The Hugest Pie That We Try To Cut With Knives
Every Generation Endeavors To Eat Up A Slice
Yes, Time's A Precious Commodity Worth A Ransom Price
And Time Is Of Such A Tremendous Amount
That We Must View It In Parts To Bravely Number-Count
& I'm Afraid We Can't Calculate The Total of Time's Sum
'Cause We Have Never Found Where Time Started From
(Not Even When The Universe Begun)
So We Repeat It On Our Calendars, Clocks & Watch Faces
It's A System That Allows Us To Try To Find Time's Embraces
The Revolution of Planets & Night Sights Up In The Sky ...
Has Time In Every Formula As It Steadily Speeds By:
Mathematics Must Use 'Times' To Multiply
See, It's Only A Matter of Time
Before The Dark Gives Way To Day
It's Only A Matter of Time
Before All Wrongs Yields To Right of Way
It's Only A Matter of Time
Before A Gift Wrapped Box Is Opened
It's Only A Matter of Time
Before A Written Word Is Spoken
It's Only A Matter of Time
Before Youth Gives Way To Age
It's Only A Matter of Time
Before A Reader Turns A Book's Page
It's Only A Matter of Time
Before Lovers Share Some Token
It's Only A Matter of Time
Before Winter's Hold Is Broken
It's Only A Matter of Time
Before Grape Seeds Turn Into Grapevines
It's Only A Matter of Time
Before Same Grapes Become Fine Wines
(Part 2 of 3)
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/9/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
The Error, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : El Error
for Miguel Delibes
(There are just some words and phrases in this translation that I might yet want to modify or substitute with other alternative phrasing. T. Wignesan)
There must be an error in the calculation,
a hole in the sock, a trick in the game :
behind our backs somebody drinks all the alcohol of the said-one
and gets drunk and is unable to stand up ;
somebody manages to conceal the harvest’s wheat and the cream
of the meanings.
Search. in the bassement or the dolls’ quarters the reason for the
crucifixion,
and then be obliged to hide the powerful event behind the fact of
taking tea in the dining-room, below the vine arbour or in the
shade of the cherry trees.
Doubtless one will find meaning behind each vile act,
the mathematics of suffering where each crack of the whip is a
number.
Here you have the delightfulness of the encompassing of the
system which provides for exclusion as well,
the co-existence of both the truths, the framework of impossibility.
Right here, in front of us, the superb fitting together of horror and
of music stands presented,
that which engenders the enthusiastic cipher, the melody of the act
of birth and of death.
Faintly visible from an angle/a place the beauty of water spilled
over the floor,
the incessant leak from the eaves trough which makes us laugh.
Look ! How all of us dance around the fire,
we put one step after another over the firebrands without
compulsion,
we get close to the flames with joy, we become familiar with the
cinder(s).
Here we are dancing, enjoying ourselves, surrounding ourselves with ceremony and with rites,
with the rhythm which makes us get together in the moment of
the cremation.
Here we are without fear as if someone perhaps, distractedly perhaps,
or enjoying himself perchance,
had undertaken for us to magically produce
pigeons full of surprise from the sombrero or in the pocket of the
juggler,
from the other side of an incipient horizon gone feeble,
from where perchance we would be warned of it,
dissimulating away those emerging golds from the topmost heights,
an ambiguous error in the calculation,
a hole in the sock,
a huge trick in the game.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
“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.”