Long Miscalculated Poems
Long Miscalculated Poems. Below are the most popular long Miscalculated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Miscalculated poems by poem length and keyword.
The war crimes in Ukraine
Is a monstrosity
It's the devil at work
The piper must be paid
A despot gone berserk
The war crimes in Ukraine
Is far beyond the pale
What was Putin thinking?
He miscalculated
Troops he deployed, shrinking
The war crimes in Ukraine
Is watched the world over
It's hard to look away
Dead bodies on the ground;
Soon they'll start to decay
The war crimes in Ukraine
Can be called genocide
Awful truth came to light,
Absolutely shocking
Russia will lose this fight
Form M - Monchielle - New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Theme chosen: Death
Syllables checked at HMS
Date written: 04/06/2022
Miscalculated the opened door
Spilled those grits on the floor
Well some went on the cabinet top
Some went here and there and flop
These grits were uncooked see
Gritty and runny milky indeed
They went under the coffee keeper
All over the clean coffee steeper
When they finished running around
I thought that they was kin to one who bounds
Like a stud, a casanova everywhere
I didn't make a sound really I didn't make a sound
I could have but I bit my tongue
I held up the shield to my thoughts
I held them captive until my husband
Came in the room and I told him
Do not drop any water on the floor
Form:
If you want to be a millionaire in 30 days
start with a penny and double it everyday.
At the end of 30 days
you will be amazed.
Day 1. .01 + .01 = .02 cents
Day 2. .02 + .02 = .04 cents
Day 3. .04 + .04 = .08 cents
Day 4. .08 + .08 = .16 cents
Day 5. .16 + .16 = .32 cents
Day 6. .32 + .32 = .64 cents
Day 7. .64 + .64 = $1 dollar & .28 cents
Day 8. 1.28 + 1.28 = $2 dollars & .56 cents
Day 9. 2.56 + 2.56 = $5 dollars & .12 cents
Day 10. 5.12 + 5.12 = $10 dollars & .24 cents
Day 11. 10.24 + 10.24 = $20 dollars & .48 cents
Day 12. 20.48 + 20.48 = $40 dollars & .96 cents
Day 13. 40.96 + 40.96 = $81 dollars & .92 cents
Day 14. 81.92 + 81.92 = $163 dollars & .84 cents
Day 15. 163.84 + 163.84 = $327 dollars & .68 cents
Day 16. 327.68 + 327.68 = $655 dollars & .36 cents
Day 17. 655.36 + 655.36 = $1,310 dollars & .72 cents
Day 18. 1,310.72 + 1,310.72 = $2,621 dollars & .44 cents
Day 19. 2,621.44 + 2,621.44 = $5,242 dollars & .88 cents
Day 20. 5,242.88 + 5,242.88 = $10,485 dollars & .76 cents
Day 21. 10,485.76 + 10,485.76 = $20,971 dollars & .52 cents
Day 22. 20,971.53 + 20,971.53 = $41,943 dollars & .04 cents
Day 23. 41,943.04 + 41,942.04 = $83,886 dollars & .08 cents
Day 24. 83,886.08 + 83,886.08 = $167,773 dollars & .16 cents
Day 24. 167,773.16 + 167,773.16 = $335,546 dollars & .32 cents
Day 25. 335,546.32 + 335,546.32 = $671,092 dollars & .64 cents
Day 26. 671,092.64 + 671,092.64 = $1,342,185 dollars & .28 cents
Day 27. 1,342,185.28 + 1,342,185.28 = $2,684,370 dollars & .56 cents
Day 28. 2,684,370.56 + 2,684,370.56 = $5,368,741 dollars & .12 cents
Day 29. 5,368,741.12 + 5,368,741.12 = $,10,737,482 dollars & .24 cents
Day 30. 10,737,482.24 + 10,737,482.24 = $21,474,964 dollars & .48 cents
__________________________________________________________
30 Day Total = $42,839,673 dollars & .95 cents
__________________________________________________________
I attempted to create a mathematical poem...poorly,
and I miscalculated the final total. Maybe one day I'll correct it.
I went to a huge gift shop for handcrafts
I brought my naughty five year old niece, Raft
Leaving my home by car in a rush
Made me forget to wear my eyeglass
I bumped into one of the clear glass doors- so daft!
My niece, so little but had lots of hearty laugh
To my embarrassing bump better than gaffe
I carried her to an ice cream corner
Yet, I couldn’t control her laughter
‘Til a scary mascot came close with a toy giraffe.
The sixth time I joined a group tour of teachers
I wore dark sunglasses despite the gloomy weather
Passing around bags of snacks in the bus
First were sweets then a plastic for trash
I’d fumbled at the later and got a chocolate wrapper
My friend who sat beside me kept on laughing
So proud of the new sunglasses she’s wearing
When we alighted from the bus
I assisted her as if we’re in class
Miscalculated our steps, we ended up screaming.
Jan 27, 2022 8:51pm
Funny Memories
Contest Judged: 1/28/2022 12:00:00 AM
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
Place 3
A shimmer of meaning flickers—
not speech, not silence, but play.
The Jentil gather in the valley,
their hands weaving the air.
They toss words like stones,
ideas colliding, rippling, expanding.
Echoes shift, meanings morph,
the pulse reshapes at their touch.
Chroma-pulse is not spoken—
it is lived, it is felt, it is fire.
Colors thread through silence,
truth dances on the wire.
The pulse moves forward,
forever, forever.
A whisper twists into motion,
a leap beyond certainty, a rule unmade.
An upstart steps into the fold,
untested, unbound, unknown.
Her fingers carve meaning from silence,
sculpting not just words, but the world.
Even smoke obeys her touch—
plastic melts into possibility.
One Jentil stares, mouth open—
shock plain upon his face.
He miscalculated.
She is not just playing—
she is shaping.
The other stands firm,
"This is not the pulse," he growls.
But the pulse does not listen.
They clash—hands weaving matter, bending thought.
Chroma-pulse is not spoken—
it is lived, it is felt, it is fire.
She does not wield destruction,
she wields truth, she climbs higher.
The pulse moves forward,
forever, forever.
He clutches the old rhythm,
a cocoon of memory,
a throne built from the past.
Hate becomes his marrow,
bitterness his breath.
He twists the colors,
dragging the light into the dark.
Chroma-pulse dims—
not broken, but altered.
A language turned against its own people.
But the upstart watches.
She unravels the strands—
not with force,
but with understanding.
Light unfurls in language,
colors push back the dusk.
She does not fight with fury,
she illuminates with trust.
The pulse moves forward,
forever, forever.
Then—
the sky ripples.
A sun—once a dead thing—awakens.
Its light does not burn;
it hums.
It sings the pulse back into rhythm.
Light surges through the pulse,
not to erase,
but to redeem.
And the sun sings—
frequencies pulsing,
colors woven into waves—
forever sung,
forever felt.
It snowed last night, first fall of the year.
Taking out the trash,
there I am, dozing in a garden swing set
deep within July.
Mother of pearl eyes
above the clouds…it could be another year.
July in a London park
lying next to your soft brown hair
wisps of humid gentleness in a public place.
Snow falls onto my eyelids.
The trash is from Madrid
there are straw birds and the ruins
of several cathedrals in it.
It should be heavier
but the Iberian condors add a weightlessness
to all things too heavy to bear
across a backyard asphalt.
The chill bones on the swing set rattle,
icicles drip from blue eye sockets.
You are singing in the kitchen again,
coral lips savoring what you have yet to cook.
A skein of geese are crossing over
a heaped pile of clouds and frozen spires.
Reclining shorts and a T
rustle in a summer breeze, then freeze.
Just taking out something
to send it away
takes many years of scratch
and scrabble,
when you get there
it could be the time or the season
discarding your lost days
or you may have miscalculated
the accumulation
that gathers around the beginning of December
when the snow comes early.
Puzzle Pieces
by Odin Roark
How troublesome the process
This jigsaw puzzlement of completion
That piece of apology
Impatiently gnawing at conscience
Never uttered
Forever evading the moment
The congratulatory gesture
Ever studied for the right angle
The approach that would empower
Not merely pander to an ego
The closure unattended
Acceptance of grieving’s unfamiliar form
The not-yet-ready release from
Mistake’s stubbornly suffocating choke
Even saying I love you
Remains held in abeyance
Fearful of misjudged reaction
Forcing rejection once again
Yet…
Patience remains as always
Our least respected
And most willing protector
Might forbearance have but one goal?
The simplest move of all
Acceptance of the game
Oh how we question
Engagement of challenge
The forever-perplexing summons
The curves
Angles
Miscalculated chances
When life’s countdown only asks
We respect commitment
Without need for interlocking
For conquest
Or gain
That winning is non sequitur
To mortality’s premise
That always-alive existence
Provides tireless refinement
For the countless puzzle pieces
Yet to ponder
There are rebels in my head.
First there's the anarchist;
There to break things and push steel until it bends.
And of course the logicist,
Willful to calculate things and plan around things that we can’t rend.
Then there’s the gravedigger;
There for my friends,
When we get into fights or can’t make amends,
He’s there to fight for my memory.
A shovel in one hand,
And an epitaph in his left.
There is the artist,
A brush in his whittled fingers,
He comes around after the gravedigger to paint the picture of people we loved and lost into my memory.
He stays around for the ones we still have; at least for now.
Painting pictures the second someone sticks in our head.
They always turn out younger than they are in person.
A snapshot to the simplest time I have of them.
The final one, is the leader.
The realist.
The one who sees the train at the end of the tunnels.
The one who pulls us out of miscalculated situations.
The one who rights the bent bars of our prison cells.
The one who sets up funerals for the friends we miss.
The one who paints over portraits once the pastels fade in time.
The one who fixes me.
Never do we dream of the once-upon-a-somber-song to fade away,
as moments from the milky moon begin to twirl and sway.
A murky mist of miscalculated mystery makes haste,
sneaking its way along the deserted hallways of locked gates,
weakening the rustic joints of porcelain pillars straight down to untouched floors.
Why must it wait for the sun to be its guide?
For in the darkness, love too can be the greatest tide.
Can the curiosity of a claw discover the depths of a divine madness?
Or could these fangs find themselves vehemently festering
in the corners of unwelcome elements?
Let a limb take its quest along the walkway to the endless sea.
Taste the tortured tears crawling down these decaying knees.
Hold unflinchingly to the fire that aches to roar—
do not let it scream, for it conjures for more.
Time can prepare a frozen glass to let little condescensions
slide down an auburn wood.
Yet something about a restless evening
makes an iron fist feloniously curl up,
as if it so sensationally should.
1. This ole world is cavalcading escalading, towing down;
Falling down into the premises of unusualness;
Solid confines to the missions hell bent;
Loss in its shame, borrowing time;
Everyone everywhere is swallowing sin;
While the naysayers keep welcoming them in..
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
2. Image now, how would it be, could you be free;
Left alone drinking miscalculated teas;
Raisin cane and eat manna breeze from the trees;
What does it mean is it a dream?
And all these things again, mention above;
Where is t he love?, what? where is the love?
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
3. Missing mountains and trail condescending;
No one is gathering everyone meandering;
What must I do to love and embrace you;
Shovel in my hand standing in the sand;
Feeling the heartbreak of mankind demeanor;
Leaving hatred in a container of oven cleaner;
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
And all these things again, mention above;
Up, up above my head, up above my head;
I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
4. I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
Mysteries and non compliances and misguided judgements;
All but a dream, every hates no love in their hearts see what I mean;
I have a motion that we won't judge them;
Chorus:
Spinning, and turning and whirling of things;
Tell me God what does it bring?
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Up above my head;
And all these things again, mention above;
Up, up above my head, up above my head;
I'd rather be living than dying dead;
Heaven is where I want to lay my head;
All these things I've mentions above;
Up, up above my head;
Written word by James Edward Lee 1974
Arranged music by James Edward Lee & The Corinthian
From demo album "The World May End Tomorrow" 1970,1974,2017 (c)