Long Trigonometry Poems
Long Trigonometry Poems. Below are the most popular long Trigonometry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trigonometry poems by poem length and keyword.
Blue collared of the swindled lot, cannot resent just brace
Credibility so easily slapped for rough hide when pieces put into place
Daybreak compels list of chores into focus
Semblance to rain faberge for owners of circus
Stolid apparell for hauling load, a sanctioned acrostic of strength
Entered by destiny but no exit even if they desire from this labyrinth
Justice a joke in fractal trigonometry
Law a limbered warble for rich but austere for those in poverty
Dusk time in regailing assortment of means to satiate hunger pangs
Overlooking the shoulders, for the voted cult may suck scraps over tax returns
Samiha's serpentine gaze keeps vigil for mendacious ritual by rich perennially every May
Sustainance on others ration will ensnare them in a time warp of condemn and ruin someday
the upshot constituted a figurative straw
that broke the virtual camels back
where yours truly fingered as scape goat,
who meekly, passively, and subserviently
felt the stinging crack
of wooden, smooth,
and oblong paddle and stands pat,
asper innocence, though now
(myself more than two score years
orbitz around sun) remains more defiant
for purportedly causing Roberta -
not her real name flack
and clears that blot (now a composite
of petrified spitballs) as a hack
writer of poetry, feels jilted like Jack
donning many major protagonistic ruffian knack
nursery rhyme roles, which fables never didst lack
for upstart precocious, kickstarters impish grin,
as if he just wolfed down a swiped Bic Mac
and goose that laid more than one golden egg
McMuffin running from the Giant,
with spindle shank for each leg,
and sliding down the beanstalk, which didst peg
world wide web Marathon record
suddenly the envy of Queequeg,
which way word ness
far off course from the theme of this work,
hence hold tight
to hazmat bag of poop pin jay dreck,
while poetic license allows me to twerk
intended story aye (captain...
oh captain) moost not shirk,
lemme reel yar attention
back to the classroom of missus Labosh,
hood didst whistle and perk
unbeknownst to me, my scrawny derriere
unaware what quaint, hence danger didst lurk
for letting passivity
find me singled out as the bona fide jerk
wishing Moby Dick could swallow
hook, line and sinker
with a slight even Steven crane
of his neck, every mother plucking bird brain classmate
deemed Scott free, and Chutzpah didst gain
while this smart ass wannabe took a crash course,
sans weltanschauung "Artful Dodging
Spitball Shooting Maven" in the main
quite heavy on Physics and Trigonometry as became plane.
PIANIST ALPINIST ON THE PEAK OF NOTHING
The hibernation of evening drinks me in like a wordless song,
my gaze—I tell you!—unspools into the night like a hex drawn long,
a Tuesday without headache—foretold, and pure—a sigh,
bare-elbowed despair still glimmering against the open sky.
An onomatopoeia—a bell that drifts between the shadows,
the resurrection-day of yesterday's summer tumbles into hollows,
are you crueler, star, than my iron loneliness?
you burn inside my pupils—black sky bleeding into the abyss.
That fleeting knowing, the fragrance of a rustic debauchery,
her hermit breasts—silver hills inside a monastic reverie,
criminal magician, honest prestidigitator of the night—
caresses of thighs melting like wax in summer's burning light.
Your Himalaya—and above it a peak of nothing and cold,
pianist alpinist scaling your dream like trigonometry rolled,
fingers outstretched like a psalm toward the sacred abyss—
from your peak of nothing a bud of ecstasy blooms in bliss.
My gaze buries itself in infinity, psychedelic, slow,
the hibernation of evening wraps me in its own lament below,
on your peak of nothing—a silence warm as honey—
pianist of nothingness, alpinist of night and agony.
17
I know, that there are no answers in cognac or armagnac
In the wine or sacred prayer,
No answers in geometry or trigonometry,
No response in Toronto, or Chicago,
That’s why we write this,
I know that there are no answers in the middle-class,
In the castles of the Loire, or in Pigalle,
In bars or shops, in the shopping crowd
That’s why we go to cinemas
In museums or exhibitions in Landerneau,
I know there is no answer from our neighbors,
No answers from intellectuals,
New Yorkers, or champions,
That’s why we read the poets, That we admire
Rodin or the sunflowers of Van Gogh,
I know that there is no answer in the Brest,
No answer in drugs or diamonds,
That’s why we seek silence,
No answer in solitude or enjoyment,
That’s why we protect bees,
That we travel.
Phosphorus sugar
It’s glowing in the water
Supporting all life
All will be coming from what we start now
That walks the earth and the ground which we plow
Continuing mission that cannot end
Getting from all we receive and we send
Core, mantle, crust, valleys, mountains, and seas
Gales, hurricanes, tornadoes, a slight breeze
Gold, platinum, diamonds, palladium
Coal, natural gas, and petroleum
Algebra, variables, equations
Trigonometry, sines, calculations
Axes, X and Y, how steep is the slope?
Tomorrow and after, do we have hope?
Temperature, pressure, volume, changes
Atmosphere, stratosphere, domains, ranges
Cooperation, mutual trust, peace
Growing and living, we can’t let them cease
Government, politics, all of the laws
Contracts, obligations, no escape clause
Tilling, planting, for a very big crop
Abundance supply, I think we will stop
Phosphorus sugar
It’s glowing in the water
Supporting all life
During my elementary, high school and college educational quest,
I struggled to do my very best on every mathematical test.
I was a "B" student in English, History and Art as I recall,
But I never mastered the mysteries of mathematics at all!
Basic arithmetic such as division and multiplication left me at sea.
Even simple addition and subtraction overwhelmed me to a degree!
Trying to conquer the times-table gave me a shocking jolt!
Alas, teachers considered me a hopeless mathematical dolt!
Geometry baffled me as to which were acute and obtuse angles,
And even more perplexing were isosceles and scalene triangles!
Beyond me were the formulas for figuring the areas of hexagons,
Trapezoids, pyramids, circles, cubes and five-sided pentagons!
Teachers told me that for my future, algebra was indispensable.
Maybe so, but variables and coefficients were incomprehensible!
My limited intellect couldn't comprehend quotients and binomials,
Nor integrers, exponents, irrational numbers and trinomials!
Needless to say, I didn't attempt calculus or trigonometry!
Those disciplines were as foreign to me as parabolic geometry!
I'm eternally grateful to that selfless, ingenioius creator,
Who eased my plight by inventing the handy calculator!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Photography
I used to have a dark room.
Trigonometry.
No reference, the word causes anxiety though.
Anthropology
I used to live for this subject, imagining myself in Egypt on a dig.
Art.
I dabble, four hundred paintings later, I have no idea what I am doing.
English.
Worst 7th grade teacher ever, but I like it in spite of that ridiculous time.
PreAlgebra
No memory of this whatsoever, and glad of it.
Homemaking.
The only parts I liked were the sewing and the eating after the cooking.
Reading.
I can sit in a treehouse all day long, devouring a stack of books happily while
Choking down my favorite sandwich – peanut butter, Miracle Whip and lettuce.
Poetry.
Love the cadence of it. Never have understood it. Apparently I do not have to.
Two activities I love have a similarity,
To experience and conjecture in verse,
And to explore limits of certainty.
Rhyme and meter, whether wordy or terse,
Enact seeing freshly, banning banality.
Math proofs are finding a needle in a hay source,
Needing imagination to reach finality.
Many school veterans curse,
“Algebra is not daily reality!”
“Trigonometry makes life worse!”
But poetry and math have a commonality,
They both tease out how the world works,
Neither rewards conventionality,
Both work by seeing the diverse.
I admit rote formulas draw my enmity,
Whether in word or number universe.
I’ve found in sonnets and theorems an equality,
If you disagree, you can rightfully call this poem a hearse.
From early on, I have liked figures, numbers, and percentages.
I also liked math, even trigonometry, until the scholars created
the 'New Algebra'. I continued to like general math but never
became friends with the new algebra. Moreover, math never
became what I would consider a hobby.
But reading and writing? That is different.
Reading and writing are my two hobbies.
For many years, I have done both but
at no time like the last 20 years.
The writing themes are endless,
and occasionally, the themes
are not chosen by myself. They
come from outside in the form
of life stories as well as from
my inward being as poetry.
Often, I can decide and sit down
for my pleasure of reading, but
I never seem to sit down and say,
"I think that I will write a poem
or a short story". Perhaps I will
see a cloud, or visit a sick person,
remember an old friend, etc.
Then, something begins to form
and build within me. Bingo! Out
comes a story or poem. If it makes sense,
'I don't look for writing; it finds me'.
042124PS
It is a teamwork type of thing-
Ringing the bell so well
The next mashup of a maxed out bashing of an over flowing cup of mountain water upstream-
Kings the next castling on the other side of the ring
Ding-ding
Back for more “bling, bling!”
Onion rings on the side, pretty please!
Watch how my truck sings as it revs up after a mental rental goes caching ching
Just saying...
Lying, laying, slaying & spraying-
Weighed in like Jayda- WILL SMITH I "lit" my cig-
was fuzzy wuzzy big?
Failed Trigonometry
Sold Origami
My salami
Is like " Salam Aleiki"
Hate me please
It could be a breeze
I am NOT on my knees
Please
Jeez!
Go TX!