"formula" poems
Your love is algebra
I can't find the formula
If I could find the right calculator,
I could define your euphoria.
Your love is geometry
I can't find the angles
If I could prove your theories,
It wouldn't be a shambles.
Your love is trigonometry
I can't figure it out
If I spent an entire notebook, perhaps
I'd still have doubts.
Your love is a mystery
Just as the greatest math
Although worth much,
Seems irrelevant to my path.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer, your body is pure as the water;
cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.
Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise;
your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell;
you know the deep essence of water and the earth,
conjoined in you like a formula for clay.
Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces,
they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.
And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms
that push back the shadows so that you can rest--
vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.
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I watched the Moon around the House
Until upon a Pane—
She stopped—a Traveller’s privilege—for Rest—
And there upon
I gazed—as at a stranger—
The Lady in the Town
Doth think no incivility
To lift her Glass—upon—
But never Stranger justified
The Curiosity
Like Mine—for not a Foot—nor Hand—
Nor Formula—had she—
But like a Head—a Guillotine
Slid carelessly away—
Did independent, Amber—
Sustain her in the sky—
Or like a Stemless Flower—
Upheld in rolling Air
By finer Gravitations—
Than bind Philosopher—
No Hunger—had she—nor an Inn—
Her Toilette—to suffice—
Nor Avocation—nor Concern
For little Mysteries
As harass us—like Life—and Death—
And Afterwards—or Nay—
But seemed engrossed to Absolute—
With shining—and the Sky—
The privilege to scrutinize
Was scarce upon my Eyes
When, with a Silver practise—
She vaulted out of Gaze—
And next—I met her on a Cloud—
Myself too far below
To follow her superior Road—
Or its advantage—Blue—
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Hey lets start this thing and gain a little mnemonic
Cuz the teachers always explaining things so dull and robotic
But you got it, just trust this rhyme and I promise you'll have it
Let me teach you the equation for the function quadratic
It goes A, X and a 2 up high
Add that to a B multiplied with a Y
Put a plus sign and add the third term, the C
And set all that equal to a 0 bee
It's that easy, with that you can plot the graph
That will show you where the ball went and its flightpath
See the value of X shows where the line hits the axis
To illustrate where the ball was caught and where it was passed
It's cuts of cake to find this data with a formula rap
So keep in mind these fresh rhymes to the beat of the clap
You set X on the left, follow with an equal sign
Put the next little sect about a dividing line
And that little piece starts with a negative b
Add and subtract square root of B high 2 minus 4AC
Then divide what you get by 2 times A
If you forget this part man, your whole answers at stake
But if you follow my rules, and do all of this rap's math
I guarantee the next reports gonna say that you passed
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 3:42 AM UTC
shades of Melanin.
It was gifted to us from the supreme.
It all started from that gift which is only inherited from us;
That we gave the world an enchanting and seductive formula.
From creamy vanilla to lustful ebony.
A rainbow of, melanin.
We are the light and the dark here on mother earth.
We glisten in the sun and glow in the moonlight.
We are the reign of earth and the creators of life.
Thanking the heavens for the shades of melanin.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
I (x)
am (is) equivalent to
the negativity of becoming someone who is
neutral
when breaking down the exact same yet half
of being yourself, being yourself
taking afar For a common knowledge
that rationalizes you
To become of an existence.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 5:37 AM UTC
I wanted to write about confidence
Not the kind that makes
a girl pout her lips
and hide her spark away.
Not the kind that makes
a woman look presumptuous,
even though she feels like
a little girl inside.
I wanted to write about
real confidence
The kind of inner beauty that
simply shines through.
The type of confidence
that smiles at strangers
and speaks her mind.
I wanted to write
about the type of walk
that isnt afraid of
little flirtig
and the firm step
that knows what she deserves
and what she wants.
I wanted to capture confidence
to unravel it
and put it into a formula
but how can I do this
if I still feel insecure most of the time?
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
I really miss that thrill I used to feel when we started dating
I want to bring back the same moment exciting
Those days when we were not able keeping our hands off each other
So today when you are home, you will find our sleeping son
And me in a mood of beautiful seduction
Instead of regular powder I will be using formula flavored
That dress you gifted will be perfect not to cover my body tattoo
That would be the perfect accessory
I know you like my **** lips
But today I will apply some vanilla flavored gloss just to attract you towards it
My bronzed skin is itself **** you always said
You will be all hot and bothered by the perfume I wear
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
Two decades in and already swamped with memories
And only the desire to make new ones.
Walking to class or coming home
People ask me what I want to do,
What do I want to do with the rest of my life?
I can feel my throat constrict and my heart skid,
Don’t they understand how much of a commitment that is?
The rest of my life.
And what if it’s not something I want to do, but something I want to be?
I’m 20 years old and don’t ever have my head in this atmosphere,
So how can I ever hope to decide the rest of my life?
I want to write with the raindrops that kiss the grass
Or sleep on the waves of the ocean
And hold the stars in my hands.
I want to climb the highest tree or the highest mountain
Just so I can jump and call it flying.
I want to read the faces of others
And put them into stories.
But mostly I want to run,
Not literally,
But running still.
I want to catch time as it passes by
And go to all the places in the pictures
Enjoying adventure upon adventure
Until the end of my days,
Surrounded by the select few that I love.
I want to be nothing short of me,
And who I am isn’t a constant that can be applied to a formula,
It’s constantly changing, growing, fighting, loving.
How dare you ask me to define what I want to be,
When it’s plain that I don’t even know who I am?
I’m 20 years old and what I want to do for the rest of my life
Is nothing sort of a mystery, an adventure,
Like a storyline leading to an epic plot twist,
But it’s wrapped in uncertainty
And the only way to find out where it’s going
Is to keep reading the book.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
If life goes smoothly and wonderfully ,then Then I have to be happy ,but Not at all ... We all love our works and our jobs ,but Nothing goes perfect Simply because there are some people who Go fishing in the muddy water ... Nothing remains great anytime Simply because there are some who look for troubles At work anytime,anywhere,and everywhere ... There is that ugly harassment that arises only from Those who look for troubles for any reasons ... Life goes badly with that ugly harassment Simply because things will go bad ... If the employers or if the managers keep silent ,then Everyone and everything will turn up-side-down ... It's very important to be one team rather than To corner oneself into those troubles With that ugly harassment ... There are a lot of employees who suffer Without finding any solution ... That ugly harassment never brings people ,but It cracks all people's relationships For all reasons whatsoever ... There is a pretty formula that links employees To all employers to fix any problem anytime Before it's over ... _______________________________________________________________
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
Is there an order?
In there an approximation of pi
circling our first awkward flirtations?
Does a dragon curve lurk hidden as I
caress the curvature of your spine?
Where does Euclidean geometry fit in to the
first time our lips met?
Does the Pythagorean theorem detail our most intimate
love making?
A quadratic formula for the shameful
discarding of punched in picture frames?
Is there a golden ratio that best expresses
hurried apologies and frantic entanglements
between our sheets?
I know for certain there was
a simple subtraction
on the day your tears added up everything
and finally said goodbye.
Some would say there is order in this
chaos disguised as order disguised as
chaos
Continually debating pattern recognition
or butterfly effects
But I’d like to think
We were more subtle than that
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
Twisting, turning, yearning
That is what I do
Laughing, smiling, cheering
That's what you do
I have sorrows
You have joys
You've hurt me
I've served you
The fairness of this world is as perplexing as a quadratic formula
As I get hurt, those who hurt me excel
As I am pained, others are healed
I see who I once was
Laughing, smiling, cheering
Now, I hardly recognize myself
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Calamitous collapse of structure forged
With steel and concrete built for time,
Since Roman times a formula endured
With engineers additional design.
Why, then, did this structure fail,
Did mortar crack, did reinforcing strong,
Shear and plummet in an instants time
To crush and doom this bridges song.
In teeming rain a silence hung
Where watchers gaped in stunned awe,
A magnitude of devastation lay
Pulverized in valley floor.
Astonishing this expanse of space
Where seconds past, huge edifice,
Imbued with its’ charge of lives
Unknowingly to meet abyss.
Innocence has lost its’ life
Blame resounds around the room
Someone shall pay the price
For negligence in causing doom.
Truth be told it’s shared by all
For Italy has lagged behind
Cost cutting infrastructures’ purse
Because of economic bind.
Time to reassess the plan
Time to weep and bury dead,
Clear the rubble from the land
Rebuild well then forge ahead.
Blame not the engineer
Nor the man who drew design,
Blame not the hardhat
Who poured the concrete in the line.
Reassign the budget spend
To infrastructure, pay its share
For sentiment is running hot
To axe the fool who pares the fare.
M.
Storeman
Civil Infrastructure
Hamilton, NEW ZEALAND
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
The recipe reads:
2 and 1/2 ounces dedication
To 3 pounds ********
To a gram of work
To a ton of cheating
To a tablespoon punctuality
To a gallon procrastination
All with a base of
Genetic Luck
Success,
Success,
**** this
What's the big idea
Of having to succeed?
I don't need to succeed,
Not by your standards.
I write my own formula
For a successful life.
One
Bitter
Shot
Of
Not dead, Yet.
Jan 26, 2011
Jan 26, 2011 at 2:01 PM UTC
So many times I’ve tried my dear
To simplify the way I feel,
I wonder what word would mean,
The whole of what I’m to reveal.
I’ve tried physics & calculus,
To calculate these heavy thoughts
I’ve tried trigonometry as well as geometry
But the unknown increase by three.
So what I used is algebra,
To solve for all formula,
And by the aid of geometry,
I got the answer;
one(1) four(4) three(3)
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
Learning from your past is way better than just forgetting it..
You're not a child for people to babysit..
those lessons will help you when you'll think that the only way out is to quit..
The correct formula to success was,is and will always remain hard work..
Bring your dreams to life..
or continue to live your life on the edge of a knife..
Live your everyday life with the lessons of yesterday..
-Sharvish
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
I need to change the circles I'm in
Because I fell into the trapezoid
Of trying to fit a square peg in a round hole
Making people believe I was a square
When I was really a rectangle
You just had to look at me from the right angles
The shape of things now
Is me looking at you from the wrong angles
You're pretty hot
90°
When you turn away from me your hotness doubles
180°
I think my Pompeii worm could survive the temperatures
But if you were to turn back around
No creature could survive
360°
The paradox of the parabola in my pants
Will never be solved
It's not your math problem
We're just two points on this rotating sphere
Where time is a straight line
And our's is a segment
I wish I understood the formula
So I could predict the outcome
But there are too many variables
Leaving my head spinning in circles
And myself running in circles
Meant to be avoided
Because within those circles are triangular trials
Where two points create a perfect line
And a third point ruins that
As points are added to the population
Lines only get larger
Like the welfare line
Mammoth shapes grow wider and more complex
Like the Pentagon
Lines become more easily crossed
Angles more easily tangled
And my freezing point becomes my boiling point
While I wish for a world more two-dimensional
Because once I consider depth
I realize I could never measure up to my ruler
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 12:35 AM UTC
INFJ - T
I grow exhausted at the exuberance of crowds.
Not able to ignore that nagging voice that whispers the evils of them
Feelings of fear overpower the simple formula of conversation
Jutting into remind me of my appearance compared to theirs -
Too weak to fight against it.
It’s not easy to speak my mind.
Never daring to even introduce myself
Following a very strict line
Just taking each day step by step -
Thinking someday I’ll be able to explain.
Inside, I judge everything.
New situations make the feelings shake
Fear and turbulence expand within
Jaw clenched and sweaty palms -
Thin skin begins to bruise.
Introverted and intuitive
Nervous, yet calm
From day to day
Just a puppet -
To a never-ending nightmare
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
The existence of us lied purely on conditional probability
The probability that event A will happen with the knowledge that event B has already happened
And if you asked me why I kissed you
I would tell you I liked when our probability was me over you
With your hands laying tangent to my curves
I kissed you as much as I wanted and as much as I could
If you asked me why I kissed you goodbye
Even though you were not mine
It was because time is only ever ticking away
And if I run out of time
I can’t kiss you
The probability of you calling me beautiful was a 0.25 on the qualitative spectrum
Unlikely.
But you did and your voice sounded like honey
sticking to the heartstrings in my chest,
filling in the cracks,
it was sweet
Our probability quickly shifted from me over you to 1 over 6
very likely to unlikely
and the conditional probability of you leaving seemed to take over any set equation
I saw the curve in your lips decay faster day by day
The eyes that I tried so hard to catch mine
Don’t even make the effort to look in my direction
And the honey you left in my chest turned sickly
And it’s been there so long I think I’m attracting bees
I lay my hands flat on your chest
and I am touching you because I can’t help it
because time is only ever ticking away
And I’m crying
Why am I crying?
The memories are rushing back
Your hand on my thigh in that blue dress
Your arm around me in the parking lot
I remember it was warm and you were talking to my mother
You always had the charm to make me dance
and that night I felt you in my bones
50/50 I thought we were 50/50
Now I’ve always preferred chemistry
And we felt like a combustion formula
But we were just probability and statistics
And I’ve always hated math
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
So I’m marrying this young girl, see,
it’s the second time round.
My first wife died and
I’ve been struggling and drowning.
So I'm clutching the life raft
of this girl who is beautiful and young,
who’s romantic and sure of her ground,
and she and her family believe
that I can breathe and survive again.
Me? Can I remember how to be gentle and kind to them?
It was luck. I was lucky before.
Because now I'm a veteran of the thousand campaigns
and I’ve bayed at the moon, see,
then I hunted with The Beast.
And anyway, my first wife and I
********* her name is Lorayne!)
suffered, and then suffocated
before our love soared so high.
Then we danced like fireflies, fabulously,
until the future ended forever.
So how can this new girl
find ecstasy with me and, and,
you know, live happily ever after,
which is such an impossible dream,
and how can I handle all this ******* purity
and innocence and beauty and youth
and flawless skin and fairy tale stuff
when I’m so gnarled
and twisted and knotted?
You see, I'm actually deeply ashamed.
In spite of my much vaunted campaigns,
I'm really a coward.
I'm afraid I can't drag myself back and do this again.
Can we possibly become fireflies and dance in the flame?
Yes, yes, I know.
We'll swear to love and to honor and to obey
in sickness and in health
in richness and in poorness
until death do us part.
Though this formula's too cute. It doesn't mention the pain.
But there's no other option. I must try to rise up again,
and alright, once more, I'll call on the flame.
So I'll cast out my demons and force them away.
Somehow, I'll hold those monsters at bay to give you
the light and the love you say
is still there, everywhere.
You are wide-eyed and oh, so naive.
But I desperately want to believe you.
I need you.
Oh god, I hope we can love without fear.
Mike T Minehan
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
we always want to re-invent ourselves when we feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side.
we dye our hair or cut our hair or style our hair
so differently, so drastically, so unrecognizable.
we pack on make-up or strip our make-up
or pierce our faces, belly buttons, get tattoos, choose a permanent mark
to remind us of something solid;
something that represents
self-sufficiency or this too shall pass,
because we know we are gonna feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side again
(and again, and again).
we buy new clothes, give away old ones to our friends,
new shoes, new bags, new look.
and we’re always picking up new vices, new habits, new addictions.
cigarettes, alcohol, razors,
all the late night reckless binges on wine, narcotics, food, cutting ourselves.
sometimes we pick up healthy ones too,
like running, swimming, dancing, yoga, meditating, resetting sleep patterns, taking vitamins, treating ourselves to the spa, eating regularly, getting out of the house to see friends.
we either avoid intimacy at all costs because we can’t fathom
the concept of trust anymore
or we dive into it with practically anyone, just to feel something real
because we are so ******* lonely,
but we never really feel anything real at all.
we make resolutions, goals, plans for our next relationships
so that they won’t follow the same patterns as our last crumbling ones
(they usually still do).
some of us change what we like, what we want, what we need
to impress people so that they
fall in love with us and will never leave us.
we begin disregarding ourselves for another person,
or disregarding everyone else for ourselves,
both because we don’t want to get hurt again.
and then somewhere, somehow after weeks, months, maybe even years of
the full fledged wavering of
destruction meeting recovering meeting ignorance meeting shyness meeting loneliness meeting accepting meeting fear,
we start to see the intricacies of the pattern much clearer -
we make all of these sudden changes because
we just want to feel better,
we just want to be better;
that’s all.
it’s taking charge, which is healthy.
it’s also making fact and point that we need to change to deserve love,
which is unhealthy.
all of it is like learning algebra for the first time,
some of us take a bit longer to understand it all; the formulas, the variables, the balance.
and once we understand the formula, the variables and the balance,
then we can welcome back the beautiful,
real version
of ourselves we’ve been trying to
cover up.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
Fate, the explanation for many circumstances
The reason we meet our love,
The thing that made us succeed or fail.
Such adored is this word.
Only to ponder and figure
It is only a complex equation.
An unknown set of variables
Making the possibilities for every event.
Just one variable may cancel another
Most of the variables may be overlooked or just ignored.
Just do the algorithm and see what it means,
You will see how the other side of the equation might be imaginary
The constant will always remain in the formula
So which variable is the one
That when summed makes the equation a true statement?
The one variable that makes it all right?
When will this variable be revealed?
When will the solution be in the palm of my hands?
How many variables must I remove from this equation,
To find the one that matters?
When you look at it I may be a simple algebraic equation,
Or it may be a complex duodecimal polynomial.
I'm not going to give up solving it,
But I'm getting a headache from it and I love math!
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
The question has to be asked, “How hard can it be,
for a man to get a decent cup of tea”?
How can people get something so simple so wrong?
A question that has vexed me for ever so long.
Let me be clear, lest there be any confusion
I’m not into tea leaves or these fancy new infusions
Nor herbal or green, earl grey or the rest
A good plain cup of tea is simply the best!
I wonder why it is that people bother to ask
When they will not put any real effort into the task
Yes they are careful to ask how you take your tea
But what you get is something different, entirely
If there is one thing that really gets to me
It is being made a half cup of tea
I always opt for a mug because there’s never enough in a cup
But for some reason they seem incapable of filling it up!
After just two mouthfuls, Surprise! It is all gone!
I hate always having to ask for another one
All the effort they made has gone to waste
The whole experience leaving a very bad taste.
Making tea is a formula, very hard to get wrong
why so often served weak when I always ask for strong?
A small drop of milk please, how hard can it be?
But I often get tea in my milk, not milk in my tea
I do like my sugar and to tell the truth
I do possess an awfully sweet tooth
“three and a bit” I say when they ask
But is stirring it such an impossible task?
How easy can it be? Just move the ****** spoon
You were just standing there, what else were you doing?
And to see all that sugar sitting there at the end
Would drive the most sane person round the bend
Another thing I get really mad about
Is when people do not take the teabag out
And though the cup appears to be full to the top
You take the bag out and watch the level drop
You might think it’s funny but it’s certainly not
What to do with a teabag that is dripping hot?
A cup of tea is supposed to help you relax
Not be the cause of minor heart attacks
And the biggest evil, by far the worst
Is those who serve tea, knowing the teabag has burst
At the end you get a mouthful of leaves and grit
I do love my tea but wonder if it is worth it.
It got to the stage where I considered drinking coffee
But I was bamboozled by the variety available to me
Mocha or latte, perhaps a frappuccino,
Or maybe an espresso or a cappuccino
No, the idea of drinking coffee just left me cold
all I really wanted was a cup of tea truth be told,
Though I have been accused of taking this issue too seriously
There is nothing in the world quite like…. a decent cup of Tea!
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
Atoms circulate between the nuclei of touch
Schrodinger’s laws exposing deceit and truth
Lamenting in the protons, electrons, and neutrons
Encircling the senses between the eyes and fingers
Particles flow between the elements of breathing
Of soul, of emotion, and memories worn thin
In terminal velocities of thought and contemplation
Barriers of consciousness and reality
Molecules of intentions, intricate and delicate
Bound together by ionic twists of fate
And strained into bent bonds of insecurity
Providing violent reactions of regrets
Ions, formed in this union, complicate the formula
Indifferent to the imbalance between the sighs
Requiring the impact, to leave a free electron of motive
Resulting in a positive change of heart and mind
© 2014
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
I don't like quadratics
And it really doesn't matter
It won't help me in life to know how to factor
I don't like quadratics
A formula for disaster
negative B plus, minus
Doesn't matter
I don't like quadratics
And I don't like graphing
Rather spend my time with my friends all laughing
I don't like quadratics
And I don't like math
I hate this parabola
I hate this graph
I don't like quadratics
I really don't like quadratics
I hate 'em I hate 'em
I hate all of mathematics
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 8:33 AM UTC