"graphs" poems
Oh my it is great...
to have this headache...
after trying
to understand
what numbers are real and fake
I don't see
how this will help me
through my course of
life
Will I ever be
trying to see
what the angle of a chair is again?
or will I ever need to use
how to find a hypotenuse?
I've thought and thought
for a very long time
and came up with a list
of jobs that would ever
need algebra
Math teacher
Crazy Math obsessor
Architect
Carpenter
scientist (on occasion)
contractor
Someone who builds triangles
kite maker
someone who makes graphs
salesman/women
Too bad that isn't any of the jobs I ever want...
Algebra...
oh how my head burns
and I'm sorry if you like it
I don't mean to offend
but Algebra just aint my jam
I'd rather be painting
or writing
or singing
I'd rather be strumming(my guitar)
be sleeping
or eating
I'd rather
go play soccer
or basketball
or ski
Really I'd just rather be free
free of the confusion
I feel after class
of the helplessness
that I have
towards math
Oh how am I going to survive???
PS. I still have to live through geometry (I **** at shapes)
pre calculous (I don't even know what that is) and calculous (Ugh ***
I hope you enjoyed my "radical" poem!
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 4:54 PM UTC
Working parts and mechanisms,
charts and graphs and mannerisms,
a table, pencil, square and mitre...
eraser marks, sweat drops, -go lighter!
A thought or two and ponderance...
Decimal here and decimal there,
-micron adjustment now we're square...
Up all night until daylight dawn
and finally I've fixed the Krong!
A thought or two and ponderance...
To the factory arrive before eight
and finished, furnished, a model late...
A handheld one and something larger,
humanity saved by my charger!
A thought or two and ponderance...
10 years long after planet saved,
They'll be parades and accolades...
Statues, tributes, my name in text-books,
but no one, never, a second look!
Never to worry on life again...
..I did it,
I reset the world; begin.
And did it all with Earth's mighty spin.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
Tomorrows Exam is Mathematics
loaded my head with unknown tricks
Doodling with numbers
Yes, teacher calls us dumbers
Too much problems, yet very lil, solutions
The long mountains of graphs
The Greek symbols alpha, beta omega
equations and formulas
Find height, depth use trigonometry
My answer a picture of a tree
infinite zeros in red
Sets, Relations, Geometry,
variables and algebra and Lines,
Its like stepping into a field of mines
All time me wondering why
reciprocal of zero undefined?
much of the time
In exam, I stay
undefined!
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
I see two people
so in love with each other
schmoozing numinous dialect,
only a purest of heart can fathom.
I see a kiss I hear it too,
I see eyes pinnacles
lips singing
and heart sinking in love.
Now, do not tell me
I’m seeing
a teaching of Venn diagram
on the display board,
and my explanation for
A intersection B is ludicrous!
Please do not tell me
I’m wrong.
It must be poetry
I'm seeing,
and I'm in love with it
more than anything else.
/*Orginal poem published in Mayalayam, translated by poet. */
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
There is a harsh beauty in mathematics.
Under curves and over slopes,
Equations rise and fall endlessly
In a perfectly measured void.
Optimized, rationalized, sterilized;
Formulas that never lie,
Theorems looming before us
Like an archaic God,
A golden deity whose
Volume is maximized.
How I dream of drifting in this flux,
Concave up and concave down,
Riding the sign of my second derivative
For positive and negative,
For better and worse.
I would not travel alone;
With C by my side,
Friend, ally, brother,
Always paired with my antiderivative,
For whenever we journey back
Into the past, it is necessary
To have a companion to pull us out again
In case we are unsure of where we started.
Rules and laws
Strict organization, control;
There is a harsh beauty in mathematics.
Order; two plus two is always four.
Sines and cosines and theta
All dancing in the unit circle of life,
A conga line that joins itself
To form a mathematical ouroboros.
But the harshest of the harsh beauties
Presented in this Divine Subject
Is that though there is an infinite capacity
For positivity and growth,
So too is there the possibility of stretching
Endlessly towards negativity forever.
However, it is much more terrifying
To lie in the middle;
To be undefined, unknowable, and to add
Or subtract to no effect;
The most fear inducing, mysterious, and gorgeous number
Of zero; nothing yet something,
Infinite yet not,
The most grand of all contradictions.
A hole; a jump; a discontinuity,
Easily removed from life and smoothed out
If you just apply the formulas.
Graphs and coordinates, integers and ordered pairs,
Is that not what life is?
We live within the grandest equation,
Each our own variable,
Constantly solving for ourselves
With the harsh beauties of mathematics.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
There once was a tall giraffe
She loved to laugh and laugh.
She had a bow tie
And she never did cry –
Even when she looked at bar graphs.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 9:31 PM UTC
by Desmond Makatu,
Your visits are unpredictable.
like a ghost, you're invisible.
The attacks are inevitable.
You come like a thief at night.
You seize me day and night.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Cruelty unrestricted to age.
Victimising even toddlers.
Unrestricted to ethnic groups.
My life has time gaps.
Gaps, like discrete graphs.
Cracks depict thin line between life and death.
Grace bridges the gaps and life prevails over death.
Seizures still haunt me like a demonic wrath.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Attacks are brief, bruises lasts forever.
You offer questions only God can answer.
Quest for answers is like probing for cure of Cancer.
Death seemed to be the answer but God thought otherwise.
First seizure shook like multiple earthquakes.
Followed by a pool of darkness.
woke up confused, crowd's ****** expressions said a thousand words.
Migraines raided my head, exposed to enormous pressure.
Officially baptised by wrath of seizures.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
You're a physical and psychological culprit.
Like a Yoyo, you take me into a roller-coaster of emotions.
Aftermaths of your theft are etched in my mind as if they’re on stones.
Behind my “poker face” lies devastating pains than physicals seen by the crowd.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Watch video on YouTube. https://youtu.be/VggXerYLOHY
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
we love a guy with a black eye blood shot
those cute five-finger dimples in his jawline up in millennial graphs
of x-time and y-self worth
increasing steadily in units knuckles and palms
lips and prods in a smooth
arching crescent down-facing hieroglyph of his swollen socket as
the plane descending for Cropper and kudos
touchdown
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
If I could build the world,
It'll have a paper zoo,
Full of paper animals,
It'll have a paper plane,
A paper town and paper train.
I'll create a little paper giraffe,
Because I know it'll make you laugh.
I'll draw it's spots like paper graphs,
And I'll make it walk on paper paths.
If we went to court I'd let you follow my paper trail.
Doesn't matter how much paper I spend,
I'll always have some paper to lend,
Some of the paper are hard and some bend,
When I text I'll hit a paper send...
But it doesn't matter,
Because you'd light all the paper,
Fall into arson and shatter,
My paper world.
No matter how much I can create or give,
You'll never let any one of my dreams live.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
all our little itches come out to play
I eat them aflame as if I were next
I know I am to be
next comestible girl thing
something, irritant beneath your back teeth
and you sit on your sofa and wonder
you fall down my stairs and look up
we sleep by the river and listen
to the frogs and the praying mantis
as they glisten
all that matters
as they walk a certain way
all that wonders
why you and I just
seemed to fade a——way
as I couldn't chew weeds
like the rest of them
as if a dog choke chain we rot
circus familiar to me,
smile like you feel it, baby,
grin as if you are inside those
photo graphs
see clouds of pink paint
descended of you
clouds love me so
love me more than you
I am what I am
a fog of knowing
knowing how you will love me
in your very veins is restful
eases me to sleep a rolling
train way dream each night
midnight wakes me
your name on my lips
I am a dark slick highway woman
moaning like a new birthed bird
I am never going to be yours
but you could borrow me
take all that I am
I will be here sighing,
waiting for the true blue
****** of you
everything we could have been
never leaves us, that’s a myth
we see now, and it has no service
I choose for us a perfect ending
this is my living song
I just forgot
how to sing
really, I thought for once
we nestled in your
head
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
Notes of papers
modules, graphs, maps and scales
me lost in dreams of fairy tales
hard to count
rush to the exam mount
endless cups of coffee in vain
shallows, brooks of caffeine
The clock runs the marathon
eyes dead '
brain washed
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 2:10 AM UTC
when you die I'll get your ashes
I'll form bar graphs and pie charts
of how many times I made you laugh
when I helped you heal
how I made you feel
I could see when you were happiest
and when you were the saddest
I can see how much money you spent at Starbucks
and how many hours you worked
and how many miles were driven from our homes
how many times you left your things with me
how many cds I listened to on my way to see you
how many haircuts you gave me
and how many poems I've written you
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
I've made graphs,
charts & labels
I've taken tests,
quizzes, solved
equations with
functions & facts
& limits & rules
& statistics
I've put commas
where commas
go, I've used
all of the laws
of punctuation
But I still don't know why it is that I am me.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
Aiyo I'll turn ya body into bean curd **** what you heard move the herd through my choice of words
Vocal chords Slashin' through billboards
Number one on the chart bullet accuracy sticking like darts flows part
The skies light to dark my rhymes'll park like Noah Arc chillin' on a fountain ain't no mountain
High enough call out any bluff who says their tough? Sniff crime call me McGruff leave a *****
Worse than a Iraq war fourscore my styles pour
All over the radio stations blood bath graphic wraths drawn from my mental graphs
Fools smile but I get the last laugh
Deaths makin' face now ya body trading places
With ya soul as it races
To the skyline no rewind ya legacy decline times is mine a barrier to the sun and shine
All day we grind while y'all remain inline my mic skills got me frontlined
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
In this age of 3D Entertainment
and surround sound speakers;
of high definition and films extra features,
electronic mail and internet dating.
Where tectonics fail yet can be shown on
paper graphs and charts and diagram art.
These decades of speed and cynicism.
Where digits reign as idols flop
from pedestals and into bars.
Where your wildest dreams lie not
in your heart but in your favourite shop.
In this land of greed and want
and discord of the highest scale.
Is it peace and virtue that won
you the right to work from home;
eating breakfast in bed, worrying
only if jokes are stale?
Is it fine that your success
has led others to fail?
In this game of snakes and ladders
who populates the pit?
Those who were unfortunate
enough to be born into it.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
Ripped ribbons scattered aimlessly,
with fractured cups, dirt and dust
pink pearly acetone just won't be enough
to erase the evidence of you.
With forced confessions,
spilled out all past indiscretions,
and cursed vindications and blood
splattered like a musty revenge.
Blank canvases,
Hand print caresses that show
Polaroid prints all faded and jaded
like the illusion of us.
It was desperate fingers
that clung to the railings
but the force of gravity meant I had to let go.
Hope had revived me
Like water to my parched throat
my oasis is the desert
All my horrid words were revoked.
Yet nothing will ever be enough
to surgically remove
our open bleeding wounds.
I must tend to the injured,
Leave alone the wielder
Knife still in hand
How did it come to this?
I missed your voice
so much it made me cry
yet after I heard
it made everything worse
Mourning a loss that was not mine
but yours.
Grieving hurts.
I still love you
but it burns
burns
until I have to take my hand off
the all consuming flame.
My teardrops cannot pay the price,
or eradicate the past in peoples minds
Will I forever be beholden to this guilt that now defines me?
Too many skin graphs to hide the scarred tissue underneath.
All paths lead me back to here.
I'm helpless to watch your ghost
Linger,you still linger.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
In school, they used to teach us phrases like:
The fast car, or, The big tree.
But never did they mention the man who,
Upon losing his education like his keys,
Takes a fast car into a big tree-
On purpose.
Then, in school, they taught us drugs are bad,
*** is dope, crack is wack.
Yet never did they once speak of the father who,
Uses drugs to feed his kids,
so that they grow and feed their kids too-
Through purpose.
And, in school, they showed us pictures.
Of Syphilis and AIDS,
To scare us.
But, once again, the graphs and facts were missing,
As though seeing was trespassing upon some truth-
Some purpose.
So I pick up a pen and write:
A suicide story, a poem from the block.
And I sketch a Polaroid of a shaken scene,
Of the things I am not. So that I,
Yes I may lead a life-
With purpose.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
Hot properties,
scarce commodities.
Cool customers,
good money.
Business on the increase,
graphs go up.
Other things
quickly pushed under carpet.
Culture and spirit of adventure wilts.
World looses it's heart and goes to seed.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
i am a withered tree
as i wake up half heartedly
"good morning"
rings throughout a desolate room
while clinging to the thought
that misfortune goes up and down
like those graphs we used to draw
and the persistent side of me
is surely convinced
that i'm running trails
to something much brighter
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
Alex 2 breathes, stacks and unstacks papers, distantly
Alex 1, front cubicle, coughs, clicks his mouse
Eddie pulls out his drawer, pushes it back in, clicks his mouse
Alex 2, yes two Alex's, saunters up to the coffee machine
Alex 1, head down, clacking his keyboard
Mouse clicks, keyboard clicks, electricity
Monitors glow, fluorescents never flicker
Alex 1 opens a new file, two clicks of the mouse
Eddie sips his coffee, puts it down, clicks
New folder, new file, new data
Data entry, spreadsheets
Alex 1 asks did you get the email
Alex 2 has his coffee, his white shirt, under the fluorescents
Statics noise, static, mouse clicks, keyboard
Every new click, new file, new data, new folder
Data in, data out, file, click, the static electronics
Alex 2 clicks, files, new folder, new deal, new data
Eddie clears his throat, softly, the static noise, flickers,
Every new love story is a tragedy
Alex 2 opens a new folder, inputs data, spreadsheets
Numbers in, Eddie clicks his mouse twice rapidly
Stale effluvia coffee, static noise, electric light
Alex 1 sniffles, clears his throat, the clock ticks softly
Eddie opens a new file, the electric screen reflects his fixed eyes
Alex 2 sips his coffee, opens a file, clicks, keyboard clacks
Stasis, complete stasis, electricity, nodes, linear graphs
Numbers input, data, new file, file transfer
Every old tragedy is a ghost story
Alex 2 sips his coffee, breathes, clears his throat, data
Spreadsheets, monitors, electricity, static, data input, output
Every ghost story is infinite
Alex 1 gets up for a new coffee
Eddie inputs data, spreadsheet, file, new folder
Electric lights, stasis, data, file, click, file, input exp..
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 10:21 PM UTC
Should your poem contain a lot of formulas?
Should you know how to multiply, divide, subtract and add?
Should you know the derivative of this and the derivative of that?
Should you memorize the multiplication table from one to a thousand?
Will your words sound jargon?
Will your rhyming seems out of tune?
Will your metaphor be unseen like a blue moon?
Will your piece land on the trash can very soon?
Should you discuss the ratio of your words and love?
Should you round off the message your poem have?
Should you pinpoint what is lesser than or above?
Should you define the poem’s slope and its aftermath?
Will that number cruncher be able to read between the lines?
Will the verses relate up until the genius’ heart’s vines?
Will the logical and emotional hemisphere be able to bind?
Will the sonnet be able to convey it’s meaning through its sign?
If you are a poet and you love a mathematician
Those things are probably running on your mind
The difference in forte, will it ban
A blossoming attraction between two different kinds
Sum it all up, all your feelings inside
Write it all down, like how you calculate in a scratch
Don’t forget any, like a whole number without a dot
Double check it, you wouldn’t want misunderstanding right?
Don’t be irrational, like some numbers are
Don’t measure and compare, like graphs’ bar
Be precise as possible, but you don’t have to hit the bull’s eye
Still do some cliffhanging, and let the person analyze
They say opposites do attract
Everyone differs so why worry about those questions above?
Just express what you feel, write what you want
I’m sorry I’m a poet; I wanted this piece to be long enough
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
In her room, she looked out the window
Seeing the evergreen tree swinging in the wind
The raindrops pelting the window
A few birds, swooping for cover
A little girl standing out in all the gray
Brown hair pulled into pigtails
Wearing bright yellow and red
With a blue polka-dot umbrella
Jumping in puddles
Not even using the umbrella
Unless she was trying to collect rain
Driving to a new state
A new home
Leaving friends
She watched as they drove through a puddle
The water collecting on her window
She imagined that little girl
Her pigtails drooping
Her umbrella dragging
As she walked through the muddy puddles
At school, daydreaming blankly
Looking out the window
As the teacher droned on
About fractions, and decimals
Equations and graphs
She imagined seeing herself
Jumping out the window
Into the puddle on the ground
Splashing water onto the grass and plants
She saw herself
Wearing her favorite yellow raincoat
With her shiny red boots
Her blue polka-dot umbrella
Filled with holes
That the water just ran through
Her hair up in pigtails
With her favorite pink bows
She saw herself as she used to be
Before school was hard
Before she moved
Before she got older
She wished she really could jump out that window
And relive those moments
Before she could dream any further
The teacher called her name
Yanking her out of her red rainboots
Leaving her pink bows laying in the mud
Sadness pulling at her eyes
As she was taken from her happy memories
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
Plains of cardboard
Magnetic pull
Clinical smell trapped under my shoe
Gathered here, all people
Collecting boxes
Stargazing numbers
Transcribing graphs
We say nothing
Nameless we work
We collect the plastic
The fabric of the earth
We toil and thrive
We steal and buy
Transfixed on sense
Naked in light
Lost. Confused. Cautious.
The Supermarket.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC
Sweat takes over my skin peeling layers of invisible masks yearning for chemical feedings. It's been days- I've been thinking slow and fragile. Bedtime has no name and it hurts. There's caution in my eyes screaming " Stay Away"! Drowning in my own body of water. "Come Clean" he whispers.
Solace and silence. I want. ***** migraines to migrate forever. Shivers to shed as I travel back into time -not swallowing so much inside to feel OK with chemicals balancing brain beats. "Come Clean" he whispers. Flashback: I see the love of my life holding a ring on the day strange beauty died in his arms. Images creep of a little boy begging for my wake. Awake I stay.
Beginnings to a next day with no recollection. Trying to find expression in lost graphs and schedules that were once dictated by "the medicine". It made sense. Cycling back and forth through highs and lows trying to remember that God made all things. "Come clean".
In this moment I want to live only because in the next moment I'll be dead- again. I can hear the race of my heart and I want a beautiful design only because in the next moment I will come down and want nothing." Come clean".
In this moment I convince myself to skip my daily dose only because a PHD took away the nightly dose. "Come clean".
Relapse. In this moment I swallow untitled entries to close my mind from a few moments.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC