"polygons" poems
Why
Do I have to learn this?
Math hates me
Didn't you know?
The triangles glare
The equations stare
The postulates and theorems whisper nasty things
The formulas judge
The polygons sneer
I just want to get out of here
Take me away
Back to English class
The one without the numbers
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
Artificial means and memes the fingers perusing naturally formed hide and go seek
Chic creatures wrought from nanoparticles based on modeled consciousness neural networks
A handsome hivemind of bee;s building trees from cds ...intersynth polygons attracted
to stack platonic forms emanation waves alpha beta delta gamma omega 1 , 2 ,3
this multiversal layering from micro to macro of matter animated by its intoned
hertz pulsations and the interferrence pattern of the changing relationship due to the amount, frequency, force, temperature , texture , text messages, timing , geometry , subharmonics and overtones, a jewel net . syncronistic synergetic, synaptical sparkles.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
it was the moon that fell through. a lump of gray astronaut
pale acne-blasted, an orphan of the dome, floating in a pond
face down; gasping... green brass minnows surge through diatoms
that have no word for moon; a legion of blind unicorn gall stones -
invisible to naked eyes; uncountable geometries horde the dark waters
they cannot disprove or disobey. large mouth bass inhale calcium polygons
they have never met; that have no word for large mouth bass -
that hasn't always been unknown as september is meaningless
now, even more so, the meaning is less,
without the moon... so
the last tide is false. a satellite has lost it's grip and displaced a placid
jewel of ice cold pause. in the backwoods of these. words. a. moon.
is. breathing. in. a. void. teeming. with. ancient. life.
it is a void, unfamiliar to a native of heaven. this void used to rise and fall
in obedience to the wax and wane. in accord with her orbit.
but now it burns the ocean of serenity with irony's forge.
pounding the stainless steel of unfathomable loss;
even the dross sustains a shape of things to come undone -
when the hammer falls and the blacksmith is a poet
born to ****** fables from mayflies. a natural.
the hammer was in the hand before the moon gained
a face or an ocean to adore it. it was there,
ticking like a season, burgeoning with locusts -
holding off the mob; the moon was long ago, slipping off the roof -
long before firemen met lightning.
the tide was a pious fool.
the measure was not the span of the impending verse, but the hour of it's
callous beauty, assembled. a lunacy, stripped of all moons.
and only the sun remaining -
to behold the uncanny descent of a faithful, vestigial goddess.
a yellow throne. a yellow eye. and the sun's first chill...
as wave after wave of syllables sum succulent sorrows -
savoring sacred symmetries, asymmetrically... summoning -
super luminary strawberry switchblades,
saving sanity for questions with question marks.
this poem fell through. a lung collapsed or not.
and the moon is at the bottom of my heart.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:17 AM UTC
I'm late, per usual
(I'm anxious,
yet not worried).
Concrete lines combine
to form
shapes, polygons,
and
anything you want them to be.
I want to help and mend
and repair
but
poison lies where kindness
stops despair.
it goes on.
The routine will sing me
the sweet swallow's song
of my fingerprints,
and of how they
parallel the hearts
of everyone else.
I'm late, per usual.
I won't
believe what
the swallow sings,
nor will I
accept what
life brings
until I've blinked enough
to dissociate.
..
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
it was the moon that fell through. a lump of gray astronaut
pale acne-blasted, an orphan of the dome, floating in a pond
face down; gasping... green brass minnows surge through diatoms
that have no word for moon; a legion of blind unicorn gall stones -
invisible to naked eyes; uncountable geometries horde the dark waters
they cannot disprove or disobey. large mouth bass inhale calcium polygons
they have never met; that have no word for large mouth bass -
that hasn't always been unknown as september is meaningless
now, even more so, the meaning is less,
without the moon... so
the last tide is false. a satellite has lost it's grip and displaced a placid
jewel of ice cold pause. in the backwoods of these. words. a. moon.
is. breathing. in. a. void. teeming. with. ancient. life.
it is a void, unfamiliar to a native of heaven. this void used to rise and fall
in obedience to the wax and wane. in accord with her orbit.
but now it burns the ocean of serenity with irony's forge.
pounding the stainless steel of unfathomable loss;
even the dross sustains a shape of things to come undone -
when the hammer falls and the blacksmith is a poet
born to ****** fables from mayflies. a natural.
the hammer was in the hand before the moon gained
a face or an ocean to adore it. it was there,
ticking like a season, burgeoning with locusts -
holding off the mob; the moon was long ago, slipping off the roof -
long before firemen met lightning.
the tide was a pious fool.
the measure was not the span of the impending verse, but the hour of it's
callous beauty, assembled. a lunacy, stripped of all moons.
and only the sun remaining -
to behold the uncanny descent of a faithful, vestigial goddess.
a yellow throne. a yellow eye. and the sun's first chill...
as wave after wave of syllables sum succulent sorrows -
savoring sacred symmetries, asymmetrically... summoning -
super luminary strawberry switchblades,
saving sanity for questions with question marks.
this poem fell through. a lung collapsed or not.
and the moon is at the bottom of my heart.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
let me tell you, you turn me into something else
maybe that has to do with the physical and emotional bending i've done for you
but nonetheless i am an undiscovered shape with more sides and sharp edges than anyone could count
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
Learn Advanced Math! Lines to Polygons
Curves, Circles, Angles to Polyhedrons
Challenge yourself with Algebraic Expression
Solve Polynomials & Linear Equations
Do Sampling Techniques, compute Data’s Central Tendency
Test their Correlations & Probability
Study Linear Function by f(x) = mx + b
And Quadratic Function by f(x) = ax2 + bx + c
There are also functions that are Polynomial
Periodic, Logarithmic & Exponential!
-09/04/2016
(Dumarao)
*GEN Poems
Sep 27, 2019
Sep 27, 2019 at 10:53 PM UTC
There are many ways
to break the spine
of a book.
Line the jelly-bean backs
too close to the battered floor,
Hide wedging polygons
between pages and binding,
Or open them and stack the backs
in lateral,
frayed Vs.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
Shapelessness of Love
I am a logical person
I think in polygons and geometry
But you come around and the shapes fall apart
Into meaningless squiggles on a page.
There is nothing more beautiful than the shapelessness of love.
Sep 22, 2021
Sep 22, 2021 at 3:29 PM UTC
Triangles are polygons but you tell me they're round...
and I believe you.
There's more to everything than straight lines.
Beautiful's an adjective but you tell me it's a noun...
and I don't doubt you.
You tell me I make flat words come alive.
The sky is black at night but you tell me day is darker...
and you convinced me.
At day, even the brightest lights don't shine.
Rationality impressed me but now it's so absurd.
You and your false statements, but all truer than true.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
when blizzards rage and howling
arctic winds did blow
profuse precipitation packed Philadelphia
til white aery mountains did over flow
meteorological heft wrought pinkish glow
polygons pin wheeled and pirouetted
landscape imprint pure as driven snow
diminution of visual acuity
accrued from two score plus nineteen birthdays
still marvel at freeze-dried raindrops
reaction toward crystalline phenomena
continues to grow
kaleidoscope of multitudinous
hydrospheric blitz krieg terrestrial show
metaphor wrapped in supreme whiteness
from singular entities high to low
mother nature imbues testament
teaches to offer self for world to know
as corporeal of flesh and blood
we forget identity among human row
subtle riddle well hidden in molecule
two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen in tow
offer quiet sermon to cherish beliefs
and personal paradigms vis a vis status quo.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Looking for someone as good as you,
In a long time,
I'm know I'm a shy average dude,
But we can spend time,
Been a long time since I seen your face,
Haven't seen at all really,
Im out of my place,
Let's go inside its kind of chilly,
So get closer,
I know your pretty impressed,
From the words that I told you,
As we talk longer,
Someone as good as you,
Would need someone to love,
I could,
Spread joy for you,
And sprout doves,
Knowing you need love,
Your characteristics are heaven sent,
Polygons change their shape,
Just elevating the lint,
I'm so in a trance,
But we were not talking about inception,
You turned my world upside down,
Experiencing the life lessons,
And your teachings,
Make me feel like I have to watch you from a far,
Like a beam of light,
That just struck my heart.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
they did away my electricity well
i don't know the make of the rubber they used
i don't know the color of water i dissipate in
they did away my electricity well
phonograph to dream to vacuum
to morse to bytes to
noise
my electricity well they did away
i can't hear the sounds of radio static
i can hear the sounds of radio silence
my electricity well they did away
steam to diesel to tube
to blood to bone to antimatter
when they jumpstarted me i sparked and shocked
i hope that nobody was hurt (but i was)
my screen was displaying impossible images
you are on the fastest impossible route
circuit to node to qubit to
ash
how did they create scrolling polygons
in a realm where dimension is reserved for the monarchs
of y and x axes, whose scepters bang
on the tiltshifting ground, undulating below?
vector to pixel to
line to happening
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
The shape of the sun; circle
The shape of a city block, square
The shape of a baseball field, rhombus
The shape of a house, pentagon.
But the shape of a home
Is based on what lives inside.
A pyramid proves a simple structure can still succeed
All lines involved
Connect to complete a common goal.
An octagon interludes
So all sides can solidify
A promising whole.
So what is to happen
To a house with
No shape?
When the lines are misconstrued
And the corners are mismatched.
A splatter on a plane
Lacking effort to be real.
A shape is not a shape
If there are breaks within the lines.
A shape is not a shape
If everyone neglects the vertices.
Geometry should have been priority
while planning a family.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 9:23 PM UTC
I will offer my brains on a silver plate,
Well done, medium, or rare, I shall comply,
All I ask is to have a grill of my own,
Or else I'll have no other option than my thoughts to fry.
With a side dish of spaghetti dreams,
We'll skip the pickles for something stronger,
I'll dice up ambition into nice polygons,
Cause maybe then the flavor will last longer.
With the finest of cutlery and napkins,
I'll fold every certificate I've ever been given,
You shall wipe the grease on the paper,
Until the absurdity of the years is driven.
Clink your glasses, devour the best of wine,
An elite of every drop of sweat in the expense of sleepless nights,
Ones spent toppling over determination,
But tonight I'mma wear a chef's hat and cook some peace of mind.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
The house of commerce commercializes my vignette of nostalgia through various panes. As I am lost to the neon coast of degradation, a forward conquistador berates me for my due impertinence. This migraine doesn’t match my previous excursions, as it is lethargic and fat in deep feeling. My raincoat is a bed that remains a typewriter, that which I reject. I hate it with precision. “This is not an observation, and you are a boisterous fool that rests on the laurels of institution!” But lo’, I am not that impish man! My pen is renewable, unlike my reserves of happiness. If the Quotidian Cycle remains so mundane, then who am I to adhere to the seers of ingenuity? Planets ingest the polygons that compose my mind to the sound of Igor Stravinsky. The definitions of words coalesce into a redundant gestalt, threatening to escape my clammy grasp. Brats and weasels complain of their jeans and fur, soaked in brandy and tar. I live like a dissident; this vagrant is cold to the sickening nods of animals. God, don’t let me remain an anthropomorphic beast. The suffering is daily, the void is lonesome and lays my spine on stone. Melatonin is a pensive friend, a foolhardy palliative to the disease within a footstep. I’ve no footsteps. Not any of note or worth.
Not a single thread to pride myself in. Conversations and dime trades happen around me at generous speeds while I remain a stranger. Christ, I despise my face. I’ve dug my heels into depravity, the exile from woman’s hold is a wrench in my innards. O, to even think is a crime! Who could love the mind deloused, the small and prudent mouse (but little did they know, he facilitates a disease between him and the universe). Intoxicated, my love knows no bounds, but my lust is rendered sterile and sullen. Who can hold me? Who can hold me? Who can hold me? God god god god could hold me. He is not strong, is he? Somebody hold me, now.
Oh, I know yes I need to indulge in the incessant whispers, for my status of a guileless ***** will have to suffice. A cigarette leaps out at my cursed visage, a container of maroon liquid coagulates in mine eyes. There, voices. Cyclic conversations, cyclic conversations, hep! Help! Take me! Take. Take. Take. Me! I belong in the boon, mister fowler. Take me! I don’t hold weight in this world! So take. Sedate me. Please, almighty, nullify me.
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 6:26 PM UTC
I keep hanging by these tangents
Of your dashes and curves
Trying to figure out how every
Version of your twists and turns
Unravels into a canvas
Of visual perfection.
It's perplexing, really
How you mend your schisms
Into waltzing polygons
Every time I break you down
Into fractures of your selves
I end up lingering in your angles
Of oblique abstraction
Turning vertices into suns
And edges into horizons.
Then I reconstruct you
From your purest form
This brush provoking
Both palette and palate
For every stroke and spatter.
Your beauty didn't mind
What madness to this method
The monochrome requires
To finally become free
And shackled at the same time.
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 12:23 AM UTC