"proportionate" poems
The power of Averages,
it means a lot
if you can
understand Means, a lot.
Assuming a Normal Distribution,
A Standard Deviation, or σ
defines where about 68% of the data falls;
roughly 34% above and below the Mean.
Two Standard Deviations
defines where a further 28% of data lies;
14% above and below 1σ and -1σ.
Positive 1-Sigma is one Standard Deviation above the Mean
Negative 1-Sigma is one below;
The range from -2σ to 2σ includes 96% of data.
The implications are astounding.
Within 3 Standard Deviations, one finds 99.7% of the data;
Within 4σ, 99.9%, 5σ, 99.999%,
the remainder are generally outliers and other improbable results.
To illustrate:
Suppose we had a group of 100 people,
and we wish to determine average height:
If our Mean height ends up being, say, 180 cm,
with a Standard Deviation of 20cm,
We can suppose that of 100 people, on average,
with a certain Margin of Error that is inversely proportionate to our Sample Size, or n
(for sake of argument, the Probable Error, or γ, is 13.49cm)
4 are taller than 220cm
14 are between 200cm and 220cm
68 are between 160cm and 200cm
14 are from 140cm to 160cm
4 are shorter than 140cm
--
Statistics is the parent of Probability;
Statistics is the Art and Science of Forecast,
Statistics paves the way for modern Science
Statistics is a powerful weapon in the fight against Ignorance
Statistics, however, are generally and intentionally misrepresented and thus misunderstood.
For increasingly accurate figures,
one must have a larger Sample Size
and a Sample group that is a representative subgroup
of the Whole
*This is intentionally abused
by most of the News
you read or see each day on Paper and Screens alike.*
If a "Statistical analysis" does not include at least
Margin of Error or Probable Error,
Mean (Average), Standard Deviation, and Sample Size
do not take it as accurate.
Depending on the source,
it could even be deliberately malicious.
Arm yourself with Knowledge.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact, makes much impression on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray. We but half express ourselves, and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no invention, no hope.
Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers, and benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort, and advancing on Chaos and the Dark.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
hill
ant hill
an ant hill
a perfect ant hill
a perfect ant hill it was
a perfect anthill erected
a perfect ant hill erected at will
by ants and ants and army of disciplined ants.
ants of many kinds, sizes and colors erected an ant hill
the design was grand, nice to look at like a cathedral,functional.
we love the ants for being so versatile,co-operative and creative
Do ants possess minds, ability to think,organize, put decisions in to actions?Or do they just have an instinct,prompted by nature, how do they receive it?Even if we are yet to find out such secrets,many of us are skeptics."All this is like the crawling leaches, inscribing letters on smooth surfaces, inadvertently" they vehemently argue.And there remains the million dollar question,seeking answer:even tiny ants,could make millions of their ilk do amazing things, why oh! why, the most intelligent of living things, at least replicate the feats the community of ants, at a scale, proportionate ?If these disciplined insects, in spite of their small brains could be a great example, why can't human's be like them, behave more responsibly , take charge of their own destiny, construct, not destroy. Every ant hill in silence, asks us many questions, we walk past pretending that we heard nothing, that could disturb our peace.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
I wish to peer at Paris, under-dressed and ***** in all of its neoclassical splendor.
For that, there are things I would give up.
I wish to see a prehistoric forest, verdant, overgrown and jumbled.
Before evergreen mysteries I would be ever humbled.
For that, there are things I would give up.
I wish to see Rhodian gardens and from them, smell the flowering fig and taste succulent honey suckle.
I wish to glimpse zaftig temptresses dancing twenty thick amidst courtyards of ancient Persian palaces.
For that, there are things I would give up.
I wish to be blessed into an inenarrable life on an unalike mysterious planet.
I wish for an Atlas resembling and proportionate soul.
For that, there are things I would give up.
I've demanded an even temperament from my unruly emotions.
I've settled for continuous disbelief at the loquacious ignobleness of humanity.
For change, there are things I would give up.
I've sequestered my innocent dreams and bloomed monetary means.
I've avoided death narrowly, my fingers gripping, fear will always transfix, while barreling down 36'.
I've inhaled profits and installed transformation.
For change, there are things I would give up.
I've burned my midnight oil, taken offensive slander, and burned bridges with gratuitous candor.
I've witnessed coal falsify a beautiful gloaming sky.
I've had gasoline dreams filled and fuming with intensity, all drowning under an ocean of oil.
I've envisioned bleached beaches to hide stained soil.
These are moments I would give up.
There are things I've realized outside my reality, outside my internal soliloquy and physical tactility.
I've come to understand my words are nothing more than symbols on a closed door.
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 11:54 PM UTC
an octagon tent
wide enough that chucking rollies
to the sand made impossible
sprawled layers
you turned to quote Dali
told me how pale blue washed with lucy
shimmered skyline into dimension
acryllic-smeared sass drips canvas
into murmurs circling dilation
dimethyltryptamine stains
painting dreams on my eyelids
with flowerbrushes and silk,
mushroom dust gathers in discarded hues
on your pallet, where the colors of your irises
dry into a nebula of night-blooming jasmine
the scent of how you move when you sleep
and sleeping is never so sweet
as dancing through lucidity
with you as my sheets.
and i've traced your thumbprint so often
i'm sure if it were stretched around a marble
like buffalo skin on spirit-caller drums,
a globe would be seen
in which Greenland is finally proportionate--
the map on my wall always bothers you,
but I do too, and everyone does,
urging me under the geography
etched into the sea of your surface
by the crucible of your purpose
and working me into
empty behind your right
below the 22
between i'ching
and the forty two names of god
clasping your fore in silver
copper wound around my finger
hamstrings woven like wire
kambaba jasper, two to share
you hang Tibetan tektites
to elevate space
meteorite fragments
lodged in your helix,
stardust blood,
mandala sand from your mother,
and our tendons wrappe
by dexterous carpals
make such a pretty pendant
of my heart,
for synesthesia mistakes not
and my addiction to the pen has eased
for you breathe murals
and syllables never could
match brushtrokes of carbon dioxide.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
The picture hangs upon the wall
of a slender woman, une eleve
She is eternally en pointe
a Student of great Nurerev.
With Martha Graham’s Corps de ballet
She’d danced (before the children came)
Performed a beautiful Glissade-
enjoyed, for a while, a muted fame.
Light and shade proportionate
here catch her look of radiant joy
The dancer, ignorant of her fate,
seems more a heavenly envoy.
But you and I both know the rest-
The ravages of age and time
The sad result of little strokes
that slow the step and cloud the mind.
Here is her cane, her walker too
Their owner has succumbed to age
There will not be a pas DE deux
Nor bouquets tossed upon the stage
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC
Rich people
are not greedy on money.
have you watched closely
any RichMan
a businessman knows
he could make profit only after
he met all expenses
Yess
his business income
Should pay Salaries
And other Expensss...First
then the remaining will
go to his pocket..
It's the salary of employee
come prior to his profit
So
Who is greed?
Employee or Employer
have you watched employees
want more salary based on experience..
More experience means
More aged.
So, Employee want more salary
inverse proportionate to his energy
Hence, employee was more
greedy than employer..
Think!!
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
The Moon
We are the waxen crescent feast of star shine
the poetic moon groom,
the romantic echo of sun
while it murmurs in swishing tide of peaceful sleep
each half of the heart drawn by the moonlit *****
strolling the Titanic proportionate
a two headed bobbing horizon lost at sea
could you dream of me in dune songs
whispering tomorrow dawning in summer sonnets
could you think of me possibly
when ever you gaze up at a waxing Moon.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
A while ago, I turned a table around
I stabbed a fork into its crooked leg,
And stood up for all the mice.
And, ever since then –
Everytime I walk into a room all the carrots would disappear
It’s like being in a bubble of tyres burning
And you’re trying not to scream
And you won’t be able to scream
Because you’re slowly suffocating under all the toxins.
One day I decided that I liked the rabbits more than the figs
And figs never smiled back at me.
And that was alright, because every fig I’ve met since then
Has had its heart rotten.
And who likes rotten figs?
I’ve had a mouthful of you, and your sister just last night
And, I think I’m not into the aftertaste
Of your plastic life.
I know that my memory's shortcomings
are directly proportionate to all the colorful vitamins
you've been shoving up my retina.
But, I think I just vomited half a stiletto
That’s been stabbing the inner cavities of my chest.
And, let me tell you – you’re a fool for not realizing
That I can’t help but hold your hands
And guide your never ending dwellings to the grave.
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
She has hair
short,
and even though
she has the face of an angel
and a heart of gold,
she can't be a natural beauty
according to the world.
The waist line of her dress
on her
long torso
falls a couple ribs short.
A couple seconds short
for 1st place.
She will push and push
getting her short legs
to take her as fast as they can go
and get in
4th place.
Not a natural runner
that's for sure.
But her legs are strong
and so are her hopes,
she won't stop running,
she won't stop trying.
She will keep pushing
to get through the barrier
that's almost as thick
as her stubborn skull.
In that cranium
she will jam
months
of school work,
assignments,
pages of blank notes
into one night.
She wakes up the next day,
takes her final exam,
and comes home with a
barely passing
D.
No, definitely not a natural student.
But she will take that D
and make it something
beautiful,
something worth looking at.
An object more than just a letter,
where lines to her
are perfect and proportionate
and can flow onto the page
at her own pace.
That big red D
on that paper of black and white
now looks like a unicorn
jumping over a rainbow
that emerges from the depths of the ocean of
Failure.
Her parents look at the paper
and say
"Wow, you are a natural artist,
but you know what that gets you?"
"What?" she asks.
"Nothing!"
But she is the girl
with the short hair,
the long torso,
and short legs
that carry
the biggest heart
and the thickest head.
No matter how unnaturally
things may come to her
she will keep going
with a huge smile
on that angel face of hers.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 4:02 PM UTC
Jeff Beckham who stands by what he has accomplished and established. Some of you probably don’t know who Jeff Beckham is and how Bodybuilding fits in. Well let me fill you in. Mr. Beckham is a young man that brought promise and dignity to bodybuilding in what he stands for. Mr. Beckham chose Bodybuilding as an outlet to overcome what he felt was missing his life. He got involved into Bodybuilding in making a difference in his life and followed the same route he wanted for others and that was Bodybuilding and general exercising participation. It was the Bodybuilding door that opened and Jeff Beckham being part of the new frontier and a wave of accomplishments after another with several Bodybuilding titles under his belt. Yet, Mr. Jeff Beckham proved to himself and the world that he was destined to be successful, and Bodybuilding was going to be the centerpiece in positive action. Positive in believing in what Mr. Beckham would be his difference in encouraging others to follow in his footsteps.
He is also a Father being totally devoted to his Daughter, Miya, and takes part in her life when he is not in a busy schedule of Seminar training and Bodybuilding competition preparation. But no matter what, Mr. Beckham is his number importance in being a parent. However, Mr. Jeff Beckham offers training principles for anyone who wants to enhance in improving their body composition. He wants others to see results with how one can improve them. The key is tone and being lean. Now for Mr. Jeff Beckham’s posing routines, there is no secret. But if you ever need a Guest Poser, Mr. Jeff Beckham is your man. He offers Splits, Stretches and Dramatics that will uplift any bodybuilding competition and arouse the audience in wanting more. Mr. Beckham is devoted to Strict Discipline and Conditioning. So what does tomorrow hold for Jeff Beckham, I won’t say, but follow Jeff Beckham on Facebook and Judge for yourself. His Bodybuilding success could be what exercising you have been missing, and he will definitely help you achieve your proportionate goals.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
Smile, darling-
No one can hear your hollow wails
when lips are closed
and turned up to the unforgiving sun.
Blackness is only a shade of light
beneath your downy mouth,
a shadow of your solitude, and nothing more.
The faint, wet glisten in your eyes
reflects the bronze and porcelain faces
looming down over your tear stained cheeks.
Frustration comes a shade too light
to be seen over the rosy red hues of laughter
sprinkled across your one dimensional grin.
Your laugh lines stretch out
until they gently brush up against the
soft white hair that frames your ears,
leaving no room for sorrow
pushed somewhere off the grid
of your proportionate composure.
*Life's clock can only tick as fast
as minutes do condense,
and happiness will never last
beyond the present tense.*
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
*One day
I will wake up in the early morning
My fingernails aglow with sun
And I will not want to scratch the pain out of my skin.
One day
I will not be subject to
Pleasantries and masquerades,
Hellos and goodbyes and see-you-agains,
But be greeted with a small smile
And a nod of understanding.
One day
Someone will say they will stay by my side
Even when the sea inside me
Overflows, and drowns him too;
He says the tide will bring us back ashore.
One day
My fingers will not shiver
In summer, because the cold is never gone.
The blood in my veins will not carry the echo
Of hate and self deprecation.
One day
I will wake up without internally screaming,
And hey, who knows, maybe I’ll smile.
I will put on my yellow boots
Not as a reminder of the sadness I hide,
But a proportionate guarantee of the happiness I feel.
But today, you see,
Today I cannot find the strength to leave my bed;
The blinds will be closed the whole day and
The postman will know not to knock on my door.
Today
The sea inside me rages
And ****** the backside of my eyes,
Drenching my pillow with saltwater.
And in a blurry pointillism of blues
I will drown
Before I reach ashore.*
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
A slim face
With thick arched brows
Blue green eyes
Rimmed with black extensive lashes
Slightly faint freckles
Along the tops of my cheeks
And the bridge of my nose
With beautiful coffee bean colored hair
something to cause people to stop and stare
Pillowy lips
That contain a smile
With the most beautiful
Blindingly white teeth
And a mouth that sings
In an angelic voice
A slim body
With proportionate size
Collar bones and hip bones jutting out
A body that can dance gracefully
A mind with only the cleanest thoughts
And the most selfless morals
With a positive heart
And a tender yet strong soul
Who I want to be.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
A tiny little flame births a regal forest fire,
The remotest nooks of her mind now a grand pyre.
Her very being set ablaze with an inspiration so great,
She grabs a pencil before the sly flames can attenuate.
Each word a drop; from her hand runs a river thence,
Fills the parchment before her; a happy turbulence.
Only water can quench fire, the stanzas doth flow.
Untamed ripples dancing as her eyes begin to glow.
Before she knows it, she's the most unyielding General.
Her army of sixteen before her merciless wrath grovel.
Soldier out, soldier in; every line proportionate.
This wordy patriot did it with rhyme and reason, yet.
And now, at yet another christening she's a Father.
An air of certitude prevails, as she sprinkles holy water.
Content with her myriad roles, she smiles exhaustedly,
"Oh, you write poems?" Not at all; she lives poetry.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
Set me on your shelf
With your jars of brushes and paints
With your discarded wooden body parts and broken strings
An unfinished work of art
Until you decide to pick me up and turn me into something
Paint on my eyes
Dull and impatient as I wait for the rest of me
Paint my mouth
Curve it into the smile you so long to see
Paint my eyebrows
Poised to show an unknown emotion to me
Paint my nose
Like the one you used to kiss when you were happy
Set me back on your shelf
Among your broken pieces and wooden boards
Amongst your carving knives
And sandpaper cards
Still unfinished
Waiting for you to finish me in the perfect image
Recreate me
Shape my hips into your favorite position
Make my body unnaturally proportionate
Like a Barbie doll, unhealthy, but 'beautiful'
Then clothe me ********
As you wait to put on a play
Portray me in your favorite ways
Set me, yet again, on your shelf
Among your other beauties
As we wait our turn
To see who will be your next favorite
And we see what we become
As we shift our personalities to fit what you want
Attach my strings
So that you may toy with me
Put me on a stage
For all to see
As you control me
As you hold me
Make me feel things that aren't real
Exhaust my limbs
As they flail across this tiny stage
In accordance with this game we play
I am your puppet
Do with me as you please
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
Gifts among Thieves
Proportionate to the day is the security he sends though so many obscured by fears
We by fallen human nature have increased the odds to favor the enemy
The promise you will be lead by still waters is voided when we are lead by our peers
You by choice decide who to follow the path of least resistance leads to meager gains
Life is an estate you can live outwardly in the finest manor landscaped so all are enthralled
Inwardly the family is prisoners to a dark foreboding eternal light blocked at its source
You postpone the invitation to except grace nothing outwardly changes the sensitive spirit appalled
From that point on illusion greets every visitor the truth denied only thing left is a deadly lie
It has been said before we don’t deserve the goodness we unceasingly find
Love can’t be purchased this is one of the gifts you can only receive it when it is freely given
Value is intrinsic to the material in marble because it can be worked into a rarefied one of a kind
The other quality highly prized is derived from fragility it is of inestimable beauty but is easily destroyed
God breathed and made us a living soul oh how foolish say the so called wise
Never less we carry these treasures in earthen vessels of clay
In them we touch, feel, give receive love hear see the indescribable all upon this wise
We condemn ourselves to the level of lowest thief if we steal what was purchased with blood
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
You're everything that is bad for me
Would resist if I could
Toxicity is easy to see
You make me feel so good
Not immune to exceptional charm
Infected
Love's disease
Knees wobble
Stomach churns
Like it's a stormy sea
Supposed to be secure
Why am I anything but?
Long to sever ties
Too strong to be cut
To and fro memories scamper
Throwing past in my face
Ten thousand pieces of happiness
I am unable to replace
I've seen the darker side of you
Yet also witnessed your best
There's no one else I'd rather cuddle
Or make me feel distressed
Want the heavenly highs
Without proportionate pain
That's just not how it works
Can't have rainbows without rain
Oct 27, 2021
Oct 27, 2021 at 3:01 AM UTC
i am a rubebnesque
type of women
and have come to
terms with that.
in fact:
i love my good
jiggly self.
did'nt always
but now i do.
generous ******* *****
and curved belly.
all proportionate
and healthy.
my man does love
my curves,
he can spend
hours carressing their
soft beauty.
they do not stop me
from doing most
anything i wish
although
commonsense dictates
i would not fit through
a too small a hole.
why is then, that when
walking down the street,
people feel they can
throw the word fat
my way...
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
My heart is made of delicate glass
Understand that it breaks easily
The tiniest obstacles in my path
Freeze my heartbeat temporarily
Other times it feels as if
It has not yet pumped blood at all
Like red waves building up dammed in
Cannot push through my scarred heart's wall
Sometimes it is so full it bursts
Overflowing love right out of my chest
But that bliss also means when it bleeds it hurts
Great joy comes with proportionate unhappiness
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC