"quotient" poems
Pretend piety,
Of the temporary variety,
Placed in a shine of "I am better than you high society".
Your words are intelligent,
Your words hold weigh,
But my sentiment makes your feeble words tremble and shake.
It has taken years of mental ************
To develop the concentration,
To compose these compilations of rhythmic translations!
You think you are the victor,
You feel you have won,
But this is no mere battle, it's a ******* war...son...your pain has just begun.
Because we don't need five minutes alone,
To crush any poem,
But reaching the masses and in between is where, I, call home.
Love and pain are parts of the game, but so are other emotions,
So merely beware, your pen must dip a little deeper into far vaster oceans,
If you think you can contend to my level or quotient...
My friend....
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
I am the equation of infinite outcome.
Why then, do the sum of my actions divide my attention from the equation itself.
Either the theory is flawed or the law is wrong.
Don't quote this quotient it isn't divisible.
It's almost as if this is an inverse operation.
The properties aren't proportional to the level of difficulty.
The answer is adjacent to one before.
The problem is,
I always get the same answer.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
a deck
now with
Bedouin high
there dream
her red
quotient in
Catalonia with
Montserrat qua
mountain deem
hindmost their
trials to
independence back
to innermost
Barcelona as
watershed lariat
begun this
year Ole
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
On the edge of the railway
I was caught unprepared,
of whether to fight or not
of whether to give up or to give in.
I went to runaway
taking every breath that is left in me,
chasing the shadows away from my sun
pondering through these thoughts
of whether should I live or should I die?
I took the imbecile mind of a weak heart
struggling for words I cannot say,
revolution against chaotic ideas,
generating evidences of what is left,
generating evidences of what was taken away.
I stumbled on the great floor,
misled my feet on the broken rails of the railway.
I fractured my foot, the other luckily was scarred
now I have to run, but I just can’t.
Where should I put myself in this trouble
imparted on my living sense of self?
Now I have to run, but I have nowhere to go
I need to escape this extravasation of doom
as I left my heart on the coffin of his memories.
I wept right where I was trapped,
until someone offered his hand
and gently lifted me up from this pandemonium.
I turned my head up,
and saw the sincerity of heart that he possess,
whose eyes brought me to a safe haven.
I moved with him, and with him I breathe
the air of solace, the soliloquy of the imbecile.
He brought me to the sun, bequeathed it to me
and for me he chased its shadows away.
My doom is now the doomed,
as my chaos is now the chaotic,
for what was drastic is now lenient,
and that railway is now just another railway,
a quotient of my unfulfilled repose.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
Intelligence Quotient
* eye koo*
I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY HANDS!
* ...my hands are useless... *
*eldoo a tem
eldoo a tem
eldoo a tem
*I only throw
my Banana
at Chel-Sea
I only throw
my Banana
at Chel-Sea
I only throw
my Banana
at Chel-Sea* *
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 6:58 PM UTC
It's quite odd how the average man will not commit to run
With any issues challenging his personal smoking gun.
With issues that confound in discomfort’s naked face
Or adopt a stance of reticence when confronted here apace.
Won’t lend a ready helping hand for fear of being held
Accountable for consequence imagined or dispelled,
Distrustful of the outcome in involvement’s disrepair
Would much prefer retreat to accountability there.
A quotient disappointment to the greater human race
Are the spineless who refuse to look directly to my face.
Marshalg
9 October 2013
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
Emergent and forming I feel a storm is imploring that soon without any warning you beg to cross a line
Every time, nothing is sacred but sacramental complacence is marked as roles of the shameless
Mean to skip a line another time? Is this too rough and obtuse for a cutie like you to boost the power line?
Number 9, completion is power and stricken chords every hour proceed to timeline devour those daily entities
I do decree that opposition to me is free and withered beatings to meetings, detours and dealings
understanding demands of variable plans is held by the hand that feeds the depleted need
I see it from every angle, the tangle, the multishifted frame though it dangles, I can't be stuck in my own head when
I see the reflections of me in the treasure it jangles, brings into focus where my head fell to float in the
moments set to wrangle, pull it in, dwell upon the good and discard where it hampers new fangled notions like
truth effusions of love and devotion are swallowed up in the daily ocean of noise traffic, the more verbose,
Graphic dispatches matches blasted disasters dashed and rash past distractions amass magic attacks balanced
Secular motion entwined with metaphysical potions, divided what is your quotient? It doesn't add up in this
moment.
Interpersonal, intergalactic, universal assertions disturbed by verbage of outrance
Message mismanaged mischief mallaeble mayhem managed maganamously mallicous mannered when I
would proclaim them. Members materialized meriting masturbatory movements and monetized
malappropriation I have no patience nor pathos for indiscriminant egos demonstrating a tangent as canon and
paralyzing progressions toward psychic visions of heaven, eyes as the cosmos, and pressures upended.
I'll cope with associations disastrous and tainted, but keep in my visage all that scratches my lenses
I know far too much to be content with the situation, but far too little to shatter falsehood's intitiation
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:53 AM UTC
a writer writes his writ upon his therapist
becomes a terrorist upon an innocent blank canvas
and breathes deep of deep water
searching aimlessly through the murky abyss
for word choice or some voice that sank it's teeth
into calm waters, sinking calm into the universe
beneath stormy oceans, and coral reefs
and then it is lost forever
or at least
for the quotient of our time strung together
so the writer has to make the world smaller
less corners to hide behind on an island
without defiling a perfect balance between dreams
and silence
the writer risks every random revelry being revealed
inside of a blank pages first time
to quiet the world in their minds
and find calm sealed away in a place you'd rather be
but the longer you stay reality fades to grey
and you only see what could be satisfactory
some day
a writer experiences love like a story, but euphoric in ways
unexplained except by a blank white page.
which becomes a mistrustful mistress
and you begin to miss your healthy distrust
instead of a co-trust between love and the pen and the paper
a writer can feel only through the pen
so if a writer writes on your skin
you'll know they want to see you again
and you to see them
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC
The haggard lawn is tired of the long hot summer now September has arrived.
Its seedy moustache is no longer luxuriant, but wiry;
A snake-like thing that has ambitiously unfurled without the full quotient of chlorophyll.
It is time to offer the sward the privilege of a cut.
Man moves towards machine, assuming simplicity.
But mower is asleep and will not fire.
At first he tries the simple fixes; fuel is present, spark plugs in place.
But the horticultural haircut remains undone,
As the tease of utility leads him to try louder, less sensitive approaches.
Meanwhile, the rotary monster relishes its narcoleptic interlude,
And the grass grows on.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
A gentle tempest stormed my lawn; it stood
me still and then was gone. Anchored,
awestruck in my place by beauty and euphoric
grace, I thought of Spinoza's God, infinity's
precise design, the perfect math of Everything –
our love, a quotient of Divine.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
Wasting my parent's money I skip algebra to lay in the grass and watch ants crawl up my arms
I can't summon the strength to face numbers and figures and x equals agony and y equals misery
And when you divide them you get a quotient sense of absolute isolation from the swarming intellectual hive of the world
I watch the clouds and ask them why living is worth all this hassle
All this nodding and smiling along never really comprehending
I ask them as if they hold all of the answers inside like they hold the rain
They tease me and slide out of view right as I grasp their responding formation
The reasons to keep going are always changing and at times drift away completely
Over the horizon leaving me
Nothing
But
Blue.
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 11:45 AM UTC
Hie Yamaha Wegman ****** voyager, voted vonage valuable, unrepentant TIME Magazine subscriber. Spotify sportsman Snapchat smartly. Sleuth slenderman silences Shutterfly schvitzing. Saxby sassy Santander sais sage rues rudimentary router rotorooter.
Royale Rococco rigged remarkably regular referee reefers red reddit reeder recuperating. Reconnaissance recluse really rabid. QVC quotient quoting, quo quoi quivering quite quirky. Quisling quipped. Quintuplets quintessentially quiet. Quids Quicken questions.
Quartermaster qualified quaint quaffing quadrilateral Pythons. Pyrex pylons put purdy purposeful puny punsters punching. Pumpkin pumice publicized prudential protean pros properly pronouncing prolific prodigies.
Proletariats professors' problematic. Pro privileges prioritized. Principle primates prevaricate. Preppy pregnant, praying prattler possibly Porgie. Poseidon pooping poodle ponders poppycock. Plum? Polite poison pods ply pitiful pinterest.
Pinhead Pillsbury pillager Pi. Pigskin pierce petsmart pests permanently. Perdition percolates peppered PennState pedigreed PearlJam Patagonian. Pastor pastes passion passably. Papas' paginated orbitz okayed. Nutty node needs money.
Next netzero nee naugahyde. Nattering nationwide nabob Moxie Molly McGee. Monosodium livingsocial joyus je kickstarter. Identityguard Huffington GMO. Gluten Glutamate footloose fancy free footlocker. Fingerhut fetishistic fabrication Cingular.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
So I’m Now An EXPONENT...
of Rhymes That Are POTENT... !!!
No Numbers or Quotient...
Can Limit Their Motion... !!!
INFINITE Like The Ocean...
Or Big Swarms of Locust... !!!!
FOCUSED On SHOWING...
How My Thoughts Be Flowing...
With Notions of Motions...
OVERTHROWING Like Boulders...
Dropped Onto The Shoulders...
of Those Who Are COLDEST... !!!!!!
When It Comes To Them Showing...
More Love For Life’s Soldiers...
YES Those Who Have SOLDERED...
This World For These... JOKERS... !!!
Who Deal In LOW Quotas...
of Hope For... Young Voters... !!!
They Make Things Seem HOPELESS...
But... NOT To EXPONENTS...
of Flows That Are FAULTLESS...
Because They’re NOT JAUNDICED... !!!
They’re STRONG NOT Distorted...
So... Do NOT Export Things...
Like Drugs For Those SNORTING... !!!
Exponents Be FLAUNTING...
SKILLS That Are DAUNTING...
To Those Who Be Courting...
Ideas of... SLACK Talking...
Or.... Lyrical WARRING... !!!!!!!!
Because They Are DEEPER...
Than.... Manic Street Preachers... !!!
What We Do Is Teach Ya...
Like... KRS Teachers... !!!!!!!!
Through More Than Your Speakers...
Exponents Like These Do Not Fear Disease...
Because Our Beliefs Supersede What Is Deemed...
To Be PURE HONESTY By The Powers That Be...
We REJECT... FALLACIES...
But Acknowledge That Grief...
Is Something That’s Seen …
FAR TOO REGULARLY...
By People … BENEATH …
All These HIGH Flying THIEVES... !!!
So RECOGNISE THIS... !!!
Exponents of Lyrics...
Who Write Things Like This... !!!
Are Clearly What’s Known...
As... ABOVE The AVERAGE... !!!
ARROGANCE Is DISMISSED....
But We REALLY FLIP SCRIPTS... !!!
Because......
Whether WRITTEN or SPOKEN...
When Poets Start Flowing...
And Their Rhymes Start GLOWING...
As If They’re... ALL KNOWNG... !!!
Then You KNOW You’ve Read Words...
From... One Of Those KNOW As...
..... " The REAL EXPONENTS ".....
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 2:10 AM UTC
1+1=2
It’s been proven, it’s always true.
Let’s add some letters to represent the unknown.
Now 1x+1y=2
Please explain how?
This is a linear equation,
When we rearrange its formation.
Now let’s put it in standard notation.
Ax+By+C=0
1x+1y-2=0
What does this mean?
It’s an equation for a graph where the constant is always C.
Now to find a slope for our graph,
We must yet again rearrange to get y=mx+b;
Where ‘m’ equals the slope that we need.
1x+1y-2=0
1y=-1x+2
m=-1
Lets not forget m is also rise over run!
The rise equals ‘∆y’ and the run ‘∆x’.
If you have 2 exact points you can also use them to find ‘m’.
Now the average rate of change is much like the slope.
It is derived from the same formula but now we must develop.
Instead of simple digits we are presented graphical expressions.
We must calculate the average rate of their alterations.
A secant line would be helpful to move further.
A secant line is a line from one point to another.
By calculating the slope of this secant line,
We will have the average rate of change between two periods of time.
Can there be a rate for an exact time?
Of course and that is called the instantaneous rate of change.
Instead of a secant line we shall use a tangent.
Up against the point it will give an approximation.
The x values will be so close,
It will create a limit of ‘x’ approaching 0.
Don’t be quick to leave there is still more.
The difference quotient is an expression,
To find the slope of a secant line between two specifications.
This expression is then used to find,
The instantaneous rate of change or the average rate of change over a period of time.
I don’t mean to scare you,
But this is just the beginning of chapter 1.2.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
I caught the glad eye you gave me by chance,
as I realize I mark the moment with a smile,
you, mirth quotient high,caught my eyes as well,
this, it strikes me is more than mere chance!
It's a warm sunny day I didn't have any plan,
to meet someone like this and fall for her at once.
Life keeps so much unexplained, but we aren't aware
the roots of karma is so long, too tangled to discern.
Swift wind goes past shaking trees, singing tunes,
ripe fruits get caressed by the wind, some fall too,
fruits of your actions invite you from afar with it's scent,
do your deed and walk on, fruits will chase you from behind.
I sit and wonder at times, in life what lasts, at the end?
even the fleeting moment effulgent, has deep impact,
in a moment of candor you lovingly pat my cheeks,
we forget all else, who we were, and melt like wax.
Stardust in my bones has music from far away light years,
in your core you still keep a ray of light from long past,
it's effect is a wave in my veins, I feel each moment,
what lasts is the wave that binds us as one and transcends.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 3:48 PM UTC
And probably I'm the biggest fool ever existed,
As I still hope that she will come back one day.
And she'll announce that it was merely a prank,
As she just wanted to have fun by pranking me.
And she'll expect me to welcome her back here,
As old times she will expect me to still love her.
Maybe she rightly considers me an emotional fool,
For all of her experiments, I serve as the ideal tool.
Maybe I should just let her memories vanish now,
For my own happiness, all her memories I'll mow.
Maybe all my family tell me the right thing after all,
For she is indeed a common, desperate Indian girl.
She is the personification of a great wanna-be girl,
'Cause she had lost her way at an age so youthful.
She will bank on prior experience from childhood,
'Cause she has low emotional intelligence quotient.
She bereaved such a pure lover for some ego issues,
'Cause she was a demo of how good/bad a girl can be.
P.S.: Hope that she'll get complimentary coke/burger!
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 5:58 AM UTC
The probability of life itself is unpredictable
For I can’t extract your mind or heart to decode
Likelihood of possibilities in measurable quotient
For I can’t retract a past gone by to encode
Continuums of even chances and certainty
The toss of the toasted dime, the weigh of sides
Slashed slide all smashed and thrown in mines
Fallibilism of my indefinable opinionated delicacies
Attenuations of what life is attacks and strangles my neck
Global troubles of war, bombs, hunger, anger
Illogical connotations of overlapping determinism
I burrow like a termite in a convex rising molehill
Terminated in contrasted stations as we convene
Gripping hands to grasp our existence in life
I wonder about the whole of it, I think of it somedays
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
Just like everybody else
I was learning for myself
Just what would make me sick
And how the whole world ticks.
Then I quickly ran into collusion
Left me in a state of confusion.
I learned about rationalization
And self-righteous indignation
From purveyors of hypocrisy
Passed off as great philosophy
That labeled some as dross,
Not fit to be the lowest boss.
I watched people get locked out
And ignored when they shouted
The bosses talking about degrees
Driving workers to their knees
Because they couldn’t afford
College room and board
For the four years of beer bashes
And drunken month-long crashes
In Mexican towns full of them
That could go there on a whim
While the children of the working class
Worked hard so their kids could pass
And have a chance to get ahead
Instead of a shoveling until dead.
I was learning this first-hand
That not all of life was grand
If you could not afford to buy.
And banks just passed you by
When you needed a car
Because work was so far
From where you had to stay
In the neighborhoods far away
From the nice neat places
And squeaky clean faces
Of those who inherited wealth
Or were sent to schools
That sent out the fools
That knew how to look nice.
And nobody thought twice
When they weren’t quite as bright
As the people that had to fight
For an opening, then trained
So the rich kid could maintain
In a job he didn’t qualify for
But he had the SAT score
To prove he was intelligent
And had the proper quotient
Whether he could deliver or not.
The rest was all just rot.
And nobody paid attention
Nor would they mention
The kid was a well-trained fool
And what he learned in class
Was how to look good and pass
For a person smarter than
The average working man.
That’s what I learned first-hand
And what I came to understand.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
There is no more than the scent on my sheets, but i'll be on yours, for some time.
Some nights will pass and the universe that existed with us together will be slowly drowned,
out by the busy on-going hum of the people living around us.
we will slowly let the moments that brought us so close unravel,
no more will a vivid quilt exist to keep us warm, just the unfamiliar pieces,
pieces that without time, careful work, and magic, mean nothing.
We can salvage the mess and design something new and brave,
but like a lost letter re-written, you can try your hardest and never recreate the same meaning.
There is no more than the tire marks in the snow leading you out of my driveway,
Had my tire marks traced yours that day, would I still be writing this?
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
all at once, things come crumbling
together. a step in every direction,
rightful empty dissolves to leave,
in stationary hollow, itself:
presented representation. no
point left unscathed. the exact
same moment the water started
leaking down and out the walls. a
series of equicardinal trackmarks in
the snow. over the bridge we shift
momenta. wheels turn. nerves
coupling. a flood laps at my
unfurling fingerprints. water
rises like swallows nesting in the
marsh of my throat. try as we might,
turn of position, matched glance, precession
after next, the swell silently engulfs the woodwork.
blood curls through these beds, as beautiful as the water running over;
waves distill through smaller wash.
a larger scheme spreads its lips. the teeth
play quotient to tree limbs. a schedule unwound.
caught the sun with smooth hooks.
everything changes from here, or stagnates at a
shifting viewpoint. but, from this glowing angle,
i could mistake you for ordinality or
plain daylight. i could
fall a little
further
down.
instead, all translates in bold motion,
binding fibers of dissolution,
morning hues
through the dark.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
1.Tried, but I couldn't take my eyes off her,
she left happily with my eyes allover her.
2.Her eyes were two deep, blue pools,
together,they'll invite me to swim in them,
wasn't I naive to think the other would
get jealous,if i decide to jump in to one
when I saw getting reflected on both,at once
I realized,how easily love took me for a ride!
3.She was a creature,created for delight,
each part,even a strand of hair, strange
had an effect on my senses any time
and I was made to be attuned to her always!
each act of her could both invigorate or tranquilize.
but only on their own sweet will,i found
The effects of a psychedelic drug,I felt
in her presence, one I have never ever taken!
4.My error quotient goes perilously high,
when you are somewhere near tome and sigh!
5.With her feminine fingers locking mine,
my imagination quickly flies sky high
two interstellar travelers are you and I
ready to live out there,on sky in a new high,
without bothering to care for logistics!
6.With each of your love bites arousing,
I fire all my rockets,roaring skywards.
Your teeth play a naughty hide and seek
with my earlobes,I get so wild,you get thrilled
taken over by a seizure,I feel eyes blue simply ecstatic!
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 5:18 PM UTC
*The quotient of blue in marriage with shimmering green , jasper plow land surrounded in eastern pine motifs and whitewashed barrier
The morning clang of 'smith , cooper and farrier
Days of black pig iron , cured oak and strap leather
Messages that forever ride the backcountry Autumn zephyrs*
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
a one dimensional
*** ***** brain
in a three dimensional hologram of consciousness
i am a dumb wind
a slouching mongrel soul
carved in corpusles
its twenty six dimensions stupid!
mind like a radish in a **** slum
inhabiting a no return winter
of hollow helled mountains
soon to be dead
like disappearing smoke
i hear my voice
trying to count its molecules
with a slathering tongue
needle numb
and a brocaded Vox throat of tears
while eyes plead floating
like cataract clouds
no
Shadrach Meshach and Abednego
shinning baptism ufo's
god ***** shimmering in space
no
no reality quotient here
in a fitted sim built blood machine
of flimsy bone locomotion's
looking for time slips
tormented
by lifes prodding night stick
in a distortion field
i turn the wheel of shapeless shadows
in Satan's mill
waiting dormant
****** and muzzled
in a 666 cosmic zip code
im just another
****** **** ***** Jew
************ ******
apple bend over
living to pay the ******* rent
in a house fallen before its built
panting staccato deja vu's
in a no return winter
of pandemonium
in this knot of blotting screams
i try desperately to levitate
from this spittoon of ascending ***** matter
here gold turns to chalk
and i'm always doing gods work
with the devils pride
like a bug in the grass
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 12:59 PM UTC
As men, we respond. With sticks, in garments wet with black anthologies of life
Which whistles out of us as thorns, and sticky eyes that point that way. Exact hours.
Despite lust, from what has taken us before- to that androgynous triumph that brings
Us tears as we undo our buttons. That rakes time over our backs with the needles of small
Trumpets the teeth of ghosts, blood on the stems, awarded to brass ballerinas dancing on
Wounds each quotient inside our breaths, terrified strips the branches from the everywhereness
In front of what we can't see. Or open our eyes. Or follow our hands. The legs that we used to know.
The pallid girl I called home, dusty eyelids with energies sharpened with the sweet water and gold Threads atop a haystack I burned in pyres of all the yesterdays.
Once I was human, but not for my breaths or my volume or my sullied attitudes. Not for the denature of
My rotten mood, or the noxious smells from some evil words, or noisome meat, or grueling and expired
Thoughts. Unrolled canvases cauterized with the silks shreds in a suitcase beyond. A caption unread Intwined at the bow of her hip, or the hems that dotted her skin. Black and blue staled songs a father Sung so long ago. The hill rolled on as our bodies clung to satchels we hid, each watery step we steeped In the mud, culms fell and I didn't think, I haven't thought; everything I forgot approaches the tines of my Nose once aching thews overcame the moors I'd undone, there acarpous hues were pried into me.
Everything I've seen, is a muse that disperses my lungs.
Is the incantation of the thoughts I don't spake. Intwined in the fingers I shook, at the people that I
Wanted to hate, I am steal the weight of their steps. This urgency, penury hides. The silt hasn't moved
From the cenacle place. While cloffined the ashes stuck to my face. An eroteme I still uphold
As if this rock inside of my chest, only wanes when I lay on her breast.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC