"subtracting" poems
in math class
and all we talk about is algebra
adding and subtracting
absolute values and square roots
when all on my mind is you
and as long as i add you to my day
it already sums up my week
but if you subtract yourself from my life
i'd fail even before the day ends
and i'd crumble faster than a
simple division equation
{j.m.}
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
Based on a painting, "Nuclear Puppies", by Julie Nagel, 2001
You’re a mutant, you know—
got funny dog babies sprouting
out of your head like they were
ears. Those copies of your face
look up at a sky of ashy gray,
perked and tense. Are you listening
to yourself? What choir
of dog-eared deformities
sings to you? Maybe they should have
howled louder before we dropped The Bomb.
Maybe the yellow caterwaul of their
melting butter bodies would have stayed our hand.
I doubt it though.
This is what we do. We burn things.
We tinker, adding and subtracting until
what’s left is blasphemy—until what’s left is
you. A yellow almost-dog, a sagging
body with melted flesh where there should
be fur. Sad monster; beg your alms
from the atomic Frankensteins who made you.
Your skyward eyes are bright, still happy
anywhere but here. But your abominable
body lies here staring into gray space with
Alpo still sticky on your nose, wet, brown snow.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Under
The rule of law
With a great smile
She plays mathematical game.
Sometime,
Adding,
Subtracting,
Multiplying,
Dividing,
Switching
But rarely,
Stopping
On query, she replied
“You are getting pill for”,
Pain
Sleep
Wake up
Dream
Breathe
Smile
Forget, and to
Live
Disclosure
My only drug dealer
My Doctor.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
You're probably reading this from the same place I'm writing it
behind a desk
outside the box
trapped in a corporation
free in my thoughts
You're probably reading this for the same reason I'm writing it
because words matter
because it doesn't matter
the way everything matters
You're probably sick of reading
probably
yet we are hardly anything more than what can be proven
we're probably
the invention before probability
The loving likelihoods of life
like crawling before walking
like falling when learning to walk
like walking into runs
The statistics of confusion
divided for the mystical equation
of adding all things make believe
subtracting all things real
and solving you for yourself
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
math they say is adding,subtracting and multiplying
And that it will be applied.
I'm not so sure they know what math is.
It's not that simple.
Ask those who spend hours trying to learn it.
The numbers mix and mingle.
And your mind makes up its own math.
If I add or subtract or multiply
Will I get the same answers?
I'm done with this numerical math
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
Sandbox giggles and seesaw chuckles
echo around the park.
Little ones pitter patter on tarmac and grass,
oblivious to their age.
All they know is the sun is shining
and they're going to feel like this forever.
Rubber throwing and hushed whispers
echo around the classroom.
Schoolkids adding and subtracting,
oblivious to their age.
All they know is that they hate math
and they're going to be an astronaut when they grow.
Cheesy pop songs and girly giggles
echo around a bedroom.
She's curling her friend's hair and smiling,
oblivious to her age.
All she knows is that Jake is a cutie
and she's going to marry him when she's 21.
Birthday wishes and _lots of love!_
echo around the dinner table.
He's having his first beer as an 18-year-old and loving it,
oblivious to his age.
All he knows is that he's going out tonight
and staying up till dawn.
Baby rattles and first words
echo around the house.
The baby is mumbling its first word,
oblivious to the meaning behind it.
All it knows is that its mummy is warm
and it's daddy smells nice.
Memories of sandboxes and summer nights
echo around their heads.
They're laying in a bed in a sanitary place,
oblivious to the current situation.
All they know is that their time is up,
but they had such fun whilst it lasted.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:46 PM UTC
Do you know how many times my mother coughs so hard in an hour that it still surprises me she hasn’t lost a lung?
I wonder if all the money that she spends at the gas station on that tiny cardboard box was saved instead of spent, if she could manage to pay the bills before the late notice arrived in the mail.
How many times do you think she tries to quiet the change being pushed around the tabletop as she counts out the quarters, the dimes, the nickels, the pennies before she has enough to slide the coins across the counter at the station?
How many times is her anger thrown at me because nicotine is absent from the house?
I can only imagine the color inside her chest, protecting her lungs with a black tar after too many years of flicking a flame to a thin white candlestick stuck between her lips.
The house smells of smoke and the yellow filter lines the walls, around the frames that hang themselves by nails.
I clean the mirror and see the paper towel golden from the lingering tobacco. My clothes reek of a stench so strong no amount of perfume seems to be enough.
I’m paranoid that every time I’m in a room of people and someone mentions that it smells like smoke, if they know I harbor such a scent that I pour it off second handedly as if I inhale the drug too.
I open the mailbox and the temptation to “lose” the coupon booklet addressed to her grows stronger.
The business cards labeled with a barcode on the back subtracting a dollar off when you buy two packs strengthens the urge to scrabble up the silver coins or summons the question, “do you have five dollars? I’ll pay you back when I get paid on Friday.”
Friday never comes.
I often think about how much longer it will be until all the money spent on tiny cardboard boxes will be split between tobacco and medical bills.
How long can you smoke a pack a day and still be cancer-free?
And I wonder how it’s fair to watch your mother gamble with her life each time she places a thin cigarette between her lips.
Russian roulette with cancer is a game she’s become too good at.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Subtracting his half from the word together,
burning pictures and nicknames so they don't leave a trace,
he's pining in piles of unopened letters.
With a head full of pulp and a heart of wet leather
he spent every tear he had in his face
subtracting his half from the word together.
He'd given his best 'cause he thought she'd had better-
she starved for attention; he hated the taste,
pining in piles of unopened letters.
She flew from the nest in search of warm weather;
he blew out the flame, too numb to touch base,
subtracting his half from the word together.
When the weather grew cold she put on his sweater-
pitched a tent by her mailbox just in case-
while he's pining in piles of unopened letters.
One held on to their end while one cut the tether.
She licked 32 envelopes: each went to waste.
Subtracting his half from the word together,
he's pining in piles of unopened letters.
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
511
If you were coming in the Fall,
I’d brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in *****
And put them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the numbers fuse—
If only Centuries, delayed,
I’d count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman’s Land.
If certain, when this life was out—
That yours and mine, should be
I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity—
But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee—
That will not state—its sting.
2.7k
Fifteen inches LCD
Electronic mouse
And bunch of scratches of sheets.
There were roof lines
Valleys and ridges
Encircling the overlapping layers
Some are frozen, some are hidden.
Estimation and calculation
Uttering numbers
With various actions.
3D walls
Inserting commands
Subtracting openings
Including doors and windows.
The formula was easy
To multiply and subdivide
Real aesthetical features
Future renovation
For firm edification.
(6/30/14 @xirlleelang)
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
I wish I could write about balance
Yet it seems much is lost with me
Like the philosophy that used to define
Or the friends who used to get high
Yes, it seems I have aged for the worse
Becoming the very thing I fought against
The usual nine to five employee
Whose life revolves around a clock
Desperately waiting for the ringing bell
So that I might go home just to start over
"Can you help me with my homework?"
I'm a father now and having a purpose
Helps to cleanse the monotony
Yet, there is always that lingering thought
Who am I
Is this balance?
Or is balance lost?
The uncertainty is maddening as I return to the present
"Life is the geometric progression of experience"
It slips out and they want and explanation
"Please, Dad!"
I internalize my struggle
As I struggle to reconnect with my former philosopher
So I draw two dots for them
One is me now and one is me then
"Boys, this dot here is who your father was"
"This other dot is who he's become"
"Perhaps the value of the latter is less than its former"
"Maybe mathematics got it wrong and real value doesn't have a power"
"Or ratio to determine greatness"
"What if the father you know now is less than the man he was"
"Like that negative sign I find myself subtracting"
"Removing years and tears and time"
"In an attempt to find that simple balance"
"Possessed by a mind without a factor"
The boys look up to me as I hide my shame
They know men do not cry
"Its okay Dad, we love you for who you are now"
"You've become more than just a simple number"
"To us, you are the worlds greatest father"
There it is
I think to myself
I am found
The reason I continue through the pain
(Balance Regained)
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
Tell me how,
One person can divide into
Three perfectly psychotic sentiments
While still appearing to be whole
Tell me how
Multiplying your kindness only
Creates a rift between myself and patience
And ends with nights of contemplation followed by tumultuous
Back-and-forths with imaginary numbers
For I am no mathematician
I cannot find a solution to every concrete problem
I do not bother with equations or substitutes
I only skim the symbol, rewrite questions and leave the answers hanging in the air
Tell me why,
Subtracting victims from my life
Only added a murderous sentiment
To every repeating decimal that couldn’t find its’ place
Tell me why,
The quadratic formula is emblazoned in my memory
But everyone keeps throwing opposites at me
So forgetting whether to add or to subtract becomes hazy
And the square root gets suspended until next class, so the
Four drops off the plane, two goes insane, and
Letters lose their fictitious meanings
For I am no mathematician
Archimedes is finding the constant of my triangular coffin
While Newton is rolling in his gravity
Carl Gauss is busy laughing his *** off with fundamentals in his eyes and
Descartes keeps whispering incoherent Latin, migraines sprinting towards me
As if in a race
So don’t ask me
Whether or not you should divide by zero
Or whether it requires sine, cosine, or a tangent
My logic will not tell you anything you want to hear
I am through trying to piece together this imaginary puzzle
And I’ve had enough of playing this never-ending game
Because I’ve been through two continents, and 4 different states
And I still don’t know the meaning of my name.
For I am no mathematician
The only pie charts I am fond of,
have to do with sugar and preheating an oven to 450 degrees
And with every cubic centimeter
I start thinking of cubes of cheddar cheese
For I am no mathematician
I can’t graph a simple line
I don’t understand the dimensions of the polygon shown above
And I’m tired of wasting precious time
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
A desperate desperado shivering as the sun sets,
casts it's silky shadows upon the hollows below.
Beneath the cascading denizens of light,
a puff of smoke waltzes across the December sky,
a patient without his insurance with nothing left but
callous empty third-person reassurance,
"everything will be better" as she said.
But better is always easy when your hand isn't writing the letter.
Save your proverbs for an open ear,
this one is half deaf and full of itself,
despite your intent,
your lack of action perpetuates malcontent.
After all we're all just passing moments
gone and forgotten, evicted,
convicted of being a gutless mime,
going through the motions,
minus a true notion.
A confused calculator short circuiting under an oil leak
spitting out numbers, complicating already complicated complexities
subtracting numerals adding funerals
dividing families multiplying tragedies
It's just a numbers game, and we can't participate
we're just the studio audience, recorded live without any life.
Flashing signs tell us when to laugh and when to cry,
pre-determined automated messages contrived to convince.
And I'm stuck spinning in the corner,
with my hands on my head.
Senselessly blurting out: Why?!
But don't mind me, I'm just another lost soul
trapped with my head in the sky.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
Chaotic unveiling
A tangle of desperate heat
And numbing chills
The labored breaths of
Passionate caution
Sweet adventure with a
Grippingly commonplace
Pattern
Noticing each smooth
Imperfection in the
Harsh fluorescent darkness
Secretly conscious of your
Awkward grace in the
Fluid transition of
Angles and sides
The indignation of
Chaste, stolen
Caresses
And-
Too quick
It’s over, fading into
Uncomfortable aftermath
Subtracting yourself
Adding your modesty
Dividing your dignity
And leaving.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
~
Waves of Love.
I will rise above the sea of myst
Glistening clouds I’ll kiss
Joyfully singing as Krishan I visit
O holy spirit
I fumble my words but I love you so
The one for whom we are given loving glow
My structure more or less rigid I know
Time to just go ahead and let it flow
Making sweet usic with keystrokes
Enduring nothing, loving for show
The light of a universe creating illusion
The confusion, always eluding
It is to known I will say it cldarly
The universe is made of love
So come on, get near me!
Not me, physical, though you may if you wish
But me the consciousness
For it is awareness
The giver of all that is
And I am so grateful
That I could give you all a kiss
Hi neighbors
Hi family
Hi friends
Hi lovers
We all need to begin
By loving each other.
@
Location
Troubling always
When you believe in location
As if there are some
And they are more valuable.
The world is not made of locations
It is always here
It is always here.
Location is mental
It is narrative of instrument
Be
Free
Live
#
123 numbers
One is Unity
Two is Separation
Three is Creativity
Four is Rationality
Five is the World
Six is Man
Seven is Heaven
8 is Infinity
9 is the End
10 begins again
Eleven is Unity
$
Money
Imaginary wealth
To distract us
From what truly is
%
100 of it is Love
^
As above
So below
&
And then…
Light
*
Stars that twinkle stars that shine
Hint at something, more divine
If you stay you’ll hear a message
“Don’t forget
You are a blessing!”
(
I think a lot of thoughts
But they are not me)
_
Floors don’t exist
And never
Is imaginary
+
Adding and subtracting is futile
The nature of the game
Is always 0
!
How could I forget
To exclaim
My name
K
Emanuel!
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
Enlighten Me-
I’m always underestimating self-master bating-
Graduated-
At the top of fund frustration-
My motivation needs money relations-
The contemplation of money making has my mind at a constant hating-
My breaking patience-
Has my mind like a **** relating-
Regulations of all my banking-
See my bank account disintegrating-
I’m suffocating-making payments-Late fee statements-
Debit-Credit-Cash-oking
Debit-Credit-Cash-oking
Racking bills my back is breaking-my nerves are shaking-
Shaking more than I anticipated-
Now I’m here with a life to fear-
Writing till my mind is clear-
Writing till I feel what’s real-
Writing till I seal a deal-
Multiplying-
Adding-Subtracting-and dividing-
Signing more checks than providing-
It’s suicide I’m not denying-Rhyming trying its crucifying-
Clocking in before the sun is rising Grinding flying hoping griming-living life nine to fiving-
Its re-revising-Re-defining-Rectifying-
More so that I think I’m hiding-
Killing with finical violence-Violating my banks alliance-
Maxing plastic so fantastic now I need some re-advising-interest rates have a grown man crying-Million dollars seem so un-winding-
Now I’m whining-
Constant buying-
Gas rates got me into biking-riding-fighting-
Just surviving-any discount seems so delighting-winning lotto seems o-so-righteous-buy one get one is so exciting-
Boot leg buying I ain’t lying-
Being broke is constant rewinding-It’s reminding-so relying-over drawing is my new binding-it’s confining-so I’m finding-Making takings of my disliking-Making takings that are so dang freighting-dollar scratchers are so inviting-
But this realization is so enlightening-
Moving as fast as a bolt of lighting-
I’m asking you G-d to help me like this-
I’m feeling the pain and I think I might just-
ROB ME A BANK-
BY:
RICHARD ITSKOVICH
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC
We're eating jellyfish
We're crashing oranges
We're bleeding evidence
We're smashing elements
We're erecting animals
We're subtracting syllables
We're electing cannibals
We're extracting visceral
We're worshipping magicians for a piece of the pie
We're recruiting musicians for a sound from on high
We're creating beauticians for a smack on the thigh
We're repeating contritions for an act un-divine
We're poking and prodding as we sing lullabies
We're rocking and rolling as she shifts to the side
We're planting and plowing as the baby lays quiet
We're twisting and shouting from the vat where we writhe
Rockabye baby, you've sure grown up fast
Let me embrace you, before I suffocate you
Rockabye baby, you've sure grown up fast
Let me cradle you, before I blast you away
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 8:50 PM UTC
Adding and subtracting
Can seem easy sometimes
Adding a little bit of ourselves
And subtracting a little bit there
Until we no longer recognize ourselves
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC
Picasso had it right, you know...
there is no such thing as perfect.
Yet, there is gratitude in the flaw;
there is hope in the falsehood.
She appeared to me
as the manifestation of a fantasy.
I thought that
the perfection within her
blossomed her appearance as symmetry.
The madness
of my obsession cemented
upon her scent.
The string instrument
vibrations of my heart so nuanced,
so rare, yet, so familiar a dream as to be recollections
of heaven.
If she, living, tastes like love,
do delicious pastries
taste like death
The more I knew of her,
the less I knew
pain,
until...
From our love,
so robust in its ripeness,
time gormlessly gorged upon us,
and we decayed,
like seeds in the apple
trapped and never to be free.
It was then that I saw her flaws
and it seemed they were "real"
The distortions grew numerous
and each beauty lost appeal,
peeling away to slowly reveal
the scars that Frankenstein
couldst never, ever heal,
for his monster's myriad scars
are the pillars of its humanity...
Picasso measured the conflicted angles,
and saw perfection would rob them of life.
It is the awkward jostling of misshapen things
that gives them movement, as they ever so try to
shift into place, but if they were to do so,
they would be as the yonder rock,
or the caged boiling soup
of ancient fuel all
perfection
will
be
...
So
I let her go;
I freed myself of
the death I refused to
become. And when she broke,
I told her,
"When you are whole,
you will be happy to break, again."
Break bread with love.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 5:06 PM UTC
There's this myth that it takes half the time you spent loving someone to let them go. (Six)
Half the time to forget what you keep remembering. (the ***
Subtracting yourself from the equation to see what's left. (a mess)
Twice the one night stands to fill the void. (quick fix)
Just six months to accept what you'll never feel again. (his lips)
There's a myth to letting go.
Six months to never remember. (never forget)
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
I find time
Equals age lines
Curving across
Swerving under
Eyes and open pores
Time equals
Exhaustion
Frustration
With the lack of
Speed and clarity
Of my thought
Processes
Killing my creativity
Time equals
Dying flesh
Proffering
Shiny black coffins
And dusty grey stone
Monuments
Time equals
Wisdom gain
Subtracting
Knowledge lost
In forgetting
In letting
The one inevitable
Come
Time equals life
But mostly death
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
Net Present Value
**NPV can be described as the “difference amount” between the sums of discounted future inflows and outflows. It compares the present value of something today to the present value of that thing in the future, taking into account, "discounting" for inflation and returns into account.
Something now is more valuable than later on, because it can invested to make more.**
the value today of your self,
the future discounted for all
you have
yet to learn,
yet to earn,
the mistakes,
the losses,
yet to be incurred.
netting the modest successes
now past, of long ago,
against the sum of
too many failings as
father and son,
poet and man.
time is short now,
nearer to the end than
many streams of new inflows.
the discount rate:
looking in the mirror,
this presence,
this who I am,
the what I be,
adding in, subtracting out,
the inflation of dreams,
+ / -
the deflation of disappointments.
yet, compelled to do,
iterate daily,
the calculation of who,
never-ending,
continuously solving
for my own
net present value.
http://www.mathsisfun.com/money/net-present-value.html
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
therefore, thereafter, impossible wisdom
add to life
reduce simplify anticipate estimate and create,
purposed all by addiction to addition
a construct, a concert, of constant query,
is my next possess, my finger extended,
is my hand wrapping a gainful employ,
is for goodness all the days of my life
my next breath, my next detailed act
a greater or lesser, a contribution bettor,
an enlargement of the bottom line netter,
therefore and forever thereafter,
this impossible wisdom,
the arc of addition to the supply of oxygen,
the goodness gas, lies in the subtracting
of the unnecessary excess, by moderation at the limit,
all the days of our lives, especially the nights
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 10:48 PM UTC
I want to feel the serene sounds of the hovering breeze
caress my chiseled cheeks and my inner core, curl up against
my hazel eyes and eyebrows, its equations of existence speaking
poetic notes within my eternal being, reciting a thousand shimmering languages over my body and soul, the way my cracking muscles rise into a circle of galaxies, farther outward in a realm in sync with Saturn, mirroring a marvelous maze of infinite, single-spaced designs highlighting the lucid landscape, illuminating its extreme brilliance and fiery passion, sparking a range of exotic highs intensifying in flight across the horizon, adding spectacular two-dimensional creations in various angles, multiplying and dividing, subtracting and combining into an immense infinity of captivating chemistry spanning the universe, how the drumbeating trees soar into a jubilant song, their magnificent leaves harmonizing with the internal rhyme, lifting towards the enchanting sky, feeling the warm air slowly shifting into a breaking beat, a rebirth of hypnotizing depths blazing its existence beyond reality, distant from the diminishing downbeats that used to pound its spinning pain upon torn dimensions, drifting into a dangling glossary of worthless words echoing through the night. I could feel the blasting intensity drumming its bass lines within this magical kingdom, every amazing thought sifting inside my heart.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC