"triangles" poems
she's young, she said,
but look at me,
I have pretty ankles,
and look at my wrists, I have pretty
wrists
o my god,
I thought it was all working,
and now it's her again,
every time she phones you go crazy,
you told me it was over
you told me it was finished,
listen, I've lived long enough to become a
good woman,
why do you need a bad woman?
you need to be tortured, don't you?
you think life is rotten if somebody treats you
rotten it all fits,
doesn't it?
tell me, is that it? do you want to be treated like a
piece of ****
and my son, my son was going to meet you.
I told my son
and I dropped all my lovers.
I stood up in a cafe and screamed
I'M IN LOVE,
and now you've made a fool of me. . .
I'm sorry, I said, I'm really sorry.
hold me, she said, will you please hold me?
I've never been in one of these things before, I said,
these triangles. . .
she got up and lit a cigarette, she was trembling all
over.she paced up and down,wild and crazy.she had
a small body.her arms were thin,very thin and when
she screamed and started beating me I held her
wrists and then I got it through the eyes:hatred,
centuries deep and true.I was wrong and graceless and
sick.all the things I had learned had been wasted.
there was no creature living as foul as I
and all my poems were
false.
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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
It's not that I don't love you. It's the time I read my mom's old journals and every other paragraph included my fathers name. It's that he cheated on every girlfriend he had with my mom. It's that my mom didn't care she was a second choice or a one night stand. It's that my mother never talked to anyone about him after he got married to one of the many girlfriends. It's that she took twenty sleeping pills on the night of what would've been their anniversary. It's that he doesn't even know she's dead.
It's not that I don't love you. It's the couple I overheard in the bread aisle arguing over wheat or white. It's that I heard the woman say a lot of "she" and **** and I saw her crumble to the ground. It's that he just shook his head and said he was sorry over and over again.
It's not that I don't love you. It's that my best friend is in love with a boy on the other side of the country. It's the morning she took a shower and cried over him. It's that he wasn't even awake to do anything about it. It's that he's always three hours behind and thousands too many miles away. It's that I mean both physically and mentally sometimes.
It's not that I don't love you. It's my geometry teacher, who brought up her husband when she taught me tangents. It's that she also brought up her husband when she taught me the circle unit
too. It's that she gets quiet and smiles after she talks about him. It's that he's been passed away for seven years now and she still has so much to say. It's that she still wears her wedding ring. It's that when she taught me special right triangles, I wondered what her laugh might sound like if he were still here.
What I'm trying to say is; It's not that I don't love you. It's that I do.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
Scalene Triangle: Here no sides or angles are the same.
Isosceles Triangle: Here two sides and angles are same.
Acute Triangle: Here all three angles are less than 90º.
Obtuse Triangle: Here one angle is greater than 90º.
Equilateral Triangle: Here all sides & angles are the same.
Right Triangle: Here one angle is equal to 90º.
And the most common triangle is...
Love Triangle: Here a lover usually cheats on the other.
I unluckily have gotten stuck in all these 7 triangles.
Never deserved to be cheated but still got cheated.
I can not hate them but still, I so often get hated.
And the mathematical triangles only bothered.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 1:51 AM UTC
A
Triangle
Is the place
Where two lines meet,
Dreaming more than I sleep,
The death of love is a beautiful thing,
Hiding mistakes I will never make again,
We are just old lovers living new days now,
I don't know much but I know two things
My passion may be impure,
But my love is clean.
~LC~
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
We had one thing in common
And we both betrayed him.
What were you, to me, before that?
An almost friend.
Except that isn't quite true...
I realise now,
You were always my dormant lover,
There was always something else,
Something undefinable
Until you defined it.
Before, before,
You were his, not mine,
He was yours, and mine,
I was his, yet somewhere deep inside,
Also yours.
I have never liked triangles
I was always intimidated
By the power of three.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
I'm sitting in the big chair
Taking my fingers and tracing them over the patterns
I'm making shapes and scratching into the fabric
A thread or two tug and make a noise as they cling to the tips of my nails
I'm looking at the wallpaper
Slowly moving my eyes and counting every stripe on the wall
White, blue, red, blue, white
I count 136 before i lose my place and have to start all over again
i notice a flaw in the pattern and move on
I'm closing my eyes and resting
Trying my hardest to ignore your gaze and your difficult questions
I don't speak
I don't listen
I don't feel
I just sit and rest
136 stripes, 208 triangles, 2 flaws- one in the wallpaper, the other is me
That's why i'm sitting in the big chair today
With the lady i don't care for
Listening to questions i don't know the answers to
Ignoring her cry for some sort of reply
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
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
Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy HANDS bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
And lima beans.
Her jowls shiver in accusation
Of crimes cliched by Repetition.
Her children, strangers
To childhood's TOYS, play
Best the games of darkened doorways,
Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of
Other people's property.
Too fat to *****
Too mad to work,
Searches her dreams for the
Lucky sign and walks bare-handed
Into a den of bereaucrats for her portion.
'They don't give me welfare.
I take it.'
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Love triangles never work out you see.
One loves another, who simply loves someone else.
You wait to see if your love will notice you,
or you just standby and watch the love that should've been yours.
Sometimes they look at you and make you wonder,
what if they have feelings for me too and just don't know how to show it!
You talk to them and carefully drop hints, to which they never pick up.
So you decide to be aggressive, and make the first move.
You proclaim your love through letters, texts, and even posts.
Only to be denied and publicly embarrassed.
When you're the lowest you can possibly go,
you notice something out of the corner of your eye.
You turn and see someone sneaking quick glances at you.
You quickly realize that they are in the same position as you.
Stuck in the endless webs of love triangles.
You walk over, introduce yourself( even though they clearly already know)
You leave together realizing that you can't always have what you want,
but you can sure help others try.
You former lover is now single and lonely, but you no longer care.
You're with someone 10 times better than they ever were.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
He says crazy
I say creative
He says ******
I say ballsy
He says weird
I say wonderful
I love you
You love him
He loves her
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 11:29 PM UTC
In this trigonometric love equation
You're my arcsin,
You're my special angle,
Secretly placed
In that unit circle of feelings.
You may arrange my major arcs and diameters
Inside of it
Perfectly triangular,
Love will always have
The same ratio pi.
Our equation of love
Is seemingly incompatible.
It has philosophical numbers becoming
Common geometric shapes
Of love itself
Like hidden spheres
In triangles,
But in real terms of graphing
Our parallel lines of life
Went on forever not crossing at any point
Of this imperfect world.
Our love is, in fact,
A complex system of equations
With the same set of three unknowns
Searching their own values
It has a narrative statement.
You're my C.
You're mister C,
From c'telzing
From caleptikide
And from cataguerrillaism,
In this beautiful madness of love.
You know, our love is getting old
In concentric circles,
Those circles of time.
Extrapolate it to infinity, sweetheart,
You may be my semi-infinity
Until the end of the time,
That semi-infinity,
In which I lose myself
From time to time
Each time coming
From the same unique star
As that already existent
In an old Romanian novel,
Which is called
Lorelei.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 1:47 PM UTC
relaxing? relaxing would be a sin against myself. see God spun and wove golden bits of wisdom in these curls that are mine. see these curls spring loud with
songs of my Nubian
mothers and war cries of my Rasta fathers. see these curls bounce proud to the rhythm of tribal drums and the foot prints of my sisters from Manila reside
there as they roll
lumpia between the coils and springs. see these curls have moved sandstone bricks cross deserts, building divine architecture so perfectly aligned
with cosmos and
planets until Moses told Pharaoh to Let My People Go. these curls have traveled cross oceans and triangles packed like sardines squalid below the decks
of ships. see these
curls have been ***** by the nasty ***** in the big house and suffered sun strokes in cotton fields. see these curls sing loud and strong. See these curls
were branded and forced
at gunpoint behind ******** barbed wire fences gassed to death in the name of so called purification. see these curls bleed the pain of fire hoses and dog
bites and whites
only signs. see these curls wont back down gainst no burnin crosses gainst no swastikas gainst no elephant ******** talkin all that jazz on fox and cnn. see
these curls dance
wildly off beat to straight rhythms that drone on in 4/4 time c major sixty bpm. see these curls are Mas and my Grammas. see my curls are too proud to sit
back and chill and won’t take no **** or heat or hot air. see these curls cannot be contained in braids or scarves or jars of creamy crack. see
these curls dare you
to force them to
coerce them to
straighten up
their act. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls will not
******* relax.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
circles squares and triangles
shapes I learned as a kid
I trace them on your spine
I smile as you wiggle
your best attempt not to move
fingers move to make 3 points
like sliding on silk
my fingers skate across your body
tracing shapes from memory
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
Every firework reminds me of you.
But everything reminds me of you
So I guess that isn't so special.
But what can I do?
You keep me trailing behind you
Like a lost puppy
When I always thought I was the one
Guiding you.
You asked me how I love you
In what way do I
And I couldn't tell you honestly
Because I'm not entirely certain
But my times up.
I had my two weeks of peace
But the flame is back
And your just a moth flying blindly
To a false warmth
Of someone who is in love
Just not with you.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 9:57 AM UTC
I would part the seas
just so you don't get wet
but you would rather they did it.
I would fight every monster in Tartarus
just to keep you safe
but you don't care.
I would go to Hell and back
just cause you asked me to
but it doesn't matter, does it.
I was there by your side
when you were crying
but it's them you have your eyes on.
I love you
no matter what you say
but you love someone else.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
A bedspread on which bold, red and blue
esoteric, Tantric, motifs embrace
copulating triangles, the ideogram of cosmos
batik printed in vermilion on it's center
is spread, right there on the play-field of cupid
where the confluence is to happen,
a transmitting point of fecund energies to infinity,
a point on the spring board to transcendence
Beloved, here in the holy fire, receive in ecstasy,
the sacrificial offering I bring from the
incessant Ganga of my lineage,
Shakti and Shiva come in for divine union,
together here on the mark beyond time and space.
right in the center is "THE BINDU" the mystical point
both culmination and beginning of the 'beyond'
passage from here to timelessness of cosmos, we invoke.
Here Shakti is holy fire leaping up for Shiva's offering,
sublimated they fuse, may that be the seed for karmas lumenant.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 6:21 AM UTC
Polyamorous triangles float
past galaxies,
across time (da da da)
like some untangled thread,
each strand pulled infinitely
thin.
I think someone said:
we are as much as we try to be,
maybe;
but nothing more.
Triangles trying [to be]
squares, but missing the point –
lost associations, lost
between skull curves and
carbon ***** of tongue
spit (dee dee dee)
flipping bubbles through
air;
singing metal pot-lid banter
and clapping pavement with
rubber footprints;
existing in evanescence to the eye,
quicker, quicker, quicker, you see (la la la)
like time here on a ball
with defined surface area
always moving with each
sneeze and wind breeze.
Rock rocking
like nothing at all
while earthly bodies with
destructive ease never pause to ponder
the grandeur of bland neoteric needs;
god-fearing carbon pumping
earth, exploding earth and
******* in the hot air.
Shaped to fear some carbonic idea;
too geometric to care (da dee la).
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
You need to pay a sin tax
for the way you talk smack,
calling me your property
your syntax is making me
over. the. hill.
I’m heels over head with
you
making me crazy
the way that you speak
your diction’s too weak.
“you’re so nice”
how boring, I choose more
elegant words
to describe your glory
I could write
a five-page double-spaced
essay about you
and get accepted to your ivy league
I could wrap my
arms around you
like ivy on stone
hang you up to dry
on the
clothesline
til you answer the
telephone
I could cling to
you
like static
on your sweater
you better
not
flick.me.off.
Hell, my poetry ain’t free
it’s about as free as
slaves
I have confines, rules
bats in caves
It costs me thoughts
and time
and frustration
costs me more than just greenbacks
and a vacaction.
you need to pay up
talk isn’t cheap
your words cost you
attention
even if
my love don’t cost a thing
I train you like a golden
retriever
you retrieve my orders
like a wide receiver
my language is figurative
but your actions are derivative
you’re confusing me
like
trigonometry
love triangles are not my thing.
our
l θve i ∫ a sin(x)
cos we go off on
tangents and don’t know where to
begin
first we’re infatuated
then we’re done
next we’re inebriated
then we have some fun
happens so fast
then we come together at last
This rollercoaster of emotion
has me puking again
I’m trying to calculate this algorithm
in my head.
its so complicated
I’ll need something else instead.
in this kaleidoscope
I see
many sides
of you and me
I spin it round to try to understand
all I see is a blur of colors
even when I hold your hand.
I wish I could see
the thoughts you hide
from me
I want to understand
you’re radioactive
your face is glowing
even in pitch black
your smile is showing
but, I never get to see
your eyes
make me crazy
hazy
they trip me up
and pull me down
periodically, you’re in your element
and everything clicks
then we stick and the chemistry’s quick
but then you open your mouth
garbage spurts out
I think it’s about time
I take you out
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
In this tangled web of energies
emerges truth ,
lined with golden love.
Tentacles grasp and hold,
striving to keep smiles alive and well.
Forcing back negative entities.
We rebel primal ways,
expanding facets of creativity
To push forth,
To push off,
To find yourself somewhere in between.
Sunken in the sidewalk’s crevasse.
***** and beautiful, the lotus blooms in harmony
We’re here waiting;
seeking.
Trying to balance this chaos we’ve created.
Calming minds and steadying tides,
the ocean pulls by Luna’s force.
The subtle aspect,
when we have no control.
The moon rises.
Bending blood;
bending minds, bending emotions.
All subjected to planetary reactions
and protractions.
Measured by our willingness to flow.
Desperately trying to find solace.
We cave.
We faulter, and give in to the moonlight.
Taking in all it has to offer
and becoming reborn within the sun.
A new birth in the light.
Refreshed and retrieved,
we emerge from our reckless physicality
and burst through in spirit.
Gods.
Beings.
Light bodies.
Humans.
Tangible, broken and beautiful.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC
THERE was a wild pigeon came often to Hinkley's timber.
Gray wings that wrote their loops and triangles on the walnuts and the hazel.
There was a wild pigeon.
There was a summer came year by year to Hinkley's timber.
Rainy months and sunny and pigeons calling and one pigeon best of all who came.
There was a summer.
It is so long ago I saw this wild pigeon and listened.
It is so long ago I heard the summer song of the pigeon who told me why night comes, why death and stars come, why the whippoorwill remembers three notes only and always.
It is so long ago; it is like now and today; the gray wing pigeon's way of telling it all, telling it to the walnuts and hazel, telling it to me.
So there is memory.
So there is a pigeon, a summer, a gray wing beating my shoulder.
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There is a man
who writes signs
for the homeless,
puts different lives
on display,
spends his time
night and day
over squares of cardboard
or triangles of vinyl,
he turns them into
war vets
or leukemia survivors,
he slaves away
so that they'll get
people to listen,
he wants people
to hear the heart
of the world murmuring
as it cries,
because we have left
them,
their lack of a place
to reside,
is our society's dark side,
so he is not a man
of the people
he is a man for the people,
he wants that spare
nickel,
dime,
or dollar
as much for them
as his words
are for himself
and his own sense
of redemption,
because this world
has gone cold on the surface
but it's heart
still burns,
still makes you uncomfortable,
when you see his signs
in the hands
of men and women
in the grassy medians.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
Tripping' to sleep after the departure of the ******* puppets & scarecrows from new depth of perception.
dreaming will into existence. The day of the dinosaurs has come and gone.
We are but Tourist on this trip, So lets just watch the flowers bloom. Floating on the mist of a cold summer moon.
Lets us breath in the beauty all around us.
Triangles in the night sky,visions in our eyes
Circles around us,psychic tyranny
Beauty even in death. Its good to be alive
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
And that white hole
Quadrangular in every way
Open to Mexico outside
Perspective, as it will
Makes triangles that
Really aren't there
Maybe it’s like they say,
When my hopeful face asks
¿Que onda?
And the answer is still:
Ni cuadrada ni redonda
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
Finger paint my life,
as I painted as a child
Trees now bigger and intricate in style
Do you think that's were we went wrong
To much detail, branches and leaves
Oh Finger paint my life
I could finger paint triangles
Mum knew they were trees?
Aeroplanes had smiles
and way to many wings
Oh finger paint your life
Cats and dogs looked like horses and sheep
But Dad knew what I painted
And all that it ment
So get out the paint and start again
Focus on basic and not over complex
Oh Fingerpaint your life
It isn't the details, the finicky bits
Not how many branches with leaves at their tips
Look to the simple, look deep inside
Then paint with your fingers
A triangle at a time
Fingerpaint your life woo woo oo
Finger paint your life
Mmmhhhhmmm
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC