# Algebra

Standard

x
unknown
solve for me
make me equal
find me in myself
discover now my true value
magnitude, sign, precision digits
we will then complete perfect unity

# Rhyme Play

Standard

i like to set the written word to rhyme.
Though many find it not an easy way;
I think it shows that I am in my prime.

Although I know I’ll never see a dime,
I took this project as my own today.
I like to set the written word to rhyme.

My rhythmic stanzas might seem quite sublime
because I steer away from the cliche;
I think it shows that I am in my prime.

Some folks consider metric verse a crime–
as if they have to alter what they say.
I like to set the written word to rhyme.

Though my poetic fortunes may not climb
my meaning is quite easy to convey;
I think it shows that I am in my prime.

I choose to take that extra bit of time
to frame ideas in a rhymed array.
I like to set the written word to rhyme;
I think it shows that I am in my prime.

Standard

I wonder what a Google map would say.
For, couldn’t some of them convey me home?
And when you turn around, they lead away.

Now what of that one road less traveled by?
Since it is famous, surely there’s a throng.
Those who think celebrity is why
They should all get in line and go along.

And what of roads to riches or to hell?
Or those that Bob and Bing would sing along?
In truth, there are too many roads to tell.
In film and story, poetry and song.

Remember that a road is just a guide;
Which way you travel, only you decide.

# pow(x,y)

Standard

You can create a function to relate
the value of x raised to power y.
One clever way to exponentiate
is to repeat a simple multiply.

If y is zero, just return a one–
for ev’ry number, that will be the case.
And when y equals one, your work is done–

For ev’ry other value y can be,
just multiply by x, recursively.

# Why Poetry Sucks

Standard

Is poetry a craft or is it art,
aligning words in meter and/or rhyme?
A vehicle with meaning to impart,
Or just another way to waste some time?

Like anything, it’s all in point of view.
Some think that Quaker pronouns are required;.
A “thee” or “thou” instead of simply “you.”
But often what they write is uninspired.

Some feel that only rhythm is endorsed,
Or that it must have rhyme to be complete.
And oftentimes their work appears quite forced
Although they think themselves to be elite.

Still others try their hand at counted forms
Believing that the number makes it so.
And disregard the other sets of norms
That give this type of work its subtle flow.

Now, lest you think I hold myself aloof
From other poets whose works go awry.
Please notice that this piece is ample proof
That no one is more fallible than I.

# Let There Be Words

Standard

words create worlds
some say this world
is the word of god

god became man
as men became gods
crafting new worlds

each in his own image
alternate truths

# I Chose to Write

Standard

Since words elude my tongue, I chose to write
my declaration of intent to woo

Far more than mere affection, I invite
the words and acts that some say are taboo–
since words elude my tongue, I chose to write.

I wish my pen would set your eyes alight,
as all my hopes are placed within your view

Though you may see this note as impolite,
It nonetheless says only what is true.
Since words elude my tongue, I chose to write.

I strive to get each line exactly right
and pray that my sincerity comes through

All afternoon and on into the night
I pondered how to share these thoughts with you.
Since words elude my tongue, I chose to write

# Anniversary

Standard

we grow together
before and after we wed
our lives intertwined

# The Second Witch

Standard

You wonder at the pricking of my thumbs?
Exsanguination took my shriveled womb.
I now must pay the price when bleeding comes;
to conjure truth and warn men of their doom.

We counseled not, that he should slay the king.
But only that Macbeth was born to reign;
his wicked bride said murder was the thing
to elevate Macbeth to rightful Thane.

This was the second time he’d sought our scry–
afraid that Banquo’s heirs would seize his throne.
Again we three began to prophesy
though his interpretations were his own.

We told him of Macduff and Birnam Wood–
that he need fear no man of woman born.
But from our words he took only the good,
not seeing our intention to forewarn.

Because the bloodshed started in my hand,
his lady could not extirpate her stain.
Like, calling unto like–at my command–
Macbeth continued on his mad campaign.

“Lay on, Macduff,” he shouted, unafraid,
not knowing how Macduff had come to be.
Cut from his mother’s womb with sharpened blade–
We’d tried to warn him in our prophecy.

I smile to think how fate could be so cruel.
As now Macbeth lay still among the dead.
For Duncan’s son would have his chance to rule,
the crown now being placed on Malcolm’s head.

# Coronation

Standard

Old balding Oak King
pulls down clouds with bony hands-
fashions winter’s crown.