Jeremy Corbyn
Gets up every morning
He looks  at his phone
Utters mobile groans
Will he never accept
His campaign has been wrecked?
He’s got no charisma
Just a greyish miasma
But psychopaths win
And he is not one
Well,I am done
I want some more fun

The vicious never pause  or hesitate
They run towards us with  their eyes  aflame
For others, doubt’s  as natural as fate

What of those whose vocation is debate?
They love to argue, meddle and play  games
The vicious never  pause  or hesitate

For myself, my actions are delayed
As I wonder if my actions suit my aims
For others, doubt’s as natural as fate

But if we doubt, we may decide too late
And other stronger people reach their aims
The vicious never  pause  or hesitate

In our souls, we need a silence to create
And people may perceive us to be lame
For others, doubt’s as natural as fate

Many people desire much wealth and fame
A desire which, when achieved , leaves them insane
The vicious never pause  or meditate
For others, doubt will make them only late

Our Other who stars in Heaven,
Spell me your Great Name.
Your wisdom comes
And Angels’ sums
Add up all human pain.
Thy love is felt,
Though we live in doubt
About the human game.
Give us delay
On bankers pay,
And forgive us our lacklustre efforts
As we  try to forgive those who lack humanity with us,
And guide us into a Demonstration
To make plain to the Nation
The evil done to the Poor,
The Disabled,the Mentally Ill,
And their Carers.
For Thine is the Trial
At the Hour of the Bible Story
We hope but are nervous.
Amen

Jeremy Corbyn
Seems to alarm ’em
What’s he not done
To give them their fun?
He’s much too left wing
Attlee was wrong.
Jeremy, my saviour
Smarten up your behaviour
They got Michael Foot
For wearing wrong coats.
Should we adapt to reality
Or stick  hard to fidelity?

http://health.usnews.com/wellness/articles/2016-04-19/the-psychological-impact-of-victim-blaming-and-how-to-stop-it

Extract

Image by Kate

How Big is Infinity? by Tony Crilly

http://www.logicalfallacies.info/

“Once it has been decided what is to count as a logical fallacy, the question remains as to how the various fallacies are to be categorised. The most common classification of fallacies groups fallacies of relevance, of ambiguity, and of presumption.

Arguments that commit fallacies of relevance rely on premises that aren’t relevant to the truth of the conclusion. The various irrelevant appeals are all fallacies of relevance, as are ad hominems.

Arguments that commit fallacies of ambiguity, such as equivocation or the straw man fallacy, manipulate language in misleading ways.

Arguments that commit fallacies of presumption contain false premises, and so fail to establish their conclusion. For example, arguments based on a false dilemma or circular arguments both commit fallacies of presumption.

These categories have to be treated quite loosely. Some fallacies are difficult to place in any category; others belong in two or three. The ‘No True Scotsman’ fallacy, for example, could be classified either as a fallacy of ambiguity (an attempt to switch definitions of “Scotsman”) or as a fallacy of presumption (it begs the question, reinterpreting the evidence to fit its conclusion rather than forming its conclusion on the basis of the evidence).”

When logic’s overvalued, it deceives
The premises are not examined well.
Reason’s based on what the eye receives.

It utilises just what we perceive.
Recollect exactly how Troy fell
While logic is so valued, it deceives

In the minds of rogues, tricks are conceived
Things look safe but one can’t  always tell
Reason’s based on what the mind receives.

Our prejudices alter all our views
From boredom to excitement feel, the thrill
While logic is so valued, it deceives

Another influence is the media news
We are altered without using any will
Reason’s based on what the mind receives.

Even when aware it happens still
And so the  great deceivers make their kill
When logic’s overvalued, it deceives
Reason’s based on what the mind perceives.

A strange complaint is that of being alive,
Of breathing, eating, sleeping,taking walks
When our loved one has gone, yet we survive

When will the will to live once more revive?
And depressive darkness stop its winding stalks
A strange complaint, we hate to be alive.

Of touch and affect we are long deprived.
With empty bottles, rattle  silver forks
When our loved one has gone, yet we survive

What loving kindness makes us wish to strive?
What black interior hole cannot be corked?
A strange complaint is that of being alive.

Should we not be thankful for our lives?
This is hopeless if it is just thought
When our loved one has gone, yet we survive

Is a life of solitude too fraught?
Are there no companions in talk?
A strange complaint is that of being alive,
When our loved one has gone,  shall we survive?

The spring is turning into summer cool.
The talk is of elections and of votes
In politics, hot venom seems to rule

Where is he, the long  lost holy fool
What  is it his absence now denotes
The spring is turning into summer cool.

I see the pansies, purple as my jewels
The cat has shed his heavy winter coat
In politics, hot venom seems to rule

I  find the candidates talk long and cruel
The rich are pandered to  like holy goats
The spring is turning into summer cool.

The lack of choice and principle adds fuel.
For Syrian,s life is hell, it’s not remote
For  warmongers, hot venom seems to rule

For any point of view, there is a quote.
I have many cruel to annotate.
The heart evaporates  as devils brawl
In politics, hot venom  torments  all

Random apples
Fall silently
On unknown Newtons

The ratio of  radius  so clear
And circumference which is  all round
The circle I once loved and feared

This measure  is not any integer
Nor a ratio of two, which might be sound
It is no number in my algebra.

What can  it be that caused the Greeks despair
That sent their mathematics underground?
A number with address and haughty air.

Did they say to God, it is unfair
We all go round and round and round and round
This problem sends  us  into quiet despair

But God themself hides in such lairs
He or  she is found on holy ground
We must seek  the truth with our mind’s nwares

God  has complex motives, numbers’ ground
She likes to  tease and zero has been learned
Oh , the line of  radii so dear, so near
Of the circles I  did so much revere

I found so severe.
The ground now upward rears
God  has never cared
I gave asylum shared

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-travis-bradberry/14-psychological-forces-t_b_9752132.html

This is a very interesting article

“Given the right circumstances, good people can get caught up in some very bad things. More often than not, psychology is to blame.

When it comes to unethical behavior, good people don’t tend to go right off the deep end like Bernie Madoff or Kenneth Lay. Rather, the mind plays tricks on them, pushing them down the slippery slope of questionable behavior.

“Integrity is doing the right thing, even when no one is watching.”
-C. S. Lewis

Dr. Muel Kaptein, Professor of Business Ethics and Integrity Management at the Rotterdam School of Management, has studied bad behavior for decades. A study he recently published sheds considerable light on what motivates good people to do bad things.

What follows are 14 of Dr. Kaptein’s most compelling findings into how the mind tricks good people into losing their moral compass and going astray.

The compensation effect. The compensation effect refers to the tendency for people to assume they accumulate moral capital. We use good deeds to balance out bad deeds, or alternately, we give ourselves breaks from goodness, like a piece of chocolate after a week of salads. This makes people more inclined to do bad things under the guise of “I’m a good person” or “It’s just this one thing.”

The power of names. What you name something is important, as it can skew people’s sense of reality. If companies assign unethical practices simple and humorous euphemisms (like “financial engineering” for accounting fraud), employees are less likely to take their unethical behavior seriously. Thomas Watson, the founder of IBM, was famous for saying, “Doing business is a game, the greatest game in the world if you know how to play it.” Something as simple as calling business a game can make people less likely to see that their actions have serious, real-world consequences.

Cognitive dissonance. Cognitive dissonance is the discomfort humans feel when they hold two contradictory opinions or their behavior is inconsistent with their beliefs. It’s one of the strongest psychological forces driving human behavior, and it can be overcome with a high EQ. When people who feel they are good do bad things, cognitive dissonance makes them ignore this behavior because they can’t tolerate the inconsistency between their behavior and their beliefs.”……. see link

http://thetedhughessociety.org/poetryinthemaking/

“Poetry in the Making is not a fusty pedagogical treatise on prosody but an attempt to inspire and guide the young “to more purposeful efforts in their own writing” [2].  Hughes insists that a course of creative writing should not teach “How to write” but “How to try to say what you really mean” [3].  His emphasis in Poetry in the Making is not on learning the formal “manners” of poetry but on developing the writer’s imagination and his discipline and courage to engage with and capture his own thoughts and feelings.  For Hughes, the most important artists are the inspired visionaries not the craftsmen.

Hughes draws on his own writing experiences throughout Poetry in the Making, describing, for example, the evolution of ‘Thought Fox’, and so the book offers an overview of the author’s poetics, his preoccupations, and his ideas about the creative imagination and the function of art.  He believed that all true art was the unmediated expression of the artist’s hidden, inner self which is “the voice of what is neglected or forbidden” [4].  He warned that “to live removed from this inner universe of experience is also to live removed from ourself, banished from ourself and our real life”[5]  So, for Hughes, the purpose of art is revelatory and therapeutic; in allowing the inner-life to speak, in articulating its demands, the writer heals himself. “

Numbers transcendental fill my mind
I dream of them in glowing letters gold
Logarithms help me  when  my love’s declined

Who can do the work, to seek, to find?
Pi , the first, in Temple was deployed
Numbers transcendental fill my mind

Numbers like black coal we sometimes mine
Digging through the layers to find  and hold
Logarithms help me  when  my love’s declined

When I’m  sad , I like geometry’s lines
The shapes of ellipse, circle perfect, cold
Numbers transcendental fill my mind

As we progress , numbers seem divine
Their merits to the mind are undersold
Logarithms help me  when  my love’s declined

Take a pen and let your hand be bold
Draw a comic  section , be cajoled
Numbers transcendental  stole my mind
Logarithms help me  when  my love’s refined

Deep mysteries lie between   the numbers  whole
Ratios  have a logic  we accept
But, in between,  infinity dwells veiled

At first, one  merely counted  shark fin whales
Such numbers seem both simple  and direct
Yet mysteries  hide between  the numbers  whole

Sheep and goats  are counted  soon as well
But mystery  an hypotenuse   reflects
For at such points   infinity dwells veiled

A number which gives 2 when  squared itself
Can nowhere find a ratio to check.
Yes, mysteries lie between  our numbers  whole

The Greeks  rejected such irrational stealth
To geometry  only  they chose to connect
For on a  line, infinity dwells veiled

On infinite shores, their reason was well wrecked
And those who tried to measure circles found defects.
Deep mysteries lie between   the numbers  whole
On  lines and arcs infinity dwells veiled

The Mayday dances were at Whitsuntide
When round the maypole young folk liked to dance
This holiday is for the workers kind

At Whit, God’s spirit  came to his abode
Six weeks after Easter, not by chance
The Mayday dances were at Whitsuntide

There is no truth for a  post-modern mind
But words cannot convey a woman’s glance
This holiday is for  steel workers kind

There may be truth  and humans may be blind
A truth may be revealed by happenstance
The Mayday dances were at Whitsuntide

There is truth but not in human  terms
Why was Jesus’ side pierced by a lance
This holiday was for  coal miners kind

Now we live the stinging nettles  flounce
And striped tygers eye with elegance
The Mayday dances were at Whitsuntide
This holiday was for the workers’ minds

The Mayday festival  is here  again
What have I  not done and who’s to blame?
Will this ensure we get torrential rain?

I like to hear the patter on the panes
Like spirit drummers trying for some fame.
Will this ensure we get torrential rain?

Hark , I hear the blunders of a crane
I lit the candle, broke the window frame.
Will this ensure we get torrential rain?

My face is looking gorgeous  with its planes
To think of my great beauty, I’m ashamed
Will shame ensure we get torrential rain?

When I marry I shall have a train
I love railway tracks and boy’s own games
Will this ensure we get torrential rain?

By compulsions and obsessions, I’ve been maimed
My soul is twisted and my mind is lame
The Mayday festival  is here  again
Will God ensure we get torrential rain?

Eight reasons Leonard Cohen will live forever

Thinking about it, in the murder scene
you could probably
base quite a lot of this on  God’s twitter account,
which is surely the maddest, most empathic  Twitter account
Yet created by non-humans
He’s out there in  glorious  portraits,
looking remote and godly in sonorous garb.
He follows only two people: Joshua Nazareth and Mary.
Noone never replied to a single email or message
The last time he used a human word
It was in October 2045
Lean close to your Lord and his Twitter feed
He has wells of cologne, luxuriant mysteries, and inhuman loneliness.
Francis came to mind this week with the suggestion
He might have been an asylum seeker himself in the summer  of 1953
If one of Europe’s mega-racists had made
A suitable impassively odd bid for
Granchester Meadow and Sylvia Plath’s footprints
Both were mentioned, a story that has since been denied by Ted Hughes
[ its apparel resource. ]
Either way this is a rumour
Saving the grounds for a mile
And playing  Lutheran hymns v Real Vatican songs
And, by way of variation, Bach  singing to Leonard Cohen in bed

She sees her man is going  , lives   with strain
She wants to make it right, yet is not God
He  has not found the peace  some men attain

By now his choices and his will have gone
He has chosen his own measuring rod
She sees her man is dying, sees his strain

She has  killed the snake of bitter pain
And let her mercy flow like menstrual blood
He has not gained the peace my man attained

She will  stand  back from  this ruined reign
And must hope to make  her giving good
She sees her man is dying, what restraint.

The goodness of his death’s not hers to coin
Only her containment of his flood
He cannot find much peace  of mind again

She has made a frame; her kindness, wood.
And by  this doing, her own grief withstood
She sees her man is dying and he’s  strained
He’s not dreamed the peace  they  may attain

Christian, wise  they’ve  hacked the creed;
Let thy prayer  flow at good speed;
Leak no fright, perform the blues
Erase thy works and writs renew.

Eagles claws  align our veins
Free the  ghost her  years   detained
Perfect lav survived our rears
Made  in Devon but  they are still here