Day: November 10, 2018

Stan and standards

Stan was  trying to teach social statistics to a group of elderly neighbors.Since he was 109 it gave them all hope to see him demonstrating his prowess with various techniques.He was planning to do some logic and philosophy too.
Annie   his mistress was sitting by the door so she could answer the bell if any paramedics turned up for tea.
“I’m not going to calculate  the standard deviations” he murmured.”I just want you to grasp the general purpose.”
“Deviations,they’re not normal are they?” enquired his neighbor “Henry,an ex-English teacher.
”So how can they be standard? It’s confusing..”
“Are you thinking of deviants?” Stan enquired calmly yet firmly
”Certainly not,at my age .I’m a bit past that!””Still , it adds a bit of excitement to the class.” he thought.
How do words in ordinary language relate to those in Statistics?”asked Henry kindly
“They are just more precisely defined in statistics.To say someone is a deviant is a rather vague term.”
“No,it’s not!My neighbor is a deviant.He  dresses entirely in yellow.”
“Well,that must be hard to do.Certainly unusual.” Stan agreed boldly.
“But in another country that might be the norm.So it’s a matter of context.
In statistics, it’s more boring.There’s a formula.It’s totally independent of context.Have you ever wondered why so many mathematicians have more than a touch of Asperger’s syndrome?”

“No,it’s not something that wanders through my mind much”replied Henry
A shudder passed through the room at hearing the word “formula“, which perhaps they considered something of a deviant!Anything with letters and numbers mixed together is certainly not welcome in many people’s minds, along with their more unusual sexual tastes, desires ,and inclinations which were kept secret even from themselves in many cases.

“Time for tea.” called Annie,hoping to divert their attention.She carried in a platter of mouse sandwiches kindly donated by the local ambulance service and some iced Victoria sponge she and Stan had made the day before while Mary was giving a lecture on doughnuts and algebraic topology.
“Just a quick word about next week.We’ll take a look at ratios and proportions and maybe see how that relates to the concept of rationality.”
“That sounds fun!” Annie called encouragingly.Henry decided to act on a deviant desire and fell onto her lap.
”Oh,dear!” she gasped loudly as the chair collapsed under her.
”Why can’t you be deviant at home?”
“My wife won’t let me!” He kindlily answered.
“And look,” Stan continued,”we’ll have to ring 999.This chair is in fragments.I thought for one day we’d be able to avoid calling them out!”
“Well,life is not controllable.” said a quiet but fierce looking lady with sharp green eyes.
”That’s what makes it tolerable“
She then greedily consumed a large piece of iced cake .
“I can stand the thinking if the cake is good” she whispered to her shy friend Amy.
”That’s rather a feeble argument,”Amy retorted.”You can’t really compare cake and statistics.”
“I’ll compare anything I like!” the green-eyed woman snarled loudly.
“You do what you like but you must keep a sense of proportion!”
“Now then,have you rung 999?” Stan queried of Annie.”Yes,here they are,and they’ve got a stretcher for the chair!”
“Well,that’s certainly unusual,even deviant“,Stan thought anxiously to himself.
”Where do they get their funding? Is there a fund for distributing money to help chairs which are not fit for purpose?

In my lowness wait

His gentle touch conveyed what words  might say
But skin to skin we feel, we  learn, we know
That in my heart I felt what he displayed

Into this heart he  softly made his way
As  if he had a map, to quickly go
His gentle touch conveyed what words  don’t say

Like apple blossom in the month of May
The love. the beauty  and the breeze that blows
In my heart I recognised  his play.

Like a husband loving  and still chaste
His hands were guided  well both high and low
His gentle touch conveyed what words  cant say

Should such love be aberrant,lay waste
Death may come to hearts that overflowed
In my heart I recognised  his ploy.

So I kneel down and in my lowness wait
To  give new birth alone in desert grey
His lying touch spoke   truthfully to cry
That in his heart he  aches  and cannot  pray

Present with memories

A day of sudden changes.Clouds

cross the sky

like whales swimming North in rows.

The sun was bright,dazzled my eyes

with gold and silver.

Wind cut across my face

like a slap from an angry father..

Those who love can also seem to hate us too..

The lure of that small childish body

tempts them to divert their anger towards it.

When the ones who hurt you

are also the ones you love,

it’s hard to know which direction to run in;

but it usually turns into a circle.

Retreating turns into a new arrival.

Straight lines might be better. though

On a spherical earth

difficult to find.

Even parallel lines meet

In their Riemannian geometry.

So we can never get away

Sometimes the best we manage

Is to increase the circle’s radius.

Though how is hard to know.

Do you love me or hate me?

Do you want me to stay or go?

What do I want?Do I have a me?

The memory of warmth draws me back

Like a cold lonely beast leaving the jungle

To lie down with a what appears to be a lamb,

Surprising the farmer up early to milk his animals

Finding a strange new one

Looking with tender,puzzled eyes

into His Human Face.

Europe took their human ash within

In Bedzin and in Krakow they breathed in
What they denied in conscious thought or word.
The ashes of the Jews, the shades of skin

Penetrating lungs so deep within
The dead  unburied mixed, in air secured
In Bedzin and in Krakow, mortal sin.

The nearby people turned to burial urns.
The human dust by  breathing was allured
The ashes of the Jews, the shades of skin.

So  Europe took their human ash within.
A graveyard we became unknown, impure.
In Bedzin and in Krakow, more of sin.

And who they thought destroyed  lived on in them
Controlled their lungs, their hearts  their minds uncured,
The ashes of the Jews,  borne in their skin.

Like a mass communion without words
We ate and breathed the Jews, the gays, unheard
In Bedzin and in Krakow  we walked in
The ashes of the lost, the glades of skin,

To wit, to woo

Wurve yew been?
Ah fell of’t buzz
Owcome?
Mi glasses wer wet
Y?
There wur a thunderstorm
Did weeavit  ‘ere?
Did y’ear awt?
Ah can’t say adid
Wot wer ye doin’
Ask ye dad.
Ah feel shy
Oh,my.Is it  social globia?
No it’s  quite flat
Up ‘ill down dale
That must bi Yorksheh
It’s a  metafor?n
Matter fr oo?
Metaphor  ah meant
Ha.ve ye bin studying again
Ah can’t stop
Y az the mind no switch?
It’s not electric
Well what izzit, Gas?
That might expiain  ‘tbill
Too Woo

She frightened the hearses

I unthinkingly trod on his  con-technology
Marriage is window dressing  for the unfaithful
On all my worldly goods  she  love endowed
Shall we   have breakfast instead?
My honeymoon was a state of kind
I never liked  the holes in truth.
I’ll be judge,I’ll be jury, we’ll persecute Fury.
She lost her wits to the owl, Too Woo.
I like to share my bed  with animals,vegetarians  or criminals
Why do I look a fright?
She frightened the hearses
Did she say where her purse is?
New curses for sale.Any offers inserted.

Un-think your poetry

14449897_781937775279436_4661031072955695838_n1http://writersrelief.com/2009/11/09/un-think-your-poetry-how-to-write-better-poems/

Beginning{

1. To write better poems, turn off the part of your brain that is conscious of what other readers might think of your poetry. Let your subconscious do the writing. Don’t go chasing after the words you want to write; instead, follow the words as they come from within you. Don’t censor, second-guess, or hesitate. Just open your mind so that it can make connections that you might not consciously see.