Keep safe,,….. Kill yourself now
Lost your head? You are better off without it.
Don’t believe me ?
He is that loseth his life shall save it. Jesus
Let go and relax.Die of starvation.Free to all in the Third World Claim it now
Category: reflections
Force
Denial worked for you for many years
When you nearly crashed when turning right
You give no hint that you had any fear
Denial worked for you for many years
Real though is the body,real the tears
As I sat beside you,well prepared
Your smile was not imagined,nor the light
Denial worked for you for many years
Once you nearly crashed, that was not right
When we turn our face the other way
The roving car will hit us with its force
No time for any thought,much less a prayer
When we turn our face the other way
We will feel the impact or we die
No new day will dawn for those who care
When their eyes are red, their voices hoarse
When we turn our face the other way
The speeding car will hit us with its force
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In between two numbers
In between two numbers there are so many more
Uncountable and infinite this is their allure
And then there is the circle, unmatchable, unsquare.
There is stern white beauty, the air is very pure
In between two numbers, a dancing pair can kiss
The band has paused to take a breath, the space is not amiss
The music has its rhythmic beat, how different from mere noise
Listen to the humming, listen to its voice
In between two numbers,puzzled and unsure
I try to guess the one you sent, your manners are obscure
Am I thinking in straight lines, when curves would tell me more
I see the comic sanctions that down on me will pour
In between two raindrops, in between two tears
In between our words and songs, love displaces fear
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Humming in the mind
Emotions flow like music in the mind
A humming deep within the very self
Even in our sleep the patterns wind
Transformed to opera,images and health
The hum of children’s voices is benign
Two and two are four, oh Alice knows
Who has made thes minds so well designed?
Who has suffered well the pain, the blow?
Cut out the music, worship reason pure
Kant the human suffered it in shock
And in his way he wandered as a cure
Konigsburg with bridges was well stocked
Freed up in our humming, glad to hear
The music of the heart, the dark, the spheres
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I write a line
It’s Sunday so I’m writing you a letter
I’ll tell you of the moments I enjoyed
Don’t worry cos I know I will get better
I wonder if a female poet’s coy
When she will not meet another’s eyes
When she thinks her cell phone is a toy
I’m mainly honest but sometimes I tell lies
Kant’s imperative can bring such joy
Then a doctor hints that I shall die
I learned that my own husband was annoyed
He wanted to divorce me but he fled
He was sort of introverted , shy.
He was very tender when in bed
He called me private names I can’t reveal
His skin broke out in hives when we were wed
I think that bad emotions were concealed
Hiding in the space between the lines
I drank so much my lips became unsealed
Well,we must make an end and that is fine
My hospitality goes downhill at times
Jesus was a Prophet, that’s a sign
The Word is stammered, flesh, oh flesh divine
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Old Norse
I must change my name, it is too long
Even folk from Yorkshire get it wrong
As for those techniciians far away
My long name is very hard to say
I could take the action via law
Or marry someone with a name like Shaw
Smith is overused when we don’t ride
Lord would be ok, can we abide?
I’m tired of being asked to spell it out
It hurts the listener who knows not its roots
Banks and braes are well known to the Scots
Thwaite is an old Norse word . what the heck
We must be invaders who burst in
Killing Celts and Saxons, is that sin?
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What is disrationalia?
Rational and Irrational Thought: The Thinking That IQ Tests Miss
Why smart people sometimes do dumb things
IN BRIEF
Who are You Calling “Smart”?
- Traditional IQ tests miss some of the most important aspects of real-world decision making. It is possible to test high in IQ yet to suffer from the logical-thought defect known as dysrationalia.
- One cause of dysrationalia is that people tend to be cognitive misers, meaning that they take the easy way out when trying to solve problems, often leading to solutions that are wrong.
- Another cause of dysrationalia is the mindware gap, which occurs when people lack the specific knowledge, rules and strategies needed to think rationally.
- Tests do exist that can measure dysrationalia, and they should be given more often to pick up the deficiencies that IQ tests miss.
No doubt you know several folks with perfectly respectable IQs who repeatedly make poor decisions. The behavior of such people tells us that we are missing something important by treating intelligence as if it encompassed all cognitive abilities. I coined the term “dysrationalia” (analogous to “dyslexia”), meaning the inability to think and behave rationally despite having adequate intelligence, to draw attention to a large domain of cognitive life that intelligence tests fail to assess. Although most people recognize that IQ tests do not measure every important mental faculty, we behave as if they do. We have an implicit assumption that intelligence and rationality go together—or else why would we be so surprised when smart people do foolish things?
It is useful to get a handle on dysrationalia and its causes because we are beset by problems that require increasingly more accurate, rational responses. In the 21st century, shallow processing can lead physicians to choose less effective medical treatments, can cause people to fail to adequately assess risks in their environment, can lead to the misuse of information in legal proceedings, and can make parents resist vaccinating their children. Millions of dollars are spent on unneeded projects by government and private industry when decision makers are dysrationalic, billions are wasted on quack remedies, unnecessary surgery is performed and costly financial misjudgments are made.
IQ tests do not measure dysrationalia. But as I show in my 2010 book, What Intelligence Tests Miss: The Psychology of Rational Thought, there are ways to measure dysrationalia and ways to correct it. Decades of research in cognitive psychology have suggested two causes of dysrationalia. One is a processing problem, the other a content problem. Much is known about both of them.
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The mystery of love and what we sing
The proper conscience does not wound our hearts
But tells us truly when we have done wrong
It does not injure love before love starts
Its voice is still and small, it is not sharp
Sometimes it impresses us by song
The goodly conscience does not wound our hearts
Yet conscience is no angel with an harp
Unheard when minds are crowded, with thought thronged
It does not tear up love before life starts
It does not use great force, no threats shall rape
But talks to each in their own native tongue
The moral conscience does not wound our hearts
But what of evil men,Satanic sharks,
The mysteries of genocide and bombs?
Do they tear up love’s roots from their hearts?
Even good folk suffer like the lambs
We must enter darkness with blind hands
The proper conscience does not wound our hearts
It does not curse our love before life starts
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Like butter in the sun
My heart is soft like butter left in sun.
Much more heat and it will melt and run
Oh, why do we have feelings,why engage
When friendship turns into such bitter rage?
I do not wish to live remote and stern
As if I am so perfect I can’t learn
Pain too deep can mortify the flesh
Turn us into robots fit for trash
All I need is an enormous fridge
Which will make me harder than sweet fudge
I’ll go inside and pray for peace each day
If I freeze to death,I shall not say.
Oh, be of merry heart,my friends and foes
When love comes in, a little hate will go
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Revolution
A strange comingling of the mills and moors
Green of nature,smoke from chimneys glowers
While sheep graze their wool is touched by smoke
But higher up the ground is bare of hope
Peering down I recognise the view
Rows of terraced houses share a loo
Women wear their aprons with panache
Boys are playing,give or take a bash.
Miners walking home with faces black
Painters with their ladders and their sacks
Little girls are skipping with their ropes
Cats are watching idly, kittens mope
Which way shall we go, we must decide
The green hill with no walls, the red brick eyes?
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Dried flowers
Unconscious of our cruelty, we sin
Yet pride ourselves as worthy and refined
Those who know themselves are modest souls
Who do to those around them little harm
Blinded to our our faults we strut about
Causing pain to others, oh what charm
If we break the rules,we have no doubts
From our errors we can never learn
So I look on your insults and smile
Self image admits nothing makes a change
I shall not keep your sentences in files
Unlike dried flowers in vases well arranged
Yet though you now evade a little pain
Your company will never be the same
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Now there is no road
No rought beast shall slouch to Bethlehem
There is no track or pattern to our fate
Once Jesus’ feet were bathed by Magdalen
Now communities of love disintegrate.
The world does fall apart, the centre’s gone
There is no named War, but armies kill
Or single, abject men who carry guns
On other nearby folk will shoot at will
There seem to be no ” better” sort of men
But all lack much conviction,common good
They follow gold with bent accountant’s pen
Calvin’s “way to heaven”, Noah’s flood
Now there is no road nor path nor beast
Confusion,chaos,populism will feast
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Jesus,where’re your nails?
I’m getting a gold medal for my Mail
My inbox emptied yet itr neve whines
I’ve squared the circle,I don’t need no nail
The Met have found me, fined me,what,no bail?
I’ve never known a Pritti dame so kind
I’m getting a rude letter in my Mail
Human rights are blown out by March gales
Home Secretary,are you going blind ?
I’ve squared the circle,Jesus,where’re your nails?
Leave off murdering women and young girls
Don’t handcuff the survivors,pay their fines
I’m getting bloody metal in my Mail
Our arteries are squeezing,hearts will fail
For the hell, O writer, leave us signs
The circle’s square, I’m hanging by a nail
Well, what do you think of Britain in decline
The police resent ,mad Governments tell lies
I’m getting silver pieces in my Mail
Who’s crucified our God with varnished nails?
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As waves die
The music is the waves as they run high
Across the pebbly sands onto the road
Then groaning of the shingle as waves die
The fish that dwell deep in the dark, dark brine
The flow within as outer waters flow
The music of the waves as they run high
The moon reflects sun’s light to other eyes
Above the seas which rise up to its goad.
Then groans the shingle as the steep waves die
The sea holds hidden goods where we can’t pry
In the deep the heavy water moulds
The music of the waves as they run high
All the day and all of the black night
The seas and oceans change from high to low
Ah, groans the earth as each wave has to die
Re-hear these sounds, are they a sacred code?
As angels wrestled, Jacob feared the Lord
His music is the waves as they run high
His groaning is the shingle as waves die
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Float through my mind like flowers
On summer days the cliff at Weybourne sang
Of finest grass entwined with tiny flowers
The butterflies were floating on the wind
We walked along contented, hand in hand
In Sheringham we saw no faces dour
On summer days the cliffs at Weybourne sang
We met no wasps nor anything that stings
The footpath was kept clear, no weeds to sour
The butterflies were resting on the wind
I looked at bluebells,insects hear their ring
So we passed with pleasure our free hours
On summer days, the cliffs at Weybourne sang
Was it for this perfection Adam sinned?
No human joy is with us very long
The butterflies were resting on the wind
On summer days the cliff at Weybourne sang
Of grass so fine and of its tiny flowers
The butterflies were floating on the wind
In winter the North wind will make beasts cower
No need for ventilation,faces glower
On summer days the cliff at Weybourne sang
The butterflies float through my mind, bright, winged
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Yet life endures
Since you died I learned to use a crutch
I have noone to lean on, none to touch
I wanted you to die with kindly ease
Now I miss another I could tease
Noone knows what was our special tree
Nor why the pain of loss dwells in my knee
As if I cannot stand or wait alone
Dark earth is softer than these paving stones
The trees you loved my neighbours see as weeds
I shan’t recite a list of their misdeeds
Others gossip of my coloured coats
A widow’s weeds aren’t teal, they grin, they gloat
Before you went I saw the cloth of gold
Coming down from heaven to enfold
Then it rose, its satin thick and pure
Taking you away, yet life endures
The emptiness, the void, the loss, the pain
The crash severe we know is foreordained
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The handkerchief pan
 | |||
In the evening. simmering handkerchiefs
Perfumed the air with odours I can’t tell
Mother scrubbed them, hung them on the line
Then I had to iron them, folded well
Now we have our tissues, we don’t need
Hankies that need scrubbing many times
The oceans deep are poisoned with our waste
Is the use of tissues a new crime?
While we did our homework after tea
My brother liked his Wagner at full blast
Imagine learning Latin with that din
Now the time for anger has long passed
Bad memories change by newly given grace
Evoking hints of mother and her face
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Pen and bell
In this so called office,I am trapped
Trying hard to write and to adapt
I have numerous pens in this my cell
Reminding me of school, the longed for bell
Ten past four, we put on winter clothes
I crossed the Park in fog, it wet my nose
Walking down our street I’d see the cat
Sitting on the pavement, Ginger spat
I put the kettle on to make our tea
The coal glowed low and red like elves in glee
The aluminium teapot never broke
The kettle had turned black , the milk was smoked
I had that tiny piece from others free
That was when I learned that I am Me
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When poets don’t read poetry
When Poets Don’t Read Poetry
Extract:
How a Lack of Reading Shows in Your Work
There’s no rule that says every person who writes poetry must read poetry. Plenty of poets write for the sole purpose of personal expression. Poetry writing can be therapeutic, cathartic, and enjoyable. Nobody needs to read in order to write such poetry. But there’s a difference between writing for oneself and writing for an audience of strangers.
When you don’t read or study poetry, it shows in your work. There are identifiers that expose a lack of readership; here are some of the most common clues:
- Forced rhymes: You can only think of one word that rhymes with lonely, so you force it into your poem even though it makes no sense or interferes with the poem’s focus.
- Meter mishaps: You can’t find a way to arrange the words so that the meter remains intact. Oh well, you decide, and break the meter pattern for that one line. You hope nobody will notice, but everybody does, because that one line throws off the entire flow of the poem.
- Square pegs: Similar to meter mishaps, this is when the language is forced to meet the meter, resulting in phrasings that sounds super awkward because the poet is trying to say something in five syllables that simply cannot be said in less than ten.
- Word blizzard: Probably the most common mark of an unread poet is the sheer wordiness of a poem. There are often tons of unnecessary words, and the poem reads more like natural speech or choppy prose than crafted poetry.
- Art has no editor: This is the mark of many amateur writers, not just poets. But it’s especially common for poets to think that a poem must remain pure, existing in its first-draft from for all of eternity. No editing! These poems are unrefined, peppered with typos, and often display all the other hallmarks of poets who are not well read in their form.
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Nor rain to flood
Katherine May 30, 2018
A mood of stillness like a quiet dove
A lack of wind, vast silence gives repose
Symbolises blessings from above.
My trees mature now form a holy grove
The sorrow ruling me has been deposed
To give me stillness with the nesting dove
In such moods, there’s space to think, compose.
To learn the ways of energy and love
Symbolised by blessings from above.
In the crowded Mall, the shoppers shove
The special mood of peace I fear eludes
We lose the sense of silence and the dove
In public life, we quarrel and oppose
We lose the way to our fine treasure trove
We lose the symbols and the deep repose.
Give me your hand without its heavy glove
As we caress, we value human love.
A mood so stilled, oh, fluttering of the dove
No wind to destroy peace nor rain to flood
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The only ritual
The ritual is to put the garbage out
My day begins the night before it’s due
When I recall the day, I have to count
Instead of Mass, we put the garbage out
No Confession so no sin,no horrid doubt
No neighbours and no prayer,no ancient pew
The only ritual left, toss garbage out
My mind begins to think about the clue
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Tread right on the holy human face
The way to be successful is now clear
Deny your shame,humiliate the poor
Have no friends or mate whom you hold dear
The way to be successful is right here
Control your cronies with a hint of fear
Tread on the lowly, who can but endure
The way to be successful, shed no tears
Repress your shame,humiliate the poor
Accidentally tread on someone’s face
As you run for president again
Make sure their features are unclear,erased
Knowingly tread on the human face
It’s not evil, it is just bad taste
The devil is a clown, we feel no strain
Incidentally tread on someone’s face
As you run for president again
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The Words Mine
Every poem begins with a first line
After that we choose the space and time
The words float in my head till they combine
Must a poem begin with its first line?
Some are bold and some are more refined
Some are free and some have lissom rhymes
A poem begins by finding a first line
After that we search the Deep Words Mine
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The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked
The end of values, kindness, earned respect
The loss of wisdom,history and truth
The pillars of democracy are cracked.
The centre of the heart,who can protect?
Conspiracy and madness unseat proof
An end of values, kindness, earned respect
Violence is admired though lives are wrecked
The lasting triumph of the folk uncouth
The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked
Their minds unfurnished seem bereft of tact
They tread on others words like horses’ hooves
The end of values, kindness, earned respect
How can such opponents make a pact?
The calculating crucify our youth
The pillars of the Western Mind have cracked
Yet Western Empire builders had no ruth
They tortured those they conquered group by group
On such ground just madmen earn respect
The altars of the Western Mind have cracked
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The words evoked what no-one could conceive
With the Mass in Latin,I believed.
The words evoked what no-one could conceive
The women in their hats looked like proud queens
What was, what is, and what once might have been
The men came late,hung over, full of dreams
They took no Wafer, drunk from living streams
I did not mind confessing made up sins.
Nor did I mind beans found in small tins.
Religion gives fresh themes to those obsessed
Guilt and sin,but scruples are the best
I went to church and told God I was through
He said, hang on,I’ll send my Light to you.
Thus it was that I was saved from death
I had worshipped Satan in duress.
After that I took a job for health
I am rich in love, though not in wealth
To me there is a White House of the Soul
We shall meet again there when we’re whole
A place of beauty, space and coloured light
God won’t boast, and neither will the mice
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The dam burst
Yout letter seems to overflow with rage
The reservoir of hatred has emerged
The loving kindness vanished without trace
I cannot see the mirror of your face
You used me to contain your anger’s surge
Yout letter, wanton, overflows with rage
Why did you enact your Play in haste?
Why treat me so coldly , why me hurt?
Your act of love has vanished without trace
Do not tell me I was not your taste
You fantasised an image I dispute
Yout letter ,sadly, overflows with rage
I hate to see my love was to you waste
Free speech applies to both, you can’t refute
How could good, true love leave not a trace?
After this, I in my world was mute
I could not speak,my heart and soul pursued
Yout letter uses words to channel rage
You wished to see me naked,this the stage
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Deep down in the earth
Cold dull winters bring us close to death
The blood grows thick and scarcely does it move
The worms may shudder deep down in the earth
This damp coldness presses out our breath
The frost and ice, the memory delude
Cold dull winters bring us close to death
Do we need the sun to give us worth?
Low in oxygen, the mind’s confused
The worms have nightmares deep down in the earth
Should we pause, these issues to address?
In this Lockdown, where should we confess?
Cold dull winters bring us close to death
Wonder now what makes our voices terse
With no priests, who shall this poor world bless?
The worms may sleep deep down inside the earth
On each other,let us not intrude
Let all loving kindness be our food
Cold dull winters bring us close to death
Like worms that slumber deep down in the earth
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High the cost
I am this, the cobble stones
Hot tar between the wails and groans
Some stones are flat,our stones were round
Snap entry to the Underground
I am the pools in pavement holes
In winter frost you crack my bones
On my surface, children prance
I am the stage,I am the dance
I see you and you see me
As your peek with bended knee
I am the bricks that built your house
I am the mousehole and the mouse
Here comes Ginger, the big cat
He caught a chicken and a rat
Here the coal shed, here the lav
That is what our houses had
Cold it is if menstrual pain
Comes on in the night again
Colder still to lose your child
To the sewers wizened smile
I am the earth on which we grew
I am the mystery,I the clue
Stand on me,I am your strength
I the bowler,I the length
Golden children came to dust
I the promise,I the cost
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Owls surprise
Look without and see the claret sky
The sun is falling like Greek wine tonight
As sparrows hide in holly,safe from eyes
We need protection till our minds sublime
Into dusty corners shine their lights
Look without and see the curious sky
Tell your heart, your truth, though others lie
Seem rewarded with both cash and spite
Oh, sparrows hide in holly, leaves awry
A man is called an emperor , yet he dies
Look without and see the fatal signs
The sky is turning panic to delight
At last, philosopher, the silence sighs
Throw away the your thoughts, cold or benign
As sparrow safe in holly, shut their eyes
The hawk may soar across the sacred lines
Where patterns of complexity arise
Look without and see the open sky
When sparrows rest in holly, owls surprise
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Swear words are so boring nowadays
Now we’re used to hearing “fuck” and “shit”
What words can we use to let off steam?
Oh, what a twit omitting words like “twat”
However will I have erotic dreams?
Few words are forbidden in our books
Little children learn to swear and scream
On the television, some won’t look
As words like this flow out in lengthy streams
Lady Chatterley, you were the cause
But what will be the affect and effect?
Lawrence, you were eager to enjoy
But who could know what others might detect?
I think I shall say ” sorry” when I rage
Would “lies and curses” draw more to my page?
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You could not understand
If you came back you would not understand
The death of virtue ,truth and beauty too
And to advertise it,tell lies on demand
In my childhood, that bewitching land
Respect brought out good character to view
If you came you could not understand
Writing with a stick upon the sands
Up the tide will rush and wash out truth
So ,to advertise it,tell lies on demand
Evil,slick , obedient Eichmann stands
No human is as mighty as the noose
Coming back you would not understand
We can split an atom, yet be bland
Drop another bomb on human youth
To hide our sin we tell lies on demand
Once we worshipped Pan with horns and hoof
Now we worship Satan,God’s own proof
f you came back you would not understand
Media will tell lies and make demands
I
How my heart speaks 