See as phallic symbols ball point pens They are thrown away like condoms used In Cambridge they will float to watery fens See as phallic symbols ball point pens Wasteful use of plastic, rout of men The sign of masculinty condemned When once a handsome pen was not abused See as phallic symbols ball point pens They are thrown away like condoms used
Everything’s designed to throw away From cheap gladrags to shoes of plastic made A mobile phone is pricey for one day Everything is made to throw away It makes me very sad for who will pay The world is rarely feeling bright and gay Unless folk smile when I forgot I paid Everything’s designed to throw away From cheap gladrags to shoes spastic and greyed
The harshness was a wish to cover pain No more could piercing sorrow be expressed The bearing of the weight came down again The harshness was assumed to cover pain The hope one could endure and take the blame The wish that someone other might be blessed The harshness was a skin to cover pain No more could piercing sorrow be expressed
What sort of wall shall we build round our selves To give us inner space and safety too? Yet too much secrecy can harm our health What sort of wall shall we build round our selves? We need make a space for grace’s stealth Who is wise and who knows what to do? What sort of wall shall we build round our selves To give us inner space,the sacred clue?
We can all learn from the writer E.B. White, who, in response to a 1956 letter asking him to join a committee, responded with two short sentences. The first: a thank-you for the invitation. The second: “I must decline, for secret reasons.”
Stan was very worried that the police had caught him.He didn’t realize that ,with the low sun, the mirror in his pocket was flashing out coded messages to aircraft.He got out of the car and walked over to the police on the grassy verge of the road I’m so sorry,it’s just my wife’s solid gold powder compact.See? Have you got your marriage certificate with you? Well,no.I didn’t know we in the UK needed to show them to the police. demurred Stan It may belong to your wife but you are a man.Men don’t carry them.We never saw one before.Young women never use then, Certain men might of course..actors or politicians.I know Tony Blair wore make up. That’s irrelevant.Give me that compact. Stan pulled the golden compact out of his pocket,still open. The police man stared into the mirror.His face turned pale.He handed the compact to Stan and ran back to his car asking the driver to take him to the nearest boiling Tea Shop. Stan looked at Satan and grinned… What did you do? I just held up a photo I have of him in bed with a sheep….need I say more? Did you enjoy seeing that? Stan asked thoughtlessly. Not much.~I prefer your flame haired mistress with her perfume of Araby.She’s something else again. So you can smell then? Stan enquired. Oh,yes,said the devil.Sure I can.I just can’t touch or be touched. So Stan started the car and off they went;all the lights were green and not a single police car was on duty. Soon they reached Upper Sheringham.The people here are very long lived.I know it’s the best place to live in the UK;then they turned down the old High Street and parked by a gambolling shop full of lambs. Now what? Will the sea cheer up a sad old devil or make him suicidal?The cliffs are not very high.We must await the next piece of the story with interest and patience. Email me with ideas at merrymaryminds@h
Photo by Mike Flemming 2015 copyright.Published with permission
She wanted to come up with a mnemonic For remembering the form of a sonnet She cried AB twice CD CD,EF twice ‘fore G. For GH is the last couplet,innit? .
She wanted to write for the dummies Whose speech veers from f*ck to cor l*mmy. Vernacular they call it to which we cry,no sh*t,twit My eyes, like my cup, are now r*nny.
Mirth seems to rise from my studies. As the breath rises up from our bodies. Our breath mingles each day From your way to my airway. Our lungs, if not minds, are all buddies
Carrie’s manic Pure gold walls Den of Catastrophe Spirit of well Night layers Bliss in Golden rod Still, small, wise Eye of storm Hurry,Cain Ah, bell. Original din Apples cry Snake in bladder Prodigal sun Stormy heather Bless us ,oh Bard Fore given, fore warned
Israeli air and ground forces hit targets in Gaza Strip as death toll climbs
Don’t you think this is a strange sentence?To me it reads as “because the death toll is rising more Israeli Israeli forces are hittihg their targets”
Should it not read
My version
Death toll in Gaza strip rises because more Israeli forces hit their targets
If they knew there were so many hidden tunnels into Israel, why have they left them alone till now? Ditto with important people Can this tragedy for all people in Israel/Palestine ever end ?
First we grieve for those that we have lost whom we have loved and borne the heavy cost The loss of that first anguish leaves us lone We feel vast emptiness, and hearts like stone
Acute grief is like a jagged knife Yet does not kill, leaves us still alive The torment is too harsh we long for peace Yet when it comes,it brings us no release
There is no way the dead can come back home The widow wanders, hides, or wildly roams Until the heart itself can take no more And wonders what this little life is for
Desiring yet to live we take a step Into the unknown land ,from out death’s trap And memories of love shall gently fade Until we fear no more the loss of faith
Yet we are cut off by frightened friends A face can show us warmth, and not heart rend
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.
From time and place and season I am lost, Disorientated ,missing tracks well worn .Do not suppose I’m unaware of cost, Nor label me with epithets of scorn.
For usual paths lead to the usual place. the safest way to live and perhaps to die, But wandering through the woods I find new space and in wild grasses with the fox I lie
.Through distant trees, I see a way to go As narrow as a slit in pale limestone .I pass in silence as if in deep,deep snow .My courage rises even as I groan.
Remember when we’re lost ,we may then find Another way,a place,another mind.
Satan had been, for an hour or two ,inside a solid gold powder compact which a delightful old lady called Dora had been given by her husband Alf.Alas when Dora saw Satan in her mirror she was not amused.Luckily for Satan the mirror broke and he was able to escape into the North Sea. Since Stan and Emile were going home he decided to swim to the Wash and see if he could catch up with them.He is well up in geography unlike the author Being in the sea was very different from being in the Fires of Hell.Both have their downsides.Still we all have to conpromise now and then.But why did God let Satan get out of the mirror? Alf and Dora stuffed with hot tea and buttery muffins were paddling back to the car park in Cromer where their silver car was waiting Why is there so much water on the road,Dora asked her amiable husband. It’s not been raining, has it? Well. I saw some canoes sailing down the promenade.What has happened? Cromer is a very strange place at the extreme east end of the Norfolk coast.One moment you are facing North, the next East.This is where houses fall into the sea.Officially it is subsidence but the truth is, it’s the place where demons come onto the Earth and cause devastation with their fiery clothes and weapons. And here they come, looking for Satan, their master whom God has taken away from his hot home with no running water. As Dora got out of the car, she saw her shoes were full of water.Why even the car was flooded despite being in a high level car park Don’t buy anything from a stranger on the beach again, she begged Alf. We don’t know what we are unleashing.I wish we had gone on the cliffs to Weybourne rather than that old pier Well,I had no idea such a delightful old man might be in league with the Devil.Though when we see what is happening in the world it seems evil is much more sophisticated than it was when Fire and Brimstone were the punishment for murdering your wife with wilful intent.Maybe Satan was not so evil, just too proud to apologise. The Mayor of Cromer was on the pier looking at the cracks in the concrete, Has a bomb gone off, she cried? Well, not exactly…… there’s a funny story about that Satan has been calling on us and someone tried to drown him, Who could drown Satan? He is not human.He has no lungs. My goodness, how intelligent the people of Cromer seem to be.Maybe we should get them to run the whole country! Stan and Emile were standing by the Ouse Crossing watching the swans and sea birds when suddenly Satan emerged from the swollen water How did you get here,Stan enquired tactlessly? I thought we had seen the last of you. Satan looked very upset. Help me, let me get into the mirror.My servants are looking for me but I don’t want to go with them.I am fed up with Hell and sin and evil Emile had a bright idea, Look there are mirrors on the car. Stan was not eager to let Satan hide there but the wicked creature leapt in and cried with relief after taking a nice white hanky out of his hat I never thought Satan would weep,Stan murmured unkindly. God has almost gone and the order of the Western world is collapsing.Everything is upside down. Emile ran into the car and nuzzled against Stan’s old tweed jacket. I’m frightened,dad, he muttered sheepishly. So am I said Stan as he looked into the mirror before backing out and hitting an invisible stone wall which had not been there moments ago. Now,Satan, step to one side or we will never get home to Knittingham if the mirror is not freed Satan obeyed,He has fallen in love with Stan and Emile.He wants to live in this quiet city forever.But what will Mary say if Stan tells her Satan is on her dressing table in the mirror? Will Stan be sent to see a psychiatrist? Will he be diagnosed with paranoid dementia and double pneumonia of the mind? Or will he manage to get Mary to see things his way? Will she see Satan when Stan is out? We will wait and see
Alfred and Dora Smith, who had just taken possession of a solid gold powder compact, bought from dear old Stan ,went down to Cromer so Dora could shop in Boots, She wanted a new and more suitable shade of pressed powder to put into the compact. Satan was getting cheesed off as Dora had the compact shut away in her handbag of purple and red leather with a yellow strap.Since she otherwise dressed entirely in black the vivid colours did not seem quite so dreadful. You may disagree, but I believe a coloured leather handbag is a definite must for any woman nowadays.Where else can one hid one’s log tables,kindle reader,tampons, set squares,kleenex,rulers,pens,LSD.morphine and Chanel Nr 5?
Satan ,not being divine.did not know where Alf and Dora were off to but he was hoping that he might get a peep somewhere.Maybe in the ladies loo in some pub or other,hopefully one full of women of an intriguing type with French underwear worn as outerwear in the late style of Madonna. Inside Boots,Dora found the Boots Number 7 beauty counter and selected some compressed powder in a color called vanilla rose beige.Since everything was 3 for 2 she bought some lavender mascara and some pink coral moisturised lipstick.After paying the bill,she and Alf ran outside.. My,it’s as hot as hell in there, Dora cried.Satan was pleased to hear that but he had no idea where they were but felt he was near home. Alf suggested a walk down the pier to get some fresh air.
Facing directly North, Cromer pier is wide open to the pure winds from Siberia… but today a SW wind was blowing and despite a black cloud looming the day was bright and warm for winter in England As the game, old but vital couple reached the end of the pier and turned to look at the North Norfolk coast line they regretted not wearing their Harris tweed coats.. a strange chill came over England that afternoon…. a hint of evil darkened the air with menace.David Cameron or the PM must have been up there in Burnham Market where the rich have holiday homes. Shall we sit down for a minute, said Alf to his stunningly made up wife. You sit down,I am going to look at the sea.Dora said sweetly Dora stood at the edge of the pier looking,at the waves crashing below… and above too!She wondered how her new short hair style was standing up to the weather and on an impulse she opened her bag and took out the gold compact so she could use the mirror to check. Holding it n her left hand she flicked it open expertly at an angle of precisely 60 degrees. Who was more surprised…Satan,who rarely saw faithfully married,virtuous British women, or Dora who had never before seen a demons,let alone Satan,I leave to your imagination. Dora gave a loud shriek and threw the compact overarm high above and over the metal railings.Being solid gold it sank gently to the sea bed amongst the pearls and coral and a few suicidal fishermen’s remains. Alf,Alf,she called..raucuously What is it, my pet? There was some fiend in that mirror.What a sight! I am afraid I have accidentally bowled it overarm it into the sea.Like you showed me to when playing cricket You stupid twit.I paid £500 for that.I broke the bank Did you really?You are so sweet.I wonder if we should call 999? Dora called I doubt if they could dive into the cold sea…for a powder compact.Alf replied How about for the poor devil inside it? she continued. Suddenly a heavy storm,one might say a hurricane blew up and the game couple were almost washed away by rain and giant waves which ran into the air on either side of the pier.Clinging to each other they stumbled towards the promenade some distance back. Let’s go and have some tea and muffins,suggested Alf thoughtfully. Suddenly the sea swept onto the promenade and for a moment it seemed as if the two old folk would be washed away but luckily they were both very obese and their weight anchored them to the ground. Well,it’s not quite what we expected,but somehow I am relieved.Dora said I was nervous about owning such a luxury item.I feel I am addicted to Max Factor Pancake makeup in plastic compacts she prattled merrily Alf was dozing and in his mind he saw a host of pancakes with little faces each wearing full makeup How can I eat these,he muttered.They seem like human beings… they look quite charming.His head fell back and he began to snore. Dora was happy enough watching canoes go by carrying people along the promenade and into the old town.What a dear place Cromer is,she thought,as the lifeboat passed the cafe window full of terrified people..What a dear old place to live in
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, wing
Water has no boundary, it flows until it reaches obstacles like rocks Water runs as far as it can go
Water is as patient as deep snow it has no strength yet if it’s deep it blocks Water has no boundary, it flows
Rivers from the mountain tops run low searching for the sea but not its sharks Water runs as far as it can go
Water runs, it steams,, it freezes so Our blood may turn to ice,oh fearful heart Water has no boundary it flows
Water,fluid, we need it,our foe With no respect, it floods the lowest parts Water runs as far as fluids can go
Scientists can measure,watch and chart While as the sun shines, lakes stretch out their charms Water has no boundary, it flows Water runs as fast as it can go
After nearly being arrested for accidentally sending out messages with the car mirror. Stan got back into the car and drove around King’s Lynn and up past Sandringham. I’ve been there,said Satan eagerly Don’t tell me, Stan begged.Let me keep a few illusions.Or delusions Satan fell quiet as they stopped in Hunstanton to see the striped cliffs before tottering along the coast towards Sheringham. I’d like to go to Brancaster Beach again,Stan thought, that really is a beach.In fact he and Mary had once been trapped by the tide.North Norfolk is a dangerous place even without Satan travelling through Holkham Hall and beach were a beloved place.Maybe Satan would like to go in a boat on the lake and visit the shop where paintings are on sale Wells next the Sea was the old man’s love.The narrow street where Mary bought a wicker bike basket.The bread shop and the butcher and the big green on the top with lovely houses round it in a square [ squaring the circle!] Many happy memories and the rich smell of gorse in the hot sun When I get home,I shall see if gorse will grow in Knittingham he told Emile.Maybe the soil is wrong though He took out his Vodafone Smart 7 or 8 and rang an old friend in Sheringham Is the cottage free,Fred, he asked? Yeah, how many people? Er, it’s just me and the cat . this time,Stan muttered idiotically.Well Satan was in the powder compact so he didn’t need a bed! OK.I’ll leave the key at the chip shop then.See you soon.Stan.I’m just finishing my book on the Gnostic Imagination.I’ve learned a great deal but I’ll happy to finish it.Maybe we could meet for a drink one night And do you know… they did!
The Holy Land is not so holy now Was it so when Christ hung from the Cross When Romans burned the temple ,killed the Jews? The Holy Land is not so holy now The truth depends on where we stand to view New perspectives offer wisdom too See the holy face now white with frost The Holy Land is not so holy now Even as Christ sags on Roman Cross
Freed from her trap Bird soared into air and hovered, And floated, resting; And flew higher, singing as she flew, And higher again, Till there was only her song, Left in the silence, Trembling.
Up on the high, wide, stump topped hill, I felt the lark inside my heart And heard her singing. And flying up with her, I saw gold sun and silver moon, Moors of heather and sheep grazing. Green hills, And shimmering lakes, Clouds, sun and sky in watery mirrors. And sang, and dipped and dropped, And curled Up the blue Bright heaven, and rested On the wind. All that day I was a lark singing.
I shall always have a vision of A bird That flew upwards, Rejoicing and free Into a deep blue sky, and high And higher Beyond high Into a place, beyond eye even, But music still sending.
I wish I were back on that heathery moor, With the nibbling sheep and the bees sweetly humming, Hearing again The poignant song Of the skylark; A prisoner, freed , From her trap, So happy to be free So wonderful to see, Just let it all be
At one time ,after I had had an operation on my eye which took a year to recover from I took up knitting.I’m not quick at it.I was making a shawl which had the increase in stitches in the centre as above.This made the two halves drape differently At the heggining there are only 3 stitches.Then there are 5,7,9”’……………….111.113………… Sometimes I found it hard to know where the middle was.I had to count all these stitches on their circular needle.As you can imagine this took concentration.One evening I was doing this and my husband asked me a question when I got to 99 I answered than began again.This went on until I had tried 4 times. So I politely informed him that he should look at me.If I was knitting he could speak But if I was counting he should wait The shawl was lovely and I gave it to a Czech student who visited us
Later I was telling a friend about this & she said I should have shouted at my husband and said I was very angry with him Now I don’t know, but as we didn’t go in for shouting he would have been shocked.When he got diabetes he sometimes got angry… it was low blood sugar. I solved that.
I suppose there is no right answer but if I get angry I get distressed myself.When dealing with older people or people with health problems it’s usually better to keep calm
That was tough when he thought I was his mother before he died owing to a UTI He seemed so happy I was his mother for 3 days and then I was his wife again He surely did love his mother!But he loved me too.
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
We once had a leader called Johnson Who wanted to get hold of his pension As he had used all our money To beguile Mistress Sunny Alas, it gained media attention
Then he wanted to pay for a nanny A child came from the womb of sweet Sunny He asked Tories to give Him money to live Is there no end, is this funny?
He claims to need £300,000 As a salary, please do not question He buys handmade shoes Who can refuse This blonde beaming bounny’s directions?
Is there some malice aforethought Some intelligence agents new-bought? He can speak in Latin And tell us who’s batting But he’s rarely been seen here in Scunthorpe
Why not take early retirement Then be a real full time parent Little Wilf will adore him Except when he’s snoring Or trying to recollect all his gerunds
Will he be described as a tyrant Or the man who put Nero’s fire out? Or a witless buffoon Without any tune Oh, people do shout at his iPants
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How my heart speaks 