There was a young lady named Ocean
Who brewed a potent love potion.
It was taken by a hoary old sailor
(Who went by the name of Tailor),
I hear he got lost in the ocean.
—
There was a young lady named Ocean
Who brewed a potent love potion.
It was composed of sea salt
And no one could halt
The effects of that potent love potion!
Here’s a poem I left for dead and forgot about a long time ago but just resuscitated. The photo, by the way, has nothing in particular to do with the poem but someone told me you have to accompany your blogs with photos or no one will bother reading them.
Glossed Over
Everything about him, from the tall tuft
of gelled hair standing on his head, to his sleepy dignity
of expression, to the way his skinny jeans hug
his paltry little legs – everything inspires hatred,
and yet it worked. He seized the prize
we all wanted: an Italian beauty in a toupe studded
shimmering one shoulder mini.
Tonight they will leave early together, crawl
into some silky bed somewhere. There will be kissing,
caressing, great pillars of flame will sing.
While I sit here with a Kiwi, an Iranian-Englishman
and a Bulgarian-Swede, talking about manly things.
Football, corruption…
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A young student ‘twas
Who did it because
She had spent her loan
And being alone,
Took a decision rash
To raise some cash.
A man of the world he was
Who did it because
He saw
Just another she
– Merely a whore,
For what does it matter
When a girl’s dreams shatter?
There was a young writer named Coaker
Who’s work was considered mediocre.
When the critics criticised,
He rolled his eyes
And whacked them with a poker!
There was a young policeman named Glass
Who had a great fear of the mass.
When the mob engaged in riot
He would go very quiet.
His nerves where brittle as glass
A building flood.
A fire in the blood
Consumes,
Assumes
Control
Of his immortal soul.
The flood subsides.
The fire dies,
And she hies
Away
Leaving him to pray,
For what? he can not say.
Refusal may cause offence.
His defence
To play the wit
And sit
On the fence.
It is easier to flirt,
As a “no” would hurt.
But those who refuse to speak
Will forever seek.
Researchers claim that in future artificial intelligence will be able, with a high degree of accuracy, to determine an individual’s political opinions, their level of intelligence and their propensity to criminal behaviour.
The researchers acknowledge that such software could be misused (for example to target people on the grounds of propensity to criminal behaviour even when they had committed no criminal act. They acknowledge that many people with criminal tendencies never, in fact commit crimes).
As regards political leanings, the researchers acknowledge that software will be most accurate in pinpointing those on the far-right or left rather than the majority of the population who occupy the middle-ground of the political spectrum.
While I am not a scientist (my degrees are in history and politics), it strikes me that the decline of religious faith has led to a growth in (sometimes) uncritical belief in the claims of scientists. Science is, perhaps in danger of becoming a secular religion where claims are taken as gospel (pun intended)!
Of course scientists will object that their research is peer reviewed and subject to rigorous examination. In contrast, they will contend religion is based purely on faith and it’s claims are, therefore unverifiable. Good science is certainly subject to rigorous peer review and a combination of peer review and the passage of time will prove (or disprove) the claims of the researchers.
I am, as I say above no scientist. However, on the face of it the claims made by the researchers appear to me to be reductionist in nature and overly simplistic.
For the article please visit, https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2017/sep/12/artificial-intelligence-face-recognition-michal-kosinski
There was a young lady from Bombay
Who used to live down my way.
She sang like a bird
But today I heard
That she flew back home to Bombay
There was a poet who lacked the art
To hide what lived in his heart.
He could not conceal.
His verse was gritty and real,
So they pilloried him for his art.
K Morris - Poet 