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
Tag Archives: k morris poet
A fire in the blood
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
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.
Your politics are written in your face
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
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
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.
Competition to win a signed copy of “My Old Clock I Wind” by K Morris
I am giving away 1 free, signed copy of my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”.
In order to be in with a chance of winning, please answer the following question, which novel begins as follows ”1801—-I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with”.
The Rules
1. Please email your answers to me at newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com.
2. Please put “Competition” in the subject line of your message.
3. Please do not leave your answer in the comments below, as everyone will be able to read it!
4. The first person to email me with the correct answer wins a signed copy of “My Old Clock I Wind”.
5. The winner will be informed by email.
6. You may enter irrespective of your country of residence.
The book
To read reviews of “My Old Clock I Wind” and an extract, please visit http://moyhill.com/clock/.
Those with greying hair
Those with greying hair
Linger where
Fallen leaves proliferate.
It is growing late.
Dare I broach
The final gate
We all must approach?
A conker I found
A conker I found
On the ground.
Still in it’s prickly clothes,
Yet to be disclosed.
“I aught
To leave you here” I thought.
“You may, for all I know
Grow into a great tree”.
But another voice in me
Said “some other will take you away, if I leave you here on the grass
For many people here pass”.
So I took you home
As my own.
On my sill
You sit, waiting to spill
Your seed.
Was it need
Or greed
That made the virile
Sterile.
Would that I could
Get to the root
Of this drying fruit.
His heart was soft
His heart
Was soft
In part.
But the devil coughed,
So he did what he did
And further downward slid.
