A number with address and haughty air

The ratio of  radius  so clear
And circumference which is  all round
The circle I once loved and feared

This measure  is not any integer
Nor a ratio of two, which might be sound
It is no number in my algebra.

What can  it be that caused the Greeks despair
That sent their mathematics underground?
A number with address and haughty air

Did they say to God, it is unfair
We all go round and round and round and round
This problem sends  us all into despair

But God themself hides in such lairs
He or  she is found on holy ground
We must seek  the truth with brains’ new wares

God  has complex motives, numbers’ ground
She likes to  tease and zero has been learned
Oh ,the line of  radii so dear, so near
Of the circles I  did  much revere

Found so severe..
Ground upward rears
God never cared

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To let you know how loved you are, how dear

Happy Birthday, Anne and Toby Gee
I hope the sun will shine on you  all  year
They should announce it on the BBC
To let you know how loved you  are, how dear

Will you have balloons to float away?
Maybe one may come by me down here
I’ll look  out and say a little  prayer
That I will notice any that are near


I hope your Daddy makes a lovely cake
And James is bathing Mummy and  your frogs
I know your Daddy likes to cook and bake
Has he ever made a chocolate dog?

Sending you some presents  with a kiss
Wishing you a day of tender bliss.

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Yet mysteries hide between the numbers whole

Deep mysteries lie between   the numbers  whole
Ratios  have a logic  we accept
But, in between,  infinity dwells veiled

At first, one  merely counted  shark fin whales
Such numbers seem both simple  and direct
Yet mysteries  hide between  the numbers  whole

Sheep and goats  are counted  soon as well
But mystery  an hypotenuse   reflects
For at such points   infinity dwells veiled

A number which gives 2 when  squared itself
Can nowhere find a ratio to check.
Yes, mysteries lie between  our numbers  whole

The Greeks  rejected such irrational stealth
To geometry  only  they chose to connect
For on a  line, infinity dwells veiled

On infinite shores, their reason was well wrecked
And those who tried to measure circles found defects.
Deep mysteries lie between   the numbers  whole
On  lines and arcs infinity dwells veiled

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There is truth but not in human terms

The Mayday dances were at Whitsuntide
When round the maypole young folk liked to dance
This holiday is for the workers kind

At Whit, God’s spirit  came to his abode
Six weeks after Easter, not by chance
The Mayday dances were at Whitsuntide

There is no truth for a  post-modern mind
But words cannot convey a woman’s glance
This holiday is for  steel workers kind

 

There may be truth  and humans may be blind
A truth may be revealed by happenstance
The Mayday dances were at Whitsuntide

There is truth but not in human  terms
Why was Jesus’ side pierced by a lance
This holiday was for  coal miners kind

 

Now we live the stinging nettles  flounce
And striped tygers eye with elegance
The Mayday dances were at Whitsuntide
This holiday was for the workers’ minds

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Like spirit drummers trying for some fame.

The Mayday festival  is here  again
What have I  not done and who’s to blame?
Will this ensure we get torrential rain?

I like to hear the patter on the panes
Like spirit drummers trying for some fame.
Will this ensure we get torrential rain?

Hark , I hear the blunders of a crane
I lit the candle, broke the window frame.
Will this ensure we get torrential rain?

My face is looking gorgeous  with its planes
To think of my great beauty, I’m ashamed
Will shame ensure we get torrential rain?

When I marry I shall have a train
I love railway tracks and boy’s own games
Will this ensure we get torrential rain?

By compulsions and obsessions, I’ve been maimed
My soul is twisted and my mind is lame
The Mayday festival  is here  again
Will God ensure we get torrential rain?

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The last time he used a human word

http://www.cjnews.com/culture/arts/eight-reasons-leonard-cohen-will-live-forever

Thinking about it, in the murder scene
you could probably
base quite a lot of this on  God’s twitter account,
which is surely the maddest, most empathic  Twitter account
Yet created by non-humans
He’s out there in  glorious  portraits,
looking remote and godly in sonorous garb.
He follows only two people: Joshua Nazareth and Mary.
Noone never replied to a single email or message
The last time he used a human word
It was in October 2045
Lean close to your Lord and his Twitter feed
He has wells of cologne, luxuriant mysteries, and inhuman loneliness.
Francis came to mind this week with the suggestion
He might have been an asylum seeker himself in the summer  of 1953
If one of Europe’s mega-racists had made
A suitable impassively odd bid for
Granchester Meadow and Sylvia Plath’s footprints
Both were mentioned, a story that has since been denied by Ted Hughes
its apparel resource. ]
Either way this is a rumour
Saving the grounds for a mile
And playing  Lutheran hymns v Real Vatican songs
And, by way of variation, Bach  singing to Leonard Cohen in bed

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