"inference" poems - Hello Poetry

1646 Why should we hurry—why indeed? When every way we fly We are molested equally By immortality. No respite from the inference That this which is begun, Though where its labors lie A bland uncertainty Besets the sight This mighty night—

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5.5k

Emily Dickinson

Why should we hurry—why indeed?

1646 Why should we hurry—why indeed? When every way we fly We are molested equally By immortality. No respite from the inference That this which is begun, Though where its labors lie A bland uncertainty Besets the sight This mighty night—

11

It was made of cement and lime, And expected no praise or any rhyme. It was placed in the park, Amidst few trees and growing leaves. He used to come on every twenty seventh, On dot from 6 to 8 in this heaven. He was punctual even in rain, Determined to reach the bench in pain. It was the bench who was the witness, The only witness after God’s inference. It is the bench who can answer, The repeated questions he used to repeat. He was so soft on that hard seat, And waited for that long meet. He used to be quite in his thoughts, Recollecting the moments just passed. He could speak only to his soul, Sometimes to the bench in whole. He cried inner in and outer out, On that bench his heart out. No matter what, he was always there, Be it rain, a fever, omen happening, Infected, dejected or rejected signing. He was there , yes he was there on the bench. The bench wished to speak, For it could bare no more weight, The weight of his heavy heart, And his cry for the constant try. He was told by many for its of no use, To wait for the gone and the wrong. But he was adamant to protect his chaste love, And to defend his chaste vow. After a year and after lockdown, Now the bench is empty, With no weight of him, Nor the wait of her. The bench seems to be happy for knowing, That he has learned lessons from his love. Though the bench could never speak, Yet he always heard the voice beneath. He no longer waits on the bench, Nor has any tears to shed. But he misses the bench, More than her and less than her love. Dedicated to the bench in that waiting park. Thala Abhimanyu Kumar Dated: 27/06/2020

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Jun 28, 2020

Jun 28, 2020 at 2:07 AM UTC

Thala

The Bench Story

It was made of cement and lime, And expected no praise or any rhyme. It was placed in the park, Amidst few trees and growing leaves. He used to come on every twenty seventh, On dot from 6 to 8 in this heaven. He was punctual even in rain, Determined to reach the bench in pain. It was the bench who was the witness, The only witness after God’s inference. It is the bench who can answer, The repeated questions he used to repeat. He was so soft on that hard seat, And waited for that long meet. He used to be quite in his thoughts, Recollecting the moments just passed. He could speak only to his soul, Sometimes to the bench in whole. He cried inner in and outer out, On that bench his heart out. No matter what, he was always there, Be it rain, a fever, omen happening, Infected, dejected or rejected signing. He was there , yes he was there on the bench. The bench wished to speak, For it could bare no more weight, The weight of his heavy heart, And his cry for the constant try. He was told by many for its of no use, To wait for the gone and the wrong. But he was adamant to protect his chaste love, And to defend his chaste vow. After a year and after lockdown, Now the bench is empty, With no weight of him, Nor the wait of her. The bench seems to be happy for knowing, That he has learned lessons from his love. Though the bench could never speak, Yet he always heard the voice beneath. He no longer waits on the bench, Nor has any tears to shed. But he misses the bench, More than her and less than her love. Dedicated to the bench in that waiting park. Thala Abhimanyu Kumar Dated: 27/06/2020

47

With an old secret I sank into her endless eyes Pondering over laws That effected such marvel And leased me to madness Words were melting in my mouth She, refraining her turn of phrase A tear rolled down my cheek Stirring passion's tongue A tear rolled down hers Wielding my soul ablaze I rejoiced in silence Lest I betray my confidence She handled my eyes Spotting my inference I could no longer bear The fruits of my fear I leaned over and touched Her sculptured nails tenderly Freeing my emotion She smiled coyly Sealing my devotion.

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Oct 19, 2019

Oct 19, 2019 at 2:49 AM UTC

bijan-rabiee

Strangers In The Light

With an old secret I sank into her endless eyes Pondering over laws That effected such marvel And leased me to madness Words were melting in my mouth She, refraining her turn of phrase A tear rolled down my cheek Stirring passion's tongue A tear rolled down hers Wielding my soul ablaze I rejoiced in silence Lest I betray my confidence She handled my eyes Spotting my inference I could no longer bear The fruits of my fear I leaned over and touched Her sculptured nails tenderly Freeing my emotion She smiled coyly Sealing my devotion.

22

180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came To continents of summer— To firmaments of sun— To strange, bright crowds of flowers— And birds, of foreign tongue! I say, As if this little flower To Eden, wandered in— What then? Why nothing, Only, your inference therefrom!

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3.1k

Emily Dickinson

As if some little Arctic flower

180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came To continents of summer— To firmaments of sun— To strange, bright crowds of flowers— And birds, of foreign tongue! I say, As if this little flower To Eden, wandered in— What then? Why nothing, Only, your inference therefrom!

13

The greatest of distances separated us, but being abrasive at best, our two rougher edges always sparked. Even when friendly, a side conversing of judgement and not-quite-resentment kept the parameters of conversation shallow and narrow minded. Deeper inference caused interference like static in my mind, and short circuits were common even in the most civil of discussions common to other circles. Round and round, wishes to connect and a secret bid for volatile collision kept us chasing, while a wary voice forced us to stay separated like magnets pushing and pulling. Never did two people hate so many common things and yet repulse each other so completely.

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Apr 5, 2015

Apr 5, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC

lexicalgap

Magnetism, Repulsion, and Friction

The greatest of distances separated us, but being abrasive at best, our two rougher edges always sparked. Even when friendly, a side conversing of judgement and not-quite-resentment kept the parameters of conversation shallow and narrow minded. Deeper inference caused interference like static in my mind, and short circuits were common even in the most civil of discussions common to other circles. Round and round, wishes to connect and a secret bid for volatile collision kept us chasing, while a wary voice forced us to stay separated like magnets pushing and pulling. Never did two people hate so many common things and yet repulse each other so completely.

23

I’m thinking of the faded checkered pattern that has been smoothed away by time on the dark cloth seats of a Nissan Pathfinder driving down Ryan Road on a hot day in June. My mother, in the front seat, singing along to a Spice Girls cassette. I’m thinking: red, plastic, crab-shaped sandbox and McDonald’s Happy Meal toys. I’m thinking: light princess pink, seafoam green, and robin’s egg blue. I’m thinking of a framed cheetah cross stitch, hanging on the wall of what used to be our bedroom at my grandparent’s house. I’m thinking: Barbie doll houses and Hot Wheels and a cul-de-sac at the end of the street. The sweet smell of cigar smoke. The ice cold splash of the garden hose. The pop of a bubble. The sting of soap in the eye. Dreams by The Cranberries. As Long as You Love Me by The Backstreet Boys. A HelloKitty boombox slowly spitting out vapor when the deck builders hit a power line while digging. The deer in the backyard looking for corn. The faded wood of a playset that was never really played on. My father: sitting alone on a splintered bench by the firepit at the edge of the woods, empty beer cans at his feet, chain smoking cigarettes, and humming along to a song that is stuck—forever stuck—on the tip of my tongue. I do not know if this happened. I cannot ask him. (I’m not sure if I would want to ask him.) But I can make an educated inference that that line of fiction is really nonfiction. A memory that feels like a phantom limb. Sounds like the sharp crinkle of static. Covered in a gossamer, dreamlike haze. There is a distinct otherness to this memory, to who I think I was before the trauma. We are two different people. A yin and a yang. A day and a night. The hermit crab is soft beneath its hard shell. The asbestos is not apparent within the insulation. You cannot see the lead in the paint. The mold inside the fruit.

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May 5, 2021

May 5, 2021 at 2:46 AM UTC

taylor-st-onge

Imagine This Poem as a 4x6 Walgreens Photo Print From a 2002 FujiFilm Disposable Camera

I’m thinking of the faded checkered pattern that has been smoothed away by time on the dark cloth seats of a Nissan Pathfinder driving down Ryan Road on a hot day in June. My mother, in the front seat, singing along to a Spice Girls cassette. I’m thinking: red, plastic, crab-shaped sandbox and McDonald’s Happy Meal toys. I’m thinking: light princess pink, seafoam green, and robin’s egg blue. I’m thinking of a framed cheetah cross stitch, hanging on the wall of what used to be our bedroom at my grandparent’s house. I’m thinking: Barbie doll houses and Hot Wheels and a cul-de-sac at the end of the street. The sweet smell of cigar smoke. The ice cold splash of the garden hose. The pop of a bubble. The sting of soap in the eye. Dreams by The Cranberries. As Long as You Love Me by The Backstreet Boys. A HelloKitty boombox slowly spitting out vapor when the deck builders hit a power line while digging. The deer in the backyard looking for corn. The faded wood of a playset that was never really played on. My father: sitting alone on a splintered bench by the firepit at the edge of the woods, empty beer cans at his feet, chain smoking cigarettes, and humming along to a song that is stuck—forever stuck—on the tip of my tongue. I do not know if this happened. I cannot ask him. (I’m not sure if I would want to ask him.) But I can make an educated inference that that line of fiction is really nonfiction. A memory that feels like a phantom limb. Sounds like the sharp crinkle of static. Covered in a gossamer, dreamlike haze. There is a distinct otherness to this memory, to who I think I was before the trauma. We are two different people. A yin and a yang. A day and a night. The hermit crab is soft beneath its hard shell. The asbestos is not apparent within the insulation. You cannot see the lead in the paint. The mold inside the fruit.

27

Bad as a ***** ***** Bas as a ***** ***** Flapjack rippin up tracks Call the conductor Oh wait that’s me You need training Wheel’s on the track Traction that you stuck under N never wonder who is coming with the blunderbuss All up in yo face, one shot n you under us Ain’t wonderous? ****** up a couple plastics, pause, chill, kickback Smoke a couple blunts M to the A G, N to the Ificient Life’s nice isn’t it? That is, if ya got a little life light to lighten up those, like, Way heavy dark instances. And I don’t give a **** what you’re inference is Psh, this ***** tryna tell me what the difference is I thought it was obvious I am, they are not the **** Now we all got a nervous system But that don’t explain why you’re so nervous mister I done chained two chains up by his whiskers Gave away his dummy money needed hunny ****** his sister It’s the Little Rapscallion ****** up your fleet, better bring the whole battalion And I rap stallions, you stickin to the stable Fables of your ladies n your many medalions **** I’m goin off in this motha ***** Tossin these ***** fuckas wall to wall Knockin bricks out with a fist pound So get out n stand back, take notes, watch it fall I’m bach with ***** don’t matter what your speed I can clock em all, No cops involved, knock knock knock knock Lock down drop top n ball I’m all tweaked up n ***** you bound to stall

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Aug 26, 2014

Aug 26, 2014 at 2:33 AM UTC

hooflip

Swerve

Bad as a ***** ***** Bas as a ***** ***** Flapjack rippin up tracks Call the conductor Oh wait that’s me You need training Wheel’s on the track Traction that you stuck under N never wonder who is coming with the blunderbuss All up in yo face, one shot n you under us Ain’t wonderous? ****** up a couple plastics, pause, chill, kickback Smoke a couple blunts M to the A G, N to the Ificient Life’s nice isn’t it? That is, if ya got a little life light to lighten up those, like, Way heavy dark instances. And I don’t give a **** what you’re inference is Psh, this ***** tryna tell me what the difference is I thought it was obvious I am, they are not the **** Now we all got a nervous system But that don’t explain why you’re so nervous mister I done chained two chains up by his whiskers Gave away his dummy money needed hunny ****** his sister It’s the Little Rapscallion ****** up your fleet, better bring the whole battalion And I rap stallions, you stickin to the stable Fables of your ladies n your many medalions **** I’m goin off in this motha ***** Tossin these ***** fuckas wall to wall Knockin bricks out with a fist pound So get out n stand back, take notes, watch it fall I’m bach with ***** don’t matter what your speed I can clock em all, No cops involved, knock knock knock knock Lock down drop top n ball I’m all tweaked up n ***** you bound to stall

38

"I grant you ample leave To use the hoary formula 'I am' Naming the emptiness where thought is not; But fill the void with definition, 'I' Will be no more a datum than the words You link false inference with, the 'Since' & 'so' That, true or not, make up the atom-whirl. Resolve your 'Ego', it is all one web With vibrant ether clotted into worlds: Your subject, self, or self-assertive 'I' Turns nought but object, melts to molecules, Is stripped from naked Being with the rest Of those rag-garments named the Universe. Or if, in strife to keep your 'Ego' strong You make it weaver of the etherial light, Space, motion, solids & the dream of Time -- Why, still 'tis Being looking from the dark, The core, the centre of your consciousness, That notes your bubble-world: sense, pleasure, pain, What are they but a shifting otherness, Phantasmal flux of moments? --"

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2.5k

George Eliot

I Grant You Ample Leave

"I grant you ample leave To use the hoary formula 'I am' Naming the emptiness where thought is not; But fill the void with definition, 'I' Will be no more a datum than the words You link false inference with, the 'Since' & 'so' That, true or not, make up the atom-whirl. Resolve your 'Ego', it is all one web With vibrant ether clotted into worlds: Your subject, self, or self-assertive 'I' Turns nought but object, melts to molecules, Is stripped from naked Being with the rest Of those rag-garments named the Universe. Or if, in strife to keep your 'Ego' strong You make it weaver of the etherial light, Space, motion, solids & the dream of Time -- Why, still 'tis Being looking from the dark, The core, the centre of your consciousness, That notes your bubble-world: sense, pleasure, pain, What are they but a shifting otherness, Phantasmal flux of moments? --"

21

It was the first gift he ever gave her, buying it for five five francs in the Galeries in pre-war Paris. It was stifling. A starless drought made the nights stormy. They stayed in the city for the summer. The met in cafes. She was always early. He was late. That evening he was later. They wrapped the fan. He looked at his watch. She looked down the Boulevard des Capucines. She ordered more coffee. She stood up. The streets were emptying. The heat was killing. She thought the distance smelled of rain and lightning. These are wild roses, appliqued on silk by hand, darkly picked, stitched boldly, quickly. The rest is tortoiseshell and has the reticent clear patience of its element. It is a worn-out, underwater bullion and it keeps, even now, an inference of its violation. The lace is overcast as if the weather it opened for and offset had entered it. The past is an empty cafe terrace. An airless dusk before thunder. A man running. And no way to know what happened then— none at all—unless ,of course, you improvise: The blackbird on this first sultry morning, in summer, finding buds, worms, fruit, feels the heat. Suddenly she puts out her wing— the whole, full, flirtatious span of it.

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2.5k

William Blake

The Black Lace Fan My Mother Gave Me

It was the first gift he ever gave her, buying it for five five francs in the Galeries in pre-war Paris. It was stifling. A starless drought made the nights stormy. They stayed in the city for the summer. The met in cafes. She was always early. He was late. That evening he was later. They wrapped the fan. He looked at his watch. She looked down the Boulevard des Capucines. She ordered more coffee. She stood up. The streets were emptying. The heat was killing. She thought the distance smelled of rain and lightning. These are wild roses, appliqued on silk by hand, darkly picked, stitched boldly, quickly. The rest is tortoiseshell and has the reticent clear patience of its element. It is a worn-out, underwater bullion and it keeps, even now, an inference of its violation. The lace is overcast as if the weather it opened for and offset had entered it. The past is an empty cafe terrace. An airless dusk before thunder. A man running. And no way to know what happened then— none at all—unless ,of course, you improvise: The blackbird on this first sultry morning, in summer, finding buds, worms, fruit, feels the heat. Suddenly she puts out her wing— the whole, full, flirtatious span of it.

28

~for maddie~ the inference need not be discerned, plain clear like a perfected blue sky that took a millennium to craft so well that you take it 100% for granted even God needs trial and error to get it right, and more to create a perfect anything and any body and any elephant

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Jun 15, 2024

Jun 15, 2024 at 9:58 AM UTC

stillcrazyafteralltheseye

elephants spring to mind

~for maddie~ the inference need not be discerned, plain clear like a perfected blue sky that took a millennium to craft so well that you take it 100% for granted even God needs trial and error to get it right, and more to create a perfect anything and any body and any elephant

11

Who are you to wave your finger? Ya' must have been out your head. Eye hole deep in muddy waters, You practically raised the dead. Rob the grave, to snow the cradle then burn the evidence down. Soapbox, house of cards and glass, so don't go tossin' your stones all around. You must have been high. You must have been high. You must have been- Foot in mouth, and head up ******* what'cha talkin' 'bout? Difficult to dance 'round this one 'til you pull it out, boy; You must have been so high. You must have been so high. Steal, borrow, refer, save your shady inference. kangaroo done hung the juror with the innocent. Now you're weeping shades of cozened indigo Got lemon juice up in your EYE! When you ****** all over my black kettle You must have been HIGH, HIGH You must have been HIGH, HIGH Who are you to wave your finger, so full of it? Eyeballs deep in muddy waters, fuckin' hypocrite. Liar, lawyer, mirror; show me: What's the difference? kangaroo done hung the guilty with the innocent. Now you'll weep or change the cozened indigo; got lemon juice up in your high-eye, when you ****** all over my black kettle You musta been! So who are you to wave your finger? Who are you to wave your fatty fingers at me? You must, have been, out your, mind! Weepin' shades of indigo shed without a reason weepin' shades of indigo Liar, lawyer, Mirror for ya, what's the difference? kangaroo be ****** he's guilty as the government Now, will you weep or, change the cozened indigo; got lemon juice up in your, EYE! EYE! Now when you ****** all over my black kettle. You musta been HIGH, HIGH, HIGH, HIGH. Eyeballs deep in muddy waters Your ***** deep in muddy waters; ***** p-lease! You must have been out your MIND!

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Oct 16, 2013

Oct 16, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

The *** - Tool

Who are you to wave your finger? Ya' must have been out your head. Eye hole deep in muddy waters, You practically raised the dead. Rob the grave, to snow the cradle then burn the evidence down. Soapbox, house of cards and glass, so don't go tossin' your stones all around. You must have been high. You must have been high. You must have been- Foot in mouth, and head up ******* what'cha talkin' 'bout? Difficult to dance 'round this one 'til you pull it out, boy; You must have been so high. You must have been so high. Steal, borrow, refer, save your shady inference. kangaroo done hung the juror with the innocent. Now you're weeping shades of cozened indigo Got lemon juice up in your EYE! When you ****** all over my black kettle You must have been HIGH, HIGH You must have been HIGH, HIGH Who are you to wave your finger, so full of it? Eyeballs deep in muddy waters, fuckin' hypocrite. Liar, lawyer, mirror; show me: What's the difference? kangaroo done hung the guilty with the innocent. Now you'll weep or change the cozened indigo; got lemon juice up in your high-eye, when you ****** all over my black kettle You musta been! So who are you to wave your finger? Who are you to wave your fatty fingers at me? You must, have been, out your, mind! Weepin' shades of indigo shed without a reason weepin' shades of indigo Liar, lawyer, Mirror for ya, what's the difference? kangaroo be ****** he's guilty as the government Now, will you weep or, change the cozened indigo; got lemon juice up in your, EYE! EYE! Now when you ****** all over my black kettle. You musta been HIGH, HIGH, HIGH, HIGH. Eyeballs deep in muddy waters Your ***** deep in muddy waters; ***** p-lease! You must have been out your MIND!

55

1471 Their Barricade against the Sky The martial Trees withdraw And with a Flag at every turn Their Armies are no more. What Russet Halts in Nature’s March They indicate or cause An inference of Mexico Effaces the Surmise— Recurrent to the After Mind That Massacre of Air— The Wound that was not Wound nor Scar But Holidays of War

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2.1k

Emily Dickinson

Their Barricade against the Sky

1471 Their Barricade against the Sky The martial Trees withdraw And with a Flag at every turn Their Armies are no more. What Russet Halts in Nature’s March They indicate or cause An inference of Mexico Effaces the Surmise— Recurrent to the After Mind That Massacre of Air— The Wound that was not Wound nor Scar But Holidays of War

13

1163 God made no act without a cause, Nor heart without an aim, Our inference is premature, Our premises to blame.

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2.1k

Emily Dickinson

God made no act without a cause

1163 God made no act without a cause, Nor heart without an aim, Our inference is premature, Our premises to blame.

5

987 The Leaves like Women interchange Exclusive Confidence— Somewhat of nods and somewhat Portentous inference. The Parties in both cases Enjoining secrecy— Inviolable compact To notoriety.

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2k

Emily Dickinson

The Leaves like Women interchange

987 The Leaves like Women interchange Exclusive Confidence— Somewhat of nods and somewhat Portentous inference. The Parties in both cases Enjoining secrecy— Inviolable compact To notoriety.

9

When we are needy The greedy feed easy When we just please We are easy to tease Seeking approval Is responsibility removal Who's approval do I need? To make the choice to succeed Feeling displeased Like feeling dis-ease It leads to disease That leads to decease Seeking to blame The simplest game Avoiding a responsibility For my own possibility Choosing my emotion Without the commotion Didn't choose the inference But I do own the response Anger like coal Burns who it holds Vengeance a slave So dig it two graves No need to accept No need to reject No need to adore No need to abhor No need to be needy So, needy no more copyright/all rights reserved Joe Fogg 2011

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Sep 26, 2011

Sep 26, 2011 at 3:08 PM UTC

joe-fogg

Needy No More

When we are needy The greedy feed easy When we just please We are easy to tease Seeking approval Is responsibility removal Who's approval do I need? To make the choice to succeed Feeling displeased Like feeling dis-ease It leads to disease That leads to decease Seeking to blame The simplest game Avoiding a responsibility For my own possibility Choosing my emotion Without the commotion Didn't choose the inference But I do own the response Anger like coal Burns who it holds Vengeance a slave So dig it two graves No need to accept No need to reject No need to adore No need to abhor No need to be needy So, needy no more copyright/all rights reserved Joe Fogg 2011

31

Three nonconsecutive generations that can -- No -- Will – spit the timeless fairytale of that princess Who never lost glass slippers -- or Touched poisoned spindles -- or Ate strangers’ apples -- or Dealt with witches – and We are that dry, plain Eucharist-wafer taste on your tongue That paralyzing cramp between your toes That still-alive, still-wiggling earthworm’s six separate, butchered body parts We stole the words from journalists’ larynx, His statistics, his inference, his prowess His bias came hungry and ate the bread crumbs from our hands. The name mother-bird doesn’t carry as much weight these days. Collectively considered and individually squandered, We’re the nonsense jumbled-word search in your local Sunday paper. And you’ll have us whether you like or not with your large coffee and bagel.

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Sep 23, 2011

Sep 23, 2011 at 11:52 PM UTC

kara-rose-trojan

House of Three Women

Three nonconsecutive generations that can -- No -- Will – spit the timeless fairytale of that princess Who never lost glass slippers -- or Touched poisoned spindles -- or Ate strangers’ apples -- or Dealt with witches – and We are that dry, plain Eucharist-wafer taste on your tongue That paralyzing cramp between your toes That still-alive, still-wiggling earthworm’s six separate, butchered body parts We stole the words from journalists’ larynx, His statistics, his inference, his prowess His bias came hungry and ate the bread crumbs from our hands. The name mother-bird doesn’t carry as much weight these days. Collectively considered and individually squandered, We’re the nonsense jumbled-word search in your local Sunday paper. And you’ll have us whether you like or not with your large coffee and bagel.

16

If every noble cause, Is mocked by the commoners themselves; If every good inference, Is taunted and berated relentlessly; If all one gets by trying, Is being brought down using the name of almighty himself, Then I don't wanna be good in this world. If every selfless devotion, Is only to be taken granted; If egoistic attention, Is all that deserves love; If love is no more, Than a squabble and a source of hideous pleasures: Then I don't wanna be good in this world. If procurement Has become more important than the heart; If anxiety, Is something people use for diligence; If sympathy and sorrow, And not care And ONLY care Is what one uses for getting love; Then I DONT WANNA BE GOOD IN THIS WORLD.

0

Mar 29, 2018

Mar 29, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC

Anonymouspk

Good

If every noble cause, Is mocked by the commoners themselves; If every good inference, Is taunted and berated relentlessly; If all one gets by trying, Is being brought down using the name of almighty himself, Then I don't wanna be good in this world. If every selfless devotion, Is only to be taken granted; If egoistic attention, Is all that deserves love; If love is no more, Than a squabble and a source of hideous pleasures: Then I don't wanna be good in this world. If procurement Has become more important than the heart; If anxiety, Is something people use for diligence; If sympathy and sorrow, And not care And ONLY care Is what one uses for getting love; Then I DONT WANNA BE GOOD IN THIS WORLD.

26

. Some say the scientific method Is the ultimate algorithm and others Prefer prayer. For symbolists, all intelligence can be reduced to manipulating symbols, in the same way that a mathematician solves equations by replacing expressions by other expressions. Symbolists understand that you can't learn from scratch: you need some initial knowledge to go with the data. They've figured out how to incorporate pre-existing knowledge into learning, and how to combine different pieces of knowledge on the fly in order to solve new problems. Their master algorithm is inverse deduction, which figures out what knowledge is missing in order to make a deduction go through, and then makes it as general as possible. Tea In its simplicity Can sustain concentration For connectionists, learning is what the brain does, and so what we need to do is reverse engineer it. The brain learns by adjusting the strengths of connections between neurons, and the crucial problem is figuring out which connections are to blame for which errors and changing them accordingly. The connectionists' master algorithm is back propagation, which compares a system's outputs with the desired one and then successively changes the connections in layer after layer of neurons so as to bring the output closer to what it should be. Hungry and cold A holy condition A warrior's position Evolutionaries believe that the mother of all learning is natural selection. If it made us, it can make anything, and all we need to do is simulate it on the computer. The key problem that evolutionaries solve is learning structure: not just adjusting parameters, like back propagation does, but creating the brain that these adjustments can then fine-tune. The evolutionaries' master algorithm is genetic programming, which mates and evolves computer programs in the same way that nature mates and evolves organisms. Arithmetic A good shit's the metric Of a dying man Bayesians are concerned above all with uncertainty. All learned knowledge is uncertain, and learning itself is a form of uncertain inference. The problem then becomes how to deal with noisy, incomplete, and even contradictory information without falling apart. The solution is probabilistic inference, and the master algorithm is Bayes' theorem and its derivatives. Bayes' theorem tell us how to incorporate new evidence into our beliefs, and probabilistic inference algorithms do that as efficiently as possible. I can't believe I won't live forever, therefore, I invented an afterlife to supplement reincarnation For analogizers, the key to learning is recognizing similarities between situations and thereby inferring other similarities. If two patients have similar symptoms, perhaps they have the same disease. The key problem is judging how similar two things are. The analogizers' master algorithm is the support vector machine, which figures out which experiences to remember and how to combine them to make new predictions. Prepare for a powerful anesthesia Chemical processes irresistible A good and perfect rest

0

Jun 5, 2017

Jun 5, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC

robert-ronnow

The Master Algorithm

. Some say the scientific method Is the ultimate algorithm and others Prefer prayer. For symbolists, all intelligence can be reduced to manipulating symbols, in the same way that a mathematician solves equations by replacing expressions by other expressions. Symbolists understand that you can't learn from scratch: you need some initial knowledge to go with the data. They've figured out how to incorporate pre-existing knowledge into learning, and how to combine different pieces of knowledge on the fly in order to solve new problems. Their master algorithm is inverse deduction, which figures out what knowledge is missing in order to make a deduction go through, and then makes it as general as possible. Tea In its simplicity Can sustain concentration For connectionists, learning is what the brain does, and so what we need to do is reverse engineer it. The brain learns by adjusting the strengths of connections between neurons, and the crucial problem is figuring out which connections are to blame for which errors and changing them accordingly. The connectionists' master algorithm is back propagation, which compares a system's outputs with the desired one and then successively changes the connections in layer after layer of neurons so as to bring the output closer to what it should be. Hungry and cold A holy condition A warrior's position Evolutionaries believe that the mother of all learning is natural selection. If it made us, it can make anything, and all we need to do is simulate it on the computer. The key problem that evolutionaries solve is learning structure: not just adjusting parameters, like back propagation does, but creating the brain that these adjustments can then fine-tune. The evolutionaries' master algorithm is genetic programming, which mates and evolves computer programs in the same way that nature mates and evolves organisms. Arithmetic A good shit's the metric Of a dying man Bayesians are concerned above all with uncertainty. All learned knowledge is uncertain, and learning itself is a form of uncertain inference. The problem then becomes how to deal with noisy, incomplete, and even contradictory information without falling apart. The solution is probabilistic inference, and the master algorithm is Bayes' theorem and its derivatives. Bayes' theorem tell us how to incorporate new evidence into our beliefs, and probabilistic inference algorithms do that as efficiently as possible. I can't believe I won't live forever, therefore, I invented an afterlife to supplement reincarnation For analogizers, the key to learning is recognizing similarities between situations and thereby inferring other similarities. If two patients have similar symptoms, perhaps they have the same disease. The key problem is judging how similar two things are. The analogizers' master algorithm is the support vector machine, which figures out which experiences to remember and how to combine them to make new predictions. Prepare for a powerful anesthesia Chemical processes irresistible A good and perfect rest

25

Though it's easy to speak of great joy and remember my Savior I am baffled sometimes yet amused by my own strange behavior I know, like rawhide I can be rather rough sand the edges, I've tried, but enough is enough Let's just cut with the gruff and hang onto the stuff that we favor. somewhere between nothing and something I'm feeling indifference to spare you the details I speak in the vagueness of inference. It's not everyday that we love and we lose but it happened to me and it's time that I choose so I'm taking a break cause at stake is my peace and my patience. I stand at the doorway of reason and see that I'm failing I know that it's not the right season but want to go sailing. the edge of the keel will cut through the ice and time out for healing is always so nice so besides your advice I will take what is best for my ailing. Let me drift though the sorrow and sort through the things that I'm feeling and back here tomorrow I'll help you to paint up the ceiling. you find yourself working and that is the way you hold it together and get through the day but I pray that in play we will both find a good kind of healing. We all have to cope with these things and we know that it's coming our lives are like houses, emotions are just like the plumbing. you plan it all out and try not to rush keep the lines clear and remember to flush but all of my gripes are like pipes, clogged and so unbecoming. Though it's easy to speak of great joy and remember my Savior I'm baffled sometimes yet amused by my own strange behavior

0

Oct 15, 2013

Oct 15, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC

igclair

Time Out for Strange Behavior

Though it's easy to speak of great joy and remember my Savior I am baffled sometimes yet amused by my own strange behavior I know, like rawhide I can be rather rough sand the edges, I've tried, but enough is enough Let's just cut with the gruff and hang onto the stuff that we favor. somewhere between nothing and something I'm feeling indifference to spare you the details I speak in the vagueness of inference. It's not everyday that we love and we lose but it happened to me and it's time that I choose so I'm taking a break cause at stake is my peace and my patience. I stand at the doorway of reason and see that I'm failing I know that it's not the right season but want to go sailing. the edge of the keel will cut through the ice and time out for healing is always so nice so besides your advice I will take what is best for my ailing. Let me drift though the sorrow and sort through the things that I'm feeling and back here tomorrow I'll help you to paint up the ceiling. you find yourself working and that is the way you hold it together and get through the day but I pray that in play we will both find a good kind of healing. We all have to cope with these things and we know that it's coming our lives are like houses, emotions are just like the plumbing. you plan it all out and try not to rush keep the lines clear and remember to flush but all of my gripes are like pipes, clogged and so unbecoming. Though it's easy to speak of great joy and remember my Savior I'm baffled sometimes yet amused by my own strange behavior

27

I've always wondered how each step could sit so silently, watching as the ceiling lights bounced back and forth ; from white wall to white wall. I've also wondered how they could wait so patiently in the shadows while those lights and those that passed through stole the glory of it all. Is it because they've accepted their role and realized that they've been stepped on so many times it's pointless to complain? Or is it because they know their location of isolation serves a greater purpose than most could contain? I would think that it is safe to assume that each inference is true because if you were destined to be that step for people to reach their next level in life (by stepping up and over you) you'd think it true too.. Now remember this is much deeper than a simple stair well , lights and some white walls. This is a scenario describing a girls life, who found her life in loosing her life for a greater cause..

0

May 5, 2016

May 5, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC

ajahnique-dandy

Stairwell Dreams

I've always wondered how each step could sit so silently, watching as the ceiling lights bounced back and forth ; from white wall to white wall. I've also wondered how they could wait so patiently in the shadows while those lights and those that passed through stole the glory of it all. Is it because they've accepted their role and realized that they've been stepped on so many times it's pointless to complain? Or is it because they know their location of isolation serves a greater purpose than most could contain? I would think that it is safe to assume that each inference is true because if you were destined to be that step for people to reach their next level in life (by stepping up and over you) you'd think it true too.. Now remember this is much deeper than a simple stair well , lights and some white walls. This is a scenario describing a girls life, who found her life in loosing her life for a greater cause..

5

My condition is incongruent with the common presence Black sheep identity burning eyes and hesitance I move in a manner like weight attached lumbering Unsure of myself, with no partner stumbling Swimming in a glass half full and inattentive Sloppy script pen tip like bull with red incentive Reference to constructed concept subjective inference Marker to my darker being written in this instance Possessive and persuasive visitor leads me to temptation Takes unpredictable control of my mental weather station Precipitates with hate and tears me down with its erosion Art starts with rain pain soon becomes an ocean My breathing is done in desperate gasps A fight for oxygen’s healing Suddenly I am miles away Far beyond the ceiling Moving at the speed of light time slowing to a crawl Cranium contained tragically between these walls I wake to similar circumstances not changed to satisfaction Expect a sedentary death from drone of human interaction Hungry and reestablished, reminded now of morning Clear mind and consequence come forth with no forewarning Death lingers in the white noise that gestures from the mental I open the gates to raiders as they pilfer sacred temple

0

Nov 13, 2010

Nov 13, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC

ERRPoetry

41. Temple 11/11/10

My condition is incongruent with the common presence Black sheep identity burning eyes and hesitance I move in a manner like weight attached lumbering Unsure of myself, with no partner stumbling Swimming in a glass half full and inattentive Sloppy script pen tip like bull with red incentive Reference to constructed concept subjective inference Marker to my darker being written in this instance Possessive and persuasive visitor leads me to temptation Takes unpredictable control of my mental weather station Precipitates with hate and tears me down with its erosion Art starts with rain pain soon becomes an ocean My breathing is done in desperate gasps A fight for oxygen’s healing Suddenly I am miles away Far beyond the ceiling Moving at the speed of light time slowing to a crawl Cranium contained tragically between these walls I wake to similar circumstances not changed to satisfaction Expect a sedentary death from drone of human interaction Hungry and reestablished, reminded now of morning Clear mind and consequence come forth with no forewarning Death lingers in the white noise that gestures from the mental I open the gates to raiders as they pilfer sacred temple

24

We are a tuning fork let Tingle, spewing off in crests Of interference, Concentric circles met Mingle, in rippled patterns; lest We sink our pebble cupped hands, Tiny polished eggs spackled With inference, And us, but mere cosmic sand And gravity’s weak shackle My wrist to beddings iron frame, As the evening chirps quiet; chisel Through indifference, My marble block, blown by flame Reduced to dust and grainy gristle

0

Feb 10, 2014

Feb 10, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC

daniel-august-1

Indra's net

We are a tuning fork let Tingle, spewing off in crests Of interference, Concentric circles met Mingle, in rippled patterns; lest We sink our pebble cupped hands, Tiny polished eggs spackled With inference, And us, but mere cosmic sand And gravity’s weak shackle My wrist to beddings iron frame, As the evening chirps quiet; chisel Through indifference, My marble block, blown by flame Reduced to dust and grainy gristle

15

If, in the environment in which we exist, There is never not light shining - Then the logical inference Is that there is never either silence. For instance, There are one's own thoughts. There is one's own heartbeat. One's blood flowing, One's own decay & growing. Decaying which grows From growth after growing. The decay of the body's harmony - Of its own regulatory systems. Such things are solvable. Establishing new order - Liberating Nature; Through Tranquility, Harmony. But only through Harmony, Tranquility. Time shows Nature - Kronos shows Gaia; Nature shows Time - Gaia shows Kronos - You are all undeserving, You are all unworthy. Think you're the only children, Think you're only children.

0

Jul 29, 2025

Jul 29, 2025 at 7:14 PM UTC

manx-kronos-pragna

Watch Out! Listen! Try Some Meditation!

If, in the environment in which we exist, There is never not light shining - Then the logical inference Is that there is never either silence. For instance, There are one's own thoughts. There is one's own heartbeat. One's blood flowing, One's own decay & growing. Decaying which grows From growth after growing. The decay of the body's harmony - Of its own regulatory systems. Such things are solvable. Establishing new order - Liberating Nature; Through Tranquility, Harmony. But only through Harmony, Tranquility. Time shows Nature - Kronos shows Gaia; Nature shows Time - Gaia shows Kronos - You are all undeserving, You are all unworthy. Think you're the only children, Think you're only children.

24

An intrinsic insistence of negative choice A high-jacker of will An undeniable voice A captivating spirit that justifies oneself A sideline observation Our resistance on the shelf A resurgence of trauma A manifestation of pain An implicit reminder from within A validation of weakness An inference of youth Our self inflicted sin

0

Oct 10, 2021

Oct 10, 2021 at 4:08 PM UTC

Timothy

Choice?

An intrinsic insistence of negative choice A high-jacker of will An undeniable voice A captivating spirit that justifies oneself A sideline observation Our resistance on the shelf A resurgence of trauma A manifestation of pain An implicit reminder from within A validation of weakness An inference of youth Our self inflicted sin

12

Walking down a peaceful mountain, where shiny snowflakes fall beautifully and elegantly. A nuance of white floats in the air, painting the ground, coloring our vision. Each one is unique, but all have the same structures, yet are pretty similar despite their differences: They are like you and me. Some disappear and some appear. The cycle of life we all center ourselves and move forward. The new year is there to offer us something different. We can make the difference like we ended all past years, in inference.

0

Feb 27, 2021

Feb 27, 2021 at 6:34 AM UTC

Svetli

Snow in the Mountains

Walking down a peaceful mountain, where shiny snowflakes fall beautifully and elegantly. A nuance of white floats in the air, painting the ground, coloring our vision. Each one is unique, but all have the same structures, yet are pretty similar despite their differences: They are like you and me. Some disappear and some appear. The cycle of life we all center ourselves and move forward. The new year is there to offer us something different. We can make the difference like we ended all past years, in inference.

11