YESTERDAY WAS SATURDAY NIGHT, A Poem by Scott Forster

                                               YESTERDAY WAS SATURDAY NIGHT


                                                           

A VISUAL GUIDE TO BAYESIAN THINKING (Julia Galef)

                                                                YOUTUBE VIDEO


                                                               

Julia Galef

                INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY FOR BAYESIAN ANALYSIS (ISBA)


                             
                                                               

                                                    Pierre-Simon, Le Marquis de Laplace

                                                  The Founder of Bayesian Statistics


                              MY PERSONAL HISTORY OF BAYESIAN STATISTICS


                                               

The famous Scottish poet Tom Leonard

          The more famous Tom Leonard's WEBSITE



                                                          SIX GLASGOW POEMS

                                                          THE SIX O'CLOCK NEWS



                                                 

FROM SCOTTISH POETRY LIBRARY

TOM LEONARD (POET) WIKI

THE CULT OF JAHWEH (Professor Nicholas Wyatt)

                                        SUMMARY OF PROFESSOR WYATT'S VIEWS


                                                     

PROFESSOR WYATT'S  PUBLICATIONS

THE RELATIONSHIP OF YAHWEH AND EL

(1976, Ph.D, thesis, pdf)

THE CULT OF YAHWEH

THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF MYTH: PAPERS ON OLD TESTAMENT TRADITION

WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE, AND OTHER PAPERS 

ON UGARITIC THOUGHT

THERE'S SUCH DIVINITY DOTH HEDGE A KING

CRIME STATISTICS: COUNTING SOMETHING THAT DOESN'T WANT TO BE COUNTED by Oz Flanagan

         CRIME STATISTICS: COUNTING SOMETHING THAT DOESN'T WANT TO
         BE COUNTED

           An Article in Statslife by Oz Flanagan

           followed by a comment by myself



                                                                 

OXONIAN NOON, A Poem by James L.S. Carter

                                                                     OXONIAN NOON

                                                                    by James L.S. Carter




                                                         

                    From every quad to every quad, from quads

                    Cloistered in thoughts, like gardens' summer-times,

                    Drift to the Isis the long-lasting chimes

                    Of bells across the green where stillness lauds

                    The bells, seeming to rob the noise of Gods

                    Who would be summoned by a passion's crimes

                     Such as make way into bard's sorry rhymes

                     Suffered thro' centuries at Honour Mods.

                     But Lares ands Penates, Dryads, Sylphs

                     And Bulgars lately escaped the continent

                     Are here in plenty by each battlement

                     Whose gargoyles'grimaces cleansed of all filths

                     And grimes but the original can't peep

                     Through crenels where secret courtyards sleep.

OH GREAT SPIRIT, A poem by Nicola Romanski

                                                                OH GREAT SPIRIT

                                                               by Nicola Romanski

                                                                   The protection be wrought from beyond the veil


                                                    

Oh great spirit,
whose voice I hear in the winds,
and whose breath gives life to all the world,
-hear me-
I come before you, one of your children.
I am small and meak
I need your strength and wisdom.
Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes ever
behold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have made,
My ears sharp to hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may know the things
you have taught my people,
The lesson you have hidden in every leaf and rock.
I seek strength not to be superior to my brothers,
but to be able to fight my greatest enemy myself.
Make me ever ready to come to you,
with clean hands and straight eyes,
so when life fades as a fading sunset,
my spirit may come to you without shame.