In Oregon, they’ve gone too far
In terms of education,
Instructing teachers hoping to
Prevent discrimination.
A course designed to tackle
Racial tendencies in math
States that “getting the right answer”
Sends kids on a toxic path.
Requiring the students to
Display the work they’ve done
Reeks of “white supremacy culture,”
As the message has been spun.
Instructors will be told not to
Perpetuate the thought
That there are always answers,
Right or wrong, that must be sought.
Before this, sports in schools declared
No losers were allowed,
For “everyone’s a winner”
Made each student feel so proud.
But mathematics in that model
Doesn’t quite belong,
For adding 2 plus 2
And getting 5 is simply wrong!
Taxing gracelessly
Axes department
The Depths of His Love
Oh, the depths of the Father’s love, Lord help me to proclaim it
from the sands of the shore to the midst of the seas,
why He chose to save me I don’t know but I’m so grateful He did
but then how can we understand Calvary.
For our Father’s love is so deep
it will never run dry,
and I will keep seeking His face
and live according to His will and to me His blood is applied.
For we know His grace is unmerited favor
not a person on this earth could ever earn,
and the Father because of love sent His Son from above
about His nature then from Him do we learn.
Now a new thing my Father is doing
refreshing my spirit from within,
refreshing, restoring and giving new love to adore Him
and submerging me totally in Him.
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings
June 24, 1994
registered with the Pennsylvania Dept of Poetry ®
inspected by agent #56
this poem has been aged
for no less than eighteen months
in an old barn, in an oaken cask
nestled in a wormed wood stall
with an earthen floor and
kept at a steady temperature
despite a few dusty sunbeams
breaking through the slats in the wall
with an ol' Tom cat who guards
the wood and the words
ready to howl his approval
© Goode Guy 2012-04-03
http://www.straightdope.com/columns/read/306/why-is-reg-dept-penna-agr-on-so-many-labels
Please take a vacation
to our neck of the woods.
Perhaps you’ll move here
and lose your worldy goods.
The tsunami like waves
over your body will wash.
Likely to submerge a carcass
after drowning. Oh gosh!
The solar eclipse makes for
one dark and ominous day.
Historically made people get
on their knees and pray.
The lava flow will turn
your body into a cinder.
Whatever’s in its’ way
burns like a match and tinder.
So if you’re ever thinking
of pushing God’s raith.
A visit here will most likely
test inherent “BLIND FAITH.”
*FOR BLIND FAITH CONTEST
EVERY NIGHT BEHIND THE WALL,
WE TAKE OUR POSTS ONE AND ALL.
WE CHECK EQUIPMENT & COUNT THE MEDS,
WATCH THE INMATES IN THEIR BEDS.
WE MAKE OUR ROUNDS TO CHECK AND SEE,
IF WE CAN FIND DISCREPANCY.
WE COUNT THE INMATES WHILE MAKING A ROUND.
LISTENING FOR ANY STRANGE SOUND.
WHEN IT IS TIME, WE CALL IN THE COUNT.
THAT IS WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT.
EVERY HOUR IS AN INFORMAL COUNT.
EVERY HALF HOUR A SECURITY CHECK.
WE DO THIS ALL NIGHT UNTIL 3:20.
WAKE UP 1ST FOOD SERVICE IF WE HAVE ANY.
AT 4 AM WE SEND THEM OUT.
AT 4:15 AN INFORMAL COUNT.
4:20 AM WE WAKE UP INMATES FOR MEDS.
AT 5:00 AM WE COUNT THE INMATES IN THER BEDS.
AT 5:15 WE WAKE THE REST
1ST DORM TO CHOW, CLEANED THEIR DORM BEST.
AT 6:45, THE FEEDING DONE
WE’RE WATCHING FOR THE RISING SUN.
WE ROUND THEM UP AND COUNT AGAIN,
WE KNOW OUR SHIFT IS ABOUT TO END.
WHEN THE COUNT CLEARS IT’S TIME TO SAY, “GOOD BYE.”
WE’RE THE MINIGHT SHIFT AT WAKULLA C. I.
EVERY NIGHT WE COME INSIDE THE FENCE.
THEY SEARCH OUR BAGS ON THE WAY IN.
WE DO THE JOB THAT MANY FEAR,
BUT EVERYNIGHT WE’RE ALWAYS HERE.
WE WATCH THE INMATES AND THE CONS,
WE WATCH THEM FROM MIDNITE TIL DAWN.
WE LOVE TO SEE THE RISING SUN,
IT TELLS US OUR SHIFT IS ALMOST DONE.
SOME THE NIGHTS ROLL RIGHT ALONG,
SOMETIMES THEY EVEN GO WRONG.
WE LOVE IT WHEN ALL GOES RIGHT.
IT MAKES FOR A PEACEFUL NIGHT.
THE OLDER OFFICERS SAY IT’S A GOOD JOB.
THE YOUNGER ONES SAY ITS TOO ROUGH,
THEY HAVE A HARD TIME BEING TOUGH.
WE HAVE A JOB NOT EVERYONE CAN DO.
THIS IS WHAT WE DO, ME AND YOU.
WE ARE THE OFFICERS YOU CAN SEE,
ON THE MIDNITE SHIFT AT D.O.C.
My word-o-lator system failed
The "Robert Frost" you had on sale,
has gone berserk and won't obey
a single thing I try to say
It thinks it's really Robert Frost
I try to write, it says "Get Lost".
It wants to try to reawaken
an interest in "The Road Not Taken"
It wants to take the morning train
to New England, what a pain
it says I'm acting like it's father
that taking orders is a bother
"Independant I shall be"
That's what it likes to say to me
Can you advise or just refund?
I'm really feeling rather stunned
Although, I'm starting to relate
There's still the train, it's not too late
Maybe we could pen an ode
Man and robot on the road
With a good pal at my back
I could be Jack Kerouac
Hey, never mind I'm feeling better
Kindly disregard this letter
Looks like Robert Frost and I
have found our niche,
So Long, Goodbye!