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I don't know who wrote this...just stumbled upon it in my eighth grade history textbook. If anyone knows who did write this please let me know!
At Eutaw Springs the valiant died;
Their limbs with dust are covered o'er-
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;
How many heroes are no more!
If in this wreck of ruin, they
Can yet be thought to claim a tear,
O smite your gentle breast, and say
The friends of freedom slumber here!
Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain,
If goodness rules thy generous breast,
Sigh for the wasted rural reign;
Sigh for the sheperds, sunk to rest!
Stranger, their humble graves adorn;
You too may fall, and ask a tear;
'Tis not the beauty of the morn
That proves the evening shall be clear-
They saw their injured country's woe;
Th flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear-but left the shield.
Led by thy conquering genius, Greene,
The Britons they compelled to fly;
None grieved, in such a cause to die-
But, like the Parthian, famed of old,
Who, flying still their arrows threw,
These routed Britons, full as bold,
Retreated, and retreating slew.
Now rest in peace, our patriot band;
Though far from nature's limits thrown,
We trust they find a happier land,
A brighter sunshine of their own. Another unknown...although it's in the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower...
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
Because of the its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed or even talked
And the girl around the corner wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because it was the thing to do
And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring loudly
That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
And a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think he could reach the kitchen WOMAN
Nikki Giovanni
she wanted to be a blade
of grass amid the fields
but he wouldn't agree
to be the dandelion
she wanted to be a robin singing
through the leaves
but he refused to be
her tree
she spun herself into a web
and looking for a place to rest
turned to him
but he stood straight
declining to be her corner
she tried to be a book
but he wouldn't read
she turned herself into a bulb
but he wouldn't let her grow
she decided to become a woman
and though he still refused
to be a man
she decided it was all
right THE DREAM CALLED LIFE
Edward Fitzgerald
From the Spanish of Pedro Calderon de la Barca
A dream it was in which I found myself.
And you that hail me now, then hailed me king,
In a brave palace that was all my own,
Within, and all without it, mine; until,
Drunk with excess of majesty and pride,
Methought I towered so big and swelled so wide
That of myself I burst the glittering bubble
Which my ambition had about me blown,
And all again was darkness. Such a dream
As this, in which I may be walking now,
Dispensing solemn justice to you shadows,
Who make believe to listen; but anon
Kings, princes, captains, warriors, plume and steel,
Aye, even with all your airy theatre,
May flit into the air you seem to rend
With acclamations, leaving me to wake
In the dark tower; or dreaming that I wake
From this that waking is; or this and that,
Both waking and both dreaming; such a doubt
Confounds and clouds our moral life about.
But whether wake or dreaming, this I know,
How dreamwise human glories come and go;
Whose momentary tenure not to break,
Walking as one who knows he soon may wake,
So fairly carry the full cup, so well
Disordered insolence and passion quell,
That there be nothing after to upbraid
Dreamer or doer in the part he played;
Whether tomorrow's dawn shall break the spell,
Or the last trumpet of the Eternal Day,
When dreaming, with the night, shall pass away. IF THE WORLD WAS CRAZY
Shel Silverstein
If the world were crazy, you know what I'd eat?
A big slice of soup and a whole quart of meat,
A lemonade sandwich, and then I might try
Some roasted ice cream or a bicycle pie,
A nice notebook salad, an underwear roast,
An omelet of hats adn some crisp cardboard toast,
A thick malted shake made from pencils and daisies,
And that's what I'd eat if the world was crazy.
If the world was crazy, you know what I'd wear?
A chocolate suit and a tie of eclair,
Some marshmallow earmuffs, some licorice shoes,
And I'd read a paper of peppermint news.
I'd call the boys "Suzy" and I'd call the girls "Harry,"
I'd talk through my ears, and I always would carry
A paper umbrella for when it grew hazy
To keep in the rain, if the world was crazy.
If the world was crazy, you know what I'd do?
I'd walk on the ocean and swim in my shoe,
I'd fly through the ground and I'd skip through the air,
I'd run down the bathtub and bathe on the stair.
When I met somebody I'd say "G'bye, Joe,"
And when I was leaving--then I'd say "Hello."
And the greatest of men would be silly and lazy
So I would be king...if the world was crazy. INSECURITY
Jewel
you don't call
I check again
I become uneasy--
is this a frame?
Suddenly I'm not so sure
I check my sources
each conversation becomes a crumb
how easily I'm led
how stupid I've been
to believe
you could be
loving me
you who can not be seduced
by anything other than
the temperance
of need
each one facilitating the next
and suddenly I see my place
the phone rings
you say hello
but I don't believe you 
GENES CLEANED AND STARCHED, WHILE YOU WAIT
Dave Barry
As published in the Miami Herald on July 23, 2000
Recently, an organization called ``The Human Genome Project'' -- which, incredibly, turns out NOT to be rock band -- announced that it had deciphered the human genetic code. Scientists reacted by holding a celebration so joyous that many of them woke up the next day with undershorts stains that they believe could take years to fully analyze.
Clearly, then, cracking the genetic code is a big deal for the scientific community. But what does it mean to you, the non-scientist who still secretly believes that radio works by magic? To answer that question, we need to review basic biology.
I studied biology under Mrs. Wright at Pleasantville (N.Y.) High School in 1963. It was an intensive course, including a laboratory segment in which each student was issued a jar containing a dead worm, a dead frog, a dead grasshopper and a dead perch. From these specimens we learned a key scientific principle that unites all living creatures: If you put them in a jar, they die. We also learned that if you cut them open, you found that all of them (except the worm) contained internal organs, without which certain pranks would not have been possible.
But the question is: What makes these creatures different? When frogs reproduce, how come they produce another frog, instead of, say, a perch? For that matter, how DO frogs reproduce? Because they do not have sexual organs (if they did, we definitely would have noticed in biology lab). Perhaps they reproduce by adoption.
We do not yet have the answers to these questions, but we know that the key lies in the science of genetics. According to Mrs. Wright, genetics was discovered in the 19th Century by an Austrian monk named Mendel, who spent many years in his garden observing the reproduction of pea plants (in those days there was no HBO). Mendel noticed that the baby pea plants would often inherit certain characteristics of the mommy and daddy pea plants, such as height, eye color and personality. Mendel found that, by mating a certain pea plant with a certain other pea plant, he could cause a third pea plant to go into a violent jealous rage, resulting in injuries to vegetables as far away as the zucchini section.
What can we learn from these experiments? I have no idea, and Mendel refuses to return my phone calls. What we do know is that scientists eventually discovered that every living organism except Jesse Helms contains genes, which are tiny things that scientists call ``the blueprints of life'' because they are found inside tiny filing cabinets in tiny architect's offices. Inside these genes are molecules made out of a substance called ``DNA.'' From the start, scientists suspected that ``DNA'' was actually an acronym that stood for longer words, but they couldn't figure out what, because it was in some kind of genetic code.
And that is where the ``Human Genome Project'' came into the picture. For decades, researchers with a powerful magnifying glass and a background in crossword puzzles worked on decoding a DNA molecule. It was not easy. There were many disappointments, such as the time, after six years of intensive work, when they discovered that the molecule was in fact a nose hair.
But finally they finished their historic task and were able to announce to the world the message contained in the human genetic code (it begins: ``To Whom It May Concern''). And although much work remains to be done, we have -- in the stirring words of Al Gore, who revealed that he did most of the work -- ``found the combination to the padlock of understanding on the gym locker of human life.''
But what does this mean, in practical terms? It means that some day, doctors will be able to isolate, and then yank out with tiny scientific tweezers, the genes that cause certain humans to have certain genetic defects that until now have been incurable, such as rooting for the Yankees; or continuing to say ``Whasssssup!'' long after it stopped being funny; or failing to turn left immediately when the green left-turn arrow lights up; or buying movie tickets with a credit card when there are 94 people in line behind you; or putting a huge pile of groceries on the supermarket checkout counter, then informing the people behind you that you have to go back and get ``just a few more things''; or never being able to order ANYTHING at a restaurant without giving the waiter special instructions about how it must be prepared (``... and to drink I'd like water, no ice, chilled to 38 degrees, with a lemon on the slide, sliced thin, but not too thin ...'').
Yes, we are heading toward a day when, thanks to genetics, the entire human race will be completely free of defects -- a day when everybody, and not just the fortunate few, will be a professional humor columnist.
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THE PRIME OF MY LIFE or
I'M IN THE PRIME OF MY LIFE YOU ROTTEN KID!
Isaac Asimov
It was, in truth, an eager youth
Who halted me one day
He gazed in bliss at me, and this
Is what he had to say:
"Why, mazel tov, it's Asimov,
A blessing on your head!
For many a year, I've lived in fear
That you were long since dead.
Or if alive, one fifty-five
Cold years had passed you by,
And left you weak, with poor physique,
Thin hair and rheumy eye.
For sure enough, I've read your stuff
Since I was but a lad
And couldn't spell or hardly tell
The good yarns from the bad.
My father, too, was reading you
Before he met my Ma.
For you he yearned, once he had learned
About you from his Pa.
Since time began, you woundrous man,
My ancestors did love
That s.f. dean and writing machine
The aged Asimov."
I'd dad my fill. I said, "Be still!
I've kept my old-time spark.
My step is light, my eye is bright,
My hair is thick and dark."
His smile, in brief, spelled disbelief,
So this is what I did.
I scowled you know, and with one blow,
I killed that rotten kid.
ICKLE ME, PICKLE ME, TICKLE ME TOO
Shel Silverstein
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too
Went for a ride in a flying shoe.
"Hooray!"
"What fun!"
"It's time we flew!"
Said Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
Ickle was captain, and Pickle was crew
And Tickle served coffee and mulligan stew
As higher
And higher
And higher they flew,
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too,
Over the sun and beyond the blue.
"Hold on!"
"Stay in!"
"I hope we do!"
Cried Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle too
Never returned to the world they knew,
And nobody
Knows what's
Happened to
Dear Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
THE RAVEN
by Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore -
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow -sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me -filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more.
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," I said, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" -here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore" -
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung a shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not an minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched and sat and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!"
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning -little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such a name as "Nevermore".
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore".
Startled at the stilless broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of `Never -nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust, and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore".
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried "thy God hath lent thee -by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite -respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore".
"Prophet!" said I "thing of evil! -prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted, -tell me truly, I implore -
Is there -is there balm in Gilead? -tell me -tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore".
"Prophet!" said I "thing of evil! -prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us -by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore".
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore".
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that is floating on the floor
Shall be lifted -nevermore. 
X EQUALS JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING I LEARNED OF MATH IN SCHOOL
Dave Barry
As published in the Miami Herald on April 22, 2001
President Bush says our schools need to do a better job of teaching mathematics, and I agree with him 150 percent. Many high-school students today can't even calculate a square root! Granted, I can't calculate a square root, either, but I USED to be able to, for a period of approximately 15 minutes back in 1962. At least I think that was a square root. It might have been a ``logarithm.''
But whatever it was, if I had to learn how to do it, these kids today should have to learn it, too. As President Bush so eloquently put it in his address to Congress: ``Mathematics are one of the fundamentaries of educationalizing our youths.''
I could not have said it better with a 10-foot pole. We all need mathematics in order to solve problems that come up constantly in the ``real world.'' For example, suppose four co-workers go to a restaurant, and at the end of the meal, the waiter brings a bill totaling $34.57. How much, including tip, does each person owe? If the co-workers do not know mathematics, they will just guess at the answer and put in random amounts of money ranging from $9 to $11, unless one of them is a guy I used to work with named Art, in which case he will make a big show of studying the bill, then put in exactly $4.25.
But if the co-workers know their mathematics, they can easily come up with EXACTLY the correct answer. They can do this using ``algebra,'' which was invented by the ancient Persians. (They also invented the SATs, although they got very low scores because in those days there were no pencils.) The way algebra works is, if you don't know exactly what a number is, you just call it ``X.'' The Persians found that this was a BIG mathematical help in solving problems:
PERSIAN WIFE (suspiciously): How much have you had to drink?
PERSIAN HUSBAND: I had ``X'' beers.
PERSIAN WIFE: Well, how much is THAT?
PERSIAN HUSBAND: It's a (burp) variable.
PERSIAN WIFE (not wanting to look stupid): Well, OK then.
Historical Footnote: Several years later, when the ancient Romans invented Roman numerals, and it turned out that ``X'' was actually equal to 10, there was BIG TROUBLE in Persia.
But getting back to the four co-workers at the restaurant: To figure out how much each person owes, they would simply use the algebraic equation AEPO=1/4$34.57+T(((-SA?)@
(+NSOB!)(-SITE)(H), where ``AEPO'' is the amount each person owes, ``T'' is the tip, ``SA'' is whether the waiter has a snotty attitude, ``NSOB'' is whether the waiter has a nice set of buns, ``SITE'' is a variable used if you think somebody in the kitchen is spitting in the entrees, and H is hydrogen. Using this equation, our four co-workers can easily calculate that each one owes exactly, let's see... carry the 7... OK, it would probably be somewhere between $9 and $11.
So we see that algebra is a vital tool for our young people to learn. The traditional method for teaching it, of course, is to require students to solve problems developed in 1928 by the American Association of Mathematics Teachers Obsessed With Fruit. For example:
``If Billy has twice as many apples as Bobby, and Sally has seven more apples than Chester, who has one apple in each hand plus one concealed in his knickers, then how many apples does Ned have, assuming that his train leaves Chicago at noon?''
The problem is that these traditional algebra problems are out of date. Today's young people are dealing with issues such as violence, drugs, sex, eating disorders, stress, low self-esteem, acne, global warming and the demise of Napster. They don't have time to figure out how many apples Ned has. If they need to know, they will simply ASK Ned, and if he doesn't want to tell them, they will hold him upside down over the toilet until he does. And then Ned will sue them, plus the school, plus his parents for naming him ``Ned'' in the first place. Ultimately the ACLU will get the Supreme Court to declare that the number of apples a student has is protected by his constitutional right to privacy.
So what is the solution? How do we balance our children's need to learn math against the many other demands placed on them by modern life? I believe there IS a solution, one that is both simple and practical. I call it: ``X.''
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