Ode of Old King Cole

Old King Cole, you're a merry old soul,
Your fiddlers twiddle-dee, and your snuff box
Is brought to you by children three;
They bring your bowls, they bring your box
For the little children are your servants
And all good children are your lot.
You rule over them in their little childish ways
Old King Cole is the King over Children
And only the good ones, so they're made gay.
Never have they sinned, and never have they been dark---
Old King Cole, you are their king, for that brief time so far
Away, in the back of my mind, I remember it a time
Of great gaiety, and Tall Tales and Legends and Happily Ended Fairy Stories.
Great Nursery Rhymes, and great feasts---
Old King Cole, you are the King I shall honor for my life.
For all children who have seen the reign of Old King Cole
Have a treasure of great happiness stored in their heart...
It is King Cole's Blessing, who was happy even without a wife.
Old King Cole, you were merry all your years,
And you reign over the good children, and fight back their fears.
You are a happy lot, given to the righteous children's souls...
You are that Merry Old, King Cole.

157

Why does a 157IQ have to change the world? Couldn’t they just do their work, and be happy? Like, write poetry, or find easy ways to explain basic math concepts?

The world doesn’t need changed. And when we tried to change it, it didn’t get any better.

On a Square with Side Lengths and Area = to 1

Way over my head. I'm just not very good at doing math. Basically, I just did a system of equation, and got this answer "y^2-1/2y+1=0". Not sure if that's a solution.

2x+2y=x*y

And then 2x+2y=1

And then

x=1/2-y

And then 2(1/2-y) + 2y =(1/2-y)*y

And then 1-2y+2y = 1/2y-y^2

And then 1=1/2y-y^2

And then -y^2 +1/2y-1=0

And then y^2-1/2y+1=0

Someone explain to me what I did wrong, if anything.

But it's not possible because it's an imaginary number or negative. You'd have to work in other dimensions to make a square like that, or work in negatives, so nothing in physical space can accomplish that.

Forever Young

They say the Millennial's Youthful Glean
Is made by good hydration... but it is not.
It is, actually, the programs we consumed
And the toys, and living in a perpetual state
Of childhood... where we filled our minds
With such chemicals that stunted our growth.
Good or bad, the same thing has happened
Before, in older civilizations, such as Rome.
When hedonism touches the child, their
Chemicals cause them to slowly mature
And the brain chemistry works within them
A youthful figure, so they grow to be forever young.

The Child

The gay child publically defames a good man
For making a "Nazi Salute" when it was only
An Innocent Wave. I consider it wrong, yet 
Understandable... we're all so zealous to defeat
A spectre that is haunting our society; Trump
I don't believe is a Nazi, but some of his followers
They certainly are. Which he's whistled at.
Racism is a machine, turning a once humble
And integrated society back to the days of rioting
And war... but that's half Obama's fault
For reopening the wound to begin with;
Now, every black man who is shot by police
Is a city burned and every innocent wave
Is a Nazi Salute... understand also, girls
Wanted their cleavage to show, and were outraged---
Little 16 year old girls--that their schools prevented
Them from looking like sluts to the entire class
All eighty of them... I looked through my Yearbook
And saw only two sets of cleavage. And only one
Was actually flagrant. Not eighty. This world
Being created is not a good world, and maybe
We need Old King Cole to rule over our children
Once again, so they are touched by the innocence
Of the childlike splendor, and the Tall Tales, Christ
And Nursery Rhymes and Fairy Tales with Happy Endings.
Maybe they need that world, so they know this one is not better.
With Elvis, the A Team and their first musical experience
Is Journey's Separate ways. They need something more
Than Gangster Rap, Lust and Money to be associated 
With what is good. They need to see it, and know it
So they can know, once and for all, what is good from bad.

I Am the Albatross

My loves, across the world,
I am the Albatross, your sorrow and shame.
All around the world, my name is heard
Like it never were, or never was and couldn't be.
And all are ashamed of what they have done to me.
My sins are like your sins, but my sins are known
And you hate me, for you wished me to stay silent.
You cursed me, and took my thoughts from me.
And you said, "We are justified."
Yet... what I have done is what you have done
And you have done far worse...
Oh, how I am to your shame, your never ending curse.
"What have we done!" cried the peoples who buried my heart.
The poet's destiny was broken,
By the petty feuds of great dictators
When America had freedom of speech.
I am the albatross, for my shame is yours
And you have done this to me
And stolen my bread and given it to the world.
But where is my bread?
And that is why I am your shame.
I asked not for more than I could eat,
But my solemn portion, for the good work I have done.

Abo Muhammad the Lazy

The true Fairyland, and Old King Cole,
Told a tale ever so old...
Lazy I am and Lazy I be,
But I'm not so lazy, you will now see.

I worked 300 hours, at five pence a tick
I worked it all day, and got ever so rich.
I was youthful and handsome and well to do...
More beautiful than 10,000 it is true.
I split logs, and threw them, sometimes eighty pounds
And I raked up the refuse, and threw them in barrels and proud
I was to do this work, until poison ivy made an itchy curse.

Then I spent my days, writing my odes,
"For why risk the poison," is what my heart told.
And I learned many things, I shall now tell so old.
I learned Psychology, and Philosophy, and Religion it's true
Sociology and History of not a places so few.
I learned Math and Science and saw all the most famous art.
I cultured my mind on the great litterateurs of large.
Great and timeless classics, to which I see Abo the Lazy...
I say... that is a bit too crazy.
I do not want gemstones, or to be a millionaire,
Just to marry my woman, and slay the goblin, and have just recompense fair.

For I took to the painters and did the hall
While Abo the Lazy sat there and watched.
Then he and the Goblin painted one room
When I had prayed to God it would be finished, too.
There they saw him, in the way,
And fear frightened his faces, and I was not so gay.
Then I had thoughts, which few were truly good
And I quit my job, as I knew I should.

Then I spent one day folding laundry it's true
And nearly broke my hand pulling on the grooves
Of a quilt, upon the duvet, and my hand got crippled
And any more work I would say
That I could have withered it true.
So I went back to writing, these odes here to prove.

I was a shepherd, and trimmer, and painter and cook
A dishwasher and guard but never a crook.
I do not lay upon my side, and ask my mother to spin...
No, I write my odes and battle my own sin.