Incompetentism is the idea that the incompetent person should be treated as if he were competent. For example, if two women are loading two trucks of the same size with similar sized-and-weighted boxes, and one woman loads her truck in half the time it takes the other, the one who take longer should get the same pay as the one who was faster (as long as each is loaded properly, of course). Why? It will be said, “because they are doing the same job. However, it is only the “same job” in terms of its title: truck loader. it is not the same job in terms of accomplishment. And accomplishment is the keystone of justice. Those activists who march and make speeches for incompetentism are actually supporting the idea of injustice, which means that they want a worse world instead of a better one.

The same things hold true in politics, where we see incompetent presidents and senators desiring to be regarded as great, or otherwise significant, talking about their non-luminous careers as if they radiated brightness. We see incompetentism in schools where no differentiating grades are given; and in homes where parents praise their children no matter what they do or how they do it.

Incompetentism, or injustice, is a nasty scourge that has eaten and is eating its ugly way into society. Only the practice of justice, of giving each amn and woman, each boy and girl, what he or she deserves—because he or she has earned it—can reverse this ignominious plague.

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The Decree

Do not love thy neighbor as thy self,
And never, never love thine enemy.
When struck, do not turn thy cheek,
But strike back with full moral righteousness.
Never, never give away thy possessions.
Never, never allow an injustice to prevail.
Never regard mercy as a virtue.
Never regard one man as your slave,
Or another man as your master.
Never look on the meek as heroes,
Or on the humble as holy,
Or on the selfless as good.
No man is equal to another,
All men are un-equal;
Therefore, give each man his due, as he deserves,
And be just, honest, and proud.
Life is work; do yours the best you can
And expect the same from every other man.

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Ragnar The Cook

Oh, Ragnar the Cook, with his yellow hair,
Stood high at the counter, a-top a chair.
He put in the pot, with a competent hand,
The parts of a cow that could not stand;
Then pinches of pepper and salt did add,
And smiled his light, did the happy lad.
He learns real fast, and he acts fast, too,
And hears his mother, in making stew.
We see success in his bright blue eyes,
And love of work that is run right wise.
It is not here shown—his mother’s face,
But her firm, clear voice puts just praise in place.
Oh, Ragnar the Cook, may he chef next be,
And dish up a meal of pure poetry!

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Snowflakes feather lightly, lightly,
Oh, so lightly falling fair;
Playing lightly, oh, so lightly,
Touching lightly lips and hair.

Lips and hair now whiten slightly,
Finger’s tips now touching there,
Where the snowflakes, falling lightly,
Feed their lover coolness fair.

Coolness swiftly melts to wetness,
Oh, just right its sweet’ning care—
Where hard heat of June’s begetness,
Where the summer, may not fare.

Stirs the wind so very lightly;
Snowflakes kiss the eyes to close;
Smile the lips now, no, not slightly;
Fair glad face is one white rose.

Snowflakes fill in ears’ fair hollows;
Hands fly fast to hold them there;
Laughter softly, laughing, follows,
Feet are stamping, joyful, rare.

Winds fall low, are now decreasing,
Still and soft, all’s whiteness, fair;
Hill on hill has grown so pleasing,
Tree on tree is no more bare.

Snowflakes falling more, more lightly;
Oh, so lightly, falling fair;
Swaying lightly, playing slightly,
Touching lightly lips and hair.

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The Three VanDammeers

The prettiest three we’ll ever see
Upon a pictured page
Have sent through hearts their beauty’s darts
And now are all the rage!

We do agree that these sweet three
Are riches rare to know,
And more than fair of lips, eyes, hair,
The spirits here that glow.

We’re made more bright with beauty’s sight,
A gift than gold more sure.
Each singing face lends her true grace
To peaks of self so pure.

Three Musketeers, Three VanDammeers,
Three winners of life’s height.
With swords of sweetness, Beauty’s spears,
They dark “Strike home!” with light!

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What are year-birds? Sparrows are.

All year long they flit and sing
No matter what the weathers bring.
They’re like strong men who travel on
Through ice and heat, night and dawn.

They don’t despair if it’s not fair,
Or there’s dark shadows everywhere,
But give more fair than can be got
From days just right, nor cold nor hot.

Tweet-tweet in storm, in sun-blast, too;
Like one who works through failures new.
A cheery cheep, though skies are gray,
Like lonely boy in quiet play:

Imagination thrills his mind,
Or under rocks—what bugs to find!
Ears for hearing, eyes to see,
The wonders all around that be!

The sparrow’s life, it may be brief,
But he’s too bright to sit in grief;
He’s always moving, never still,
The year-bird sparrow—man’s glad will!

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Life’s Desires

When muscle torn does give your body woe,
And Age trips in to take the place of Youth,
Let mental strength then tell him, “No, no, no,
My soul’s still singing with its sacred truth.”
The flesh may weaken, joints may ache with pain,
But life’s desires are too strong for these.
The mind keeps calling for more heights to gain,
And he who listens makes the choice to please,
To please himself, to please his self-made soul—
To shine his light on Beauty’s highest goal—
To please the standard he has loved so well
And fell distractions of his body quell.
When Age trips in to take the place of Youth
Then paint a picture of your sacred truth.

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