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You have nothing that the humblest worker has not a right to have also.

quote by Rose Schneiderman
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Sobre Horizontes

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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United Front Song

And because a man is human
He'll want to eat, and thanks a lot
But talk can't take the place of meat
or fill an empty pot.

So left, two, three!
So left, two, three!
Comrade, there's a place for you.
Take your stand in the workers united front
For you are a worker too.

And because a man is human
he won't care for a kick in the face.
He doesn't want slaves under him
Or above him a ruling class.

So left, two, three!
So left, two, three!
Comrade, there's a place for you.
Take your stand in the workers united front
For you are a worker too.

And because a worker's a worker
No one else will bring him liberty.
It's nobody's work but the worker' own
To set the worker free.

So left, two, three!
So left, two, three!
Comrade, there's a place for you.
Take your stand in the workers united front
For you are a worker too.

poem by Bertolt Brecht
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Book Thirteenth [Imagination And Taste, How Impaired And Restored Concluded]

FROM Nature doth emotion come, and moods
Of calmness equally are Nature's gift:
This is her glory; these two attributes
Are sister horns that constitute her strength.
Hence Genius, born to thrive by interchange
Of peace and excitation, finds in her
His best and purest friend; from her receives
That energy by which he seeks the truth,
From her that happy stillness of the mind
Which fits him to receive it when unsought.

Such benefit the humblest intellects
Partake of, each in their degree; 'tis mine
To speak, what I myself have known and felt;
Smooth task! for words find easy way, inspired
By gratitude, and confidence in truth.
Long time in search of knowledge did I range
The field of human life, in heart and mind
Benighted; but, the dawn beginning now
To re-appear, 'twas proved that not in vain
I had been taught to reverence a Power
That is the visible quality and shape
And image of right reason; that matures
Her processes by steadfast laws; gives birth
To no impatient or fallacious hopes,
No heat of passion or excessive zeal,
No vain conceits; provokes to no quick turns
Of self-applauding intellect; but trains
To meekness, and exalts by humble faith;
Holds up before the mind intoxicate
With present objects, and the busy dance
Of things that pass away, a temperate show
Of objects that endure; and by this course
Disposes her, when over-fondly set
On throwing off incumbrances, to seek
In man, and in the frame of social life,
Whate'er there is desirable and good
Of kindred permanence, unchanged in form
And function, or, through strict vicissitude
Of life and death, revolving. Above all
Were re-established now those watchful thoughts
Which, seeing little worthy or sublime
In what the Historian's pen so much delights
To blazon--power and energy detached
From moral purpose--early tutored me
To look with feelings of fraternal love
Upon the unassuming things that hold
A silent station in this beauteous world.

Thus moderated, thus composed, I found

[...] Read more

poem by William Wordsworth
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Circus (Gladiator Mix)

----------------
(written by Clarke/Bell)
----------------------------------
Call it new technology
And they use it to burn
And they show no concern
Work for their prosperity
While the big wheels turn
Now it's too late to learn
Don't upset the teacher
Though we know he lied to you
Don't upset the preacher
Gonna close his eyes for you
And it's a shame
That you're so afraid
Just a worker waiting
In the pouring rain
Putting back the pieces
Of a broken dream
Father worked in industry
Now the work has moved on
And the factories gone
See them sell your history
Where once you were strong
And you used to belong
There was once a future
For a working man
There was once a lifetime
For a skillful hand
Yesterday
Don't upset the teacher
Though we know he lied to you
Don't upset the preacher
Gonna close his eyes for you
And it's a shame
That you're so afraid
Just a worker waiting
In the pouring rain
Putting back the pieces
Of a broken dream
Tempers fray so easily
In desperate despair
Is there anyone that cares
Just another tragedy
Just a personal affair
In a room somewhere
There was once a future
For a working man
There was once a lifetime
For a skillful hand

[...] Read more

song performed by Erasure
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A Farmer's Value

The worker in the field plays a vital role
Without him to operate the tractors and combines
The crop will not be quickly harvested
Without workers in the field
Supply will diminish; demand will go through the roof
The human will then be carnivorous
Relying solely on the animal for food
Meanwhile, the animal eats the crop
That the worker does not harvest
I appreciate and praise the hard worker
For he is harvesting the crop I consume.

poem by Nick Leary
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A New Argentina

Peron: Dice are rolling the knives are out
Would be presidents are all around
I don't say they mean harm but they'd each give an arm
To see us six feet underground

Eva: It doesn't matter what those morons say
Our nation's leaders are a feeble crew
There's only 20 of them anyway
What is 20 next to millions who are looking to you

All you have to do is sit and wait
Keeping out of everybody's way
We'll-you'll be handed power on a plate
When the ones who matter have their say
And with chaos installed
You can reluctantly agree to be called

Peron: There again we could be foolish not to quit while we're ahead
For distance lends enchantment and that is why
All exiles are distinguished more important they're not dead
I could find job satisfaction in Paraguay

Eva: This is crazy defeatest talk
Why commit political suicide
There's no risk there's no call for any action at all
When you have unions on your side

People of Argentina: A new Argentina the chains of the masses untied
A new Argentina the voice of the people cannot be denied

Eva: There is only one man who can lead any worker's regime
He lives for your problems he shares your ideals and your dream
He supports you for he loves you understands you in one of you
If not how could he love me

People of Argentina: A new Argentina the worker's battle song
A new Argentina the voice of the people rings out loud and long

Eva: Now I am a worker I've suffered the way that you do
I've been unemployed and I've starved and I've hated it too
But I found my salvation in Peron may the nation
Let him save them as he saved me

People of Argentina: A new Argentina a new age about to begin
A new Argentina we face the world together no dissent within

Peron: There again we could be foolish not to quit while we're ahead
I can see us many miles away inactive
Sipping cocktails on a terrace taking breakfast in bed
Sleeping easy doing nothing it's attractive

[...] Read more

song performed by Madonna from Evita Soundtrack (Part 1)
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The Robot

We're charging our battery
And now we're full of energy
We are the robots
We are the robots
We are the robots
We are the robots
We're functioning automatic
And we are dancing mechanic
We are the robots
We are the robots
We are the robots
We are the robots
Ja tvoi sluga, (I'm your slave)
ja tvoi Rabotnik (I'm your worker.)
we are programmed just to do
anything you want us to
we are the robots
we are the robots
we are the robots
we are the robots
we're functioning automatic
and we are dancing mechanic
we are the robots
we are the robots
we are the robots
we are the robots
Ja tvoi sluga, (I'm your slave)
ja tvoi Rabotnik (I'm your worker.)
Ja tvoi sluga, (I'm your slave)
ja tvoi Rabotnik (I'm your worker.)
[repeat to fade]
We are the robots

song performed by Kraftwerk
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Nuclear Is Safe? No They Lied To You

A list of non classified nuclear disasters
chalk one up for Chalk River Canada
rating 5 a “reactor shutoff rod failure,

combined with several operator errors,
led to a major power excursion of more
than double the reactor's rated output
at AECL's NRX reactor” then a big deal.1952

Entrant two Windscale Pile United Kingdom
rating 5 a “Release of radioactive material to
the environment following a fire in a reactor
core.” Toast a good year for nuclear disasters.1957

graphite core of a British nuclear “[weapons
programme] reactor at Windscale, Cumberland
(now Sellafield, Cumbria) caught fire, releasing
substantial amounts of radioactive contamination
into the surrounding area.” Radioactive fire.

A warm welcome to entrant three. Kyshtym
Russia rating 6 a “Significant release of
radioactive material to the environment
from explosion of a high activity waste tank.” 1957

Please all welcome contestant one back
Chalk River Canada (rating?) “Due to
inadequate cooling a damaged uranium
fuel rod caught fire and was torn in two.” 1958

Champagne pops cheer another good year
Vinč a Yugoslavia (rating?) “During
a subcritical counting experiment a power
buildup went undetected - six scientists
received high doses.” What detailed detail? 1958

Applause please for our first American entry
Santa Susana Field Laboratory US (rating?)
“Partial core meltdown.” Sounds serious.
Tick one deep operations public cover up.1959

Time to take a nice country waltz in a US county
Westinghouse Waltz Mill Westmoreland County
(rating?) a core melt accident in a test reactor? 1960

Looks like American is going for a hat trick
Charlestown US (rating?) “Error by a worker
at a United Nuclear Corporation fuel facility
led to an accidental criticality”. Human error? 1964

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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After the Carnival

AFTER THE CARNIVAL
The carnival of carefree play
too long has tripped its careless way,
clowned senseless as an ass’s bray
while flesh from flesh Time stripped away.
.
Once sun strong shone, when one made hay
cicada-like, would spend the day
in hasting-wasting, - led astray
by vain beliefs the day to pay
would never come. But hopes decay,
the ostrich-innings stumped. Today,
momentum lost, depressed dismay
notes there’s no energy to pray.
.
Illusions fade, blue skies turn grey,
what once seemed certain from life's fray
has dropped defeated, options fray.
Careless of creed, one must obey
dread summons which to night turns day.
.
That one’s posterity will stay
when life’s departed holds at bay
a sense of impotence and may
part justify the role to play.
The carnival is over, May
to Winter bows, Spring may not stay -
its darling buds in blossom, gay,
tomorrow must return to clay.

4 November 1992 revised 21 May 2005 and 29 December 2010
robi03_0638_robi03_0000 XXX_DZX
see Après la Fête robi03_0228_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ

Après la Fête

Life's Carnival swift sinks soon drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
.
Who have the strength to goals attain
with principles intact remain
exceptions to life's ground rules lain,
clowns stride stage, pine, pain, soon lie slain.
.
Though some may for a time contrive
to fool themselves, they steeper dive

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Leeches

Have you seen the leeches of society?
Have you seen them crawling like snakes?
Sucking off the life of everyone
Have you seen them with their lawyers?
Working the law so the rich get richer
Talking of freedom and rights
Have you seen them working global markets?
Polluting the rivers and the lands
Using genetic engineering for more gain
Owning sold out scientist
Buying PHD’S and technology
Owning the means of production
Owning and buying the media
Owning the courts
Pouring money into every election
Masters of propaganda
Creating wars for their interests
Using the whole world as a game
They love power and control
Indigenous people killed, in cages
In reservations
The roll of progress
Imperialism, manifest destiny
People of color trampled
Have you seen their Atlas Shrugged grins

Blessed are you who are poor yours is the kingdom
The trampled on migrant worker
The poor lonely immigrant who is distained
The worker in a slave shop
The worker without a pension
The women who can’t afford a papmere test
The cancers
The hungry children
The alcoholic families full of shame
The laid off and unemployed
Those that work 12-hour days without healthcare
Looking at his disciples, he said
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of
Righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven
Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied

The hour is late
The leeches are very wicked
They come with the power of modern technology
They want your mind
They want your vote
Resist them until they are judged
For they will throw their gold into the streets
Your task master puppets shall fall

[...] Read more

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Criminal Doesn't Know When To Stop

-a proverb of the dead of Avalon Cemetery

(In Memory Of The Victims Of Mindless Violence)

You see my brada those smart
Looking smug faced white nonatjies
Rich women bro' neh each
One of them carries a scar
Of humiliation in their hearts

And they know it he he he...

Ek se this is a black man's country
We rob the white ousies every night
We rape them day light nine nine brahs

Djy sien it's easy groot mahn since well
Ons chee ddi garden boy the tjotjo
And we sommer kill the kitchen meit
And ons ginger ddi miesies en ddi kitchen meit
We kill her and sell her heart to the witchdoctors
It makes good medicine to bring good luck
Ons es min geworry because ons
Vortel ddi gatas ddi blokom and the majiyane
Lies to the magistrate and we're out

Ha ha ha

Now the three R's you see there budah...
Rose is a Catholic she won't tell
Rebeca es gekatzenloerie mot a teacher
Hau how can she tell the rubbish
Rose is married to the boepons preacher
Neh! neh my mother's child she won't tell

We rape the white women not caring what
Their husbands will do because we know
Because they don't want to lose their marriages

This is a black man's country
And we kill their dogs and their servants
And then we gang rape the white women and stick
Broken beer bottles in their bleeding poenankies
And we take every thing and we live

And you my brother I am going to initiate you
Tonight we attack the shop of the mememe and then
You see that Susana is the woman for you and we
Will help you and you will rape but remember
She is not your wife to be so you must work fast

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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Oh, thou, in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth,
Muse, formed or fabled at the minstrel’s will!
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill:
Yet there I’ve wandered by thy vaunted rill;
Yes! sighed o’er Delphi’s long-deserted shrine
Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;
Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine
To grace so plain a tale - this lowly lay of mine.

II.

Whilome in Albion’s isle there dwelt a youth,
Who ne in virtue’s ways did take delight;
But spent his days in riot most uncouth,
And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Night.
Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;
Few earthly things found favour in his sight
Save concubines and carnal companie,
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.

III.

Childe Harold was he hight: - but whence his name
And lineage long, it suits me not to say;
Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame,
And had been glorious in another day:
But one sad losel soils a name for aye,
However mighty in the olden time;
Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honeyed lines of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

IV.

Childe Harold basked him in the noontide sun,
Disporting there like any other fly,
Nor deemed before his little day was done
One blast might chill him into misery.
But long ere scarce a third of his passed by,
Worse than adversity the Childe befell;
He felt the fulness of satiety:
Then loathed he in his native land to dwell,
Which seemed to him more lone than eremite’s sad cell.

V.

For he through Sin’s long labyrinth had run,
Nor made atonement when he did amiss,

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Canto the First

Oh, thou, in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth,
Muse, formed or fabled at the minstrel’s will!
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill:
Yet there I’ve wandered by thy vaunted rill;
Yes! sighed o’er Delphi’s long-deserted shrine
Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;
Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine
To grace so plain a tale - this lowly lay of mine.

II.

Whilome in Albion’s isle there dwelt a youth,
Who ne in virtue’s ways did take delight;
But spent his days in riot most uncouth,
And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Night.
Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;
Few earthly things found favour in his sight
Save concubines and carnal companie,
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.

III.

Childe Harold was he hight: - but whence his name
And lineage long, it suits me not to say;
Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame,
And had been glorious in another day:
But one sad losel soils a name for aye,
However mighty in the olden time;
Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honeyed lines of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

IV.

Childe Harold basked him in the noontide sun,
Disporting there like any other fly,
Nor deemed before his little day was done
One blast might chill him into misery.
But long ere scarce a third of his passed by,
Worse than adversity the Childe befell;
He felt the fulness of satiety:
Then loathed he in his native land to dwell,
Which seemed to him more lone than eremite’s sad cell.

V.

For he through Sin’s long labyrinth had run,
Nor made atonement when he did amiss,

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
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Tale XVII

RESENTMENT.

Females there are of unsuspicious mind,
Easy and soft and credulous and kind;
Who, when offended for the twentieth time,
Will hear the offender and forgive the crime:
And there are others whom, like these to cheat,
Asks but the humblest efforts of deceit;
But they, once injured, feel a strong disdain,
And, seldom pardoning, never trust again;
Urged by religion, they forgive--but yet
Guard the warm heart, and never more forget:
Those are like wax--apply them to the fire,
Melting, they take th' impressions you desire;
Easy to mould and fashion as you please,
And again moulded with an equal ease:
Like smelted iron these the forms retain,
But once impress'd, will never melt again.
A busy port a serious Merchant made
His chosen place to recommence his trade;
And brought his Lady, who, their children dead,
Their native seat of recent sorrow fled:
The husband duly on the quay was seen,
The wife at home became at length serene;
There in short time the social couple grew
With all acquainted, friendly with a few;
When the good lady, by disease assail'd,
In vain resisted--hope and science fail'd:
Then spoke the female friends, by pity led,
'Poor merchant Paul! what think ye? will he wed?
A quiet, easy, kind, religious man,
Thus can he rest?--I wonder if he can.'
He too, as grief subsided in his mind,
Gave place to notions of congenial kind:
Grave was the man, as we have told before;
His years were forty--he might pass for more;
Composed his features were, his stature low,
His air important, and his motion slow:
His dress became him, it was neat and plain,
The colour purple, and without a stain;
His words were few, and special was his care
In simplest terms his purpose to declare;
A man more civil, sober, and discreet,
More grave and corteous, you could seldom meet:
Though frugal he, yet sumptuous was his board,
As if to prove how much he could afford;
For though reserved himself, he loved to see
His table plenteous, and his neighbours free:
Among these friends he sat in solemn style,
And rarely soften'd to a sober smile:

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto I.

To Ianthe:

Not in those climes where I have late been straying,
Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deem'd;
Not in those visions to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd:
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek
To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd --
To such as see thee not my words were weak;
To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak?
Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art,
Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring,
As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart,
Love's image upon earth without his wing,
And guileless beyond Hope's imagining!
And surely she who now so fondly rears
Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening,
Beholds the rainbow of her future years,
Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears.

Young Peri of the West!-'tis well for me
My years already doubly number thine;
My loveless eye unmov'd may gaze on thee,
And safely view thy ripening beauties shine;
Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline,
Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed,
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign
To those whose admiration shall succeed,
But mixed with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed.

Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,
Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells,
Glance o'er this page; nor to my verse deny
That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh,
Could I to thee be ever more than friend:
This much, dear maid, accord; nor question why
To one so young my strain I would commend,
But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend.

Such is thy name with this my verse entwin'd;
And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast
On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrin'd
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last:
My days once number'd, should this homage past
Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre
Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast,
Such is the most my memory may desire;
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require?

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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A great scientist

He was full of questions.
For others, he provided answers
that stunned their knowledge and their world;
for him, his answers were but springboards
for his further questions.

He was the humblest of agnostics,
the humblest too, of atheists:
in the absence of sure faith in answers,
he lived with faith in questions;

and lived in wonder – full of wonder at the laws
that unfolded to his curiosity;
an eternity of questions;
an eternity of wonder at the world;

and perhaps, the God he did not believe in,
smiled, and loved him as a true believer;
sharing the goodness, truth and beauty of the universe
as angels may; believing in the love of law,
as the God of questions and creation must.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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David

My thought, on views of admiration hung,
Intently ravish'd and depriv'd of tongue,
Now darts a while on earth, a while in air,
Here mov'd with praise and mov'd with glory there;
The joys entrancing and the mute surprize
Half fix the blood, and dim the moist'ning eyes;
Pleasure and praise on one another break,
And Exclamation longs at heart to speak;
When thus my Genius, on the work design'd
Awaiting closely, guides the wand'ring mind.

If while thy thanks wou'd in thy lays be wrought,
A bright astonishment involve the thought,
If yet thy temper wou'd attempt to sing,
Another's quill shall imp thy feebler wing;
Behold the name of royal David near,
Behold his musick and his measures here,
Whose harp Devotion in a rapture strung,
And left no state of pious souls unsung.

Him to the wond'ring world but newly shewn,
Celestial poetry pronounc'd her own;
A thousand hopes, on clouds adorn'd with rays,
Bent down their little beauteous forms to gaze;
Fair-blooming Innocence with tender years,
And native Sweetness for the ravish'd ears,
Prepar'd to smile within his early song,
And brought their rivers, groves, and plains along;
Majestick Honour at the palace bred,
Enrob'd in white, embroider'd o'er with red,
Reach'd forth the scepter of her royal state,
His forehead touch'd, and bid his lays be great;
Undaunted Courage deck'd with manly charms,
With waving-azure plumes, and gilded arms,
Displaid the glories, and the toils of fight,
Demanded fame, and call'd him forth to write.
To perfect these the sacred spirit came,
By mild infusion of celestial flame,
And mov'd with dove-like candour in his breast,
And breath'd his graces over all the rest.
Ah! where the daring flights of men aspire
To match his numbers with an equal fire;
In vain they strive to make proud Babel rise,
And with an earth-born labour touch the skies.
While I the glitt'ring page resolve to view,
That will the subject of my lines renew;
The Laurel wreath, my fames imagin'd shade,
Around my beating temples fears to fade;
My fainting fancy trembles on the brink,
And David's God must help or else I sink.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Parnell
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The Everlasting Gospel

The vision of Christ that thou dost see
Is my vision’s greatest enemy.
Thine has a great hook nose like thine;
Mine has a snub nose like to mine.
Thine is the Friend of all Mankind;
Mine speaks in parables to the blind.
Thine loves the same world that mine hates;
Thy heaven doors are my hell gates.
Socrates taught what Meletus
Loath’d as a nation’s bitterest curse,
And Caiaphas was in his own mind
A benefactor to mankind.
Both read the Bible day and night,
But thou read’st black where I read white.

Was Jesus gentle, or did He
Give any marks of gentility?
When twelve years old He ran away,
And left His parents in dismay.
When after three days’ sorrow found,
Loud as Sinai’s trumpet-sound:
‘No earthly parents I confess—
My Heavenly Father’s business!
Ye understand not what I say,
And, angry, force Me to obey.
Obedience is a duty then,
And favour gains with God and men.’
John from the wilderness loud cried;
Satan gloried in his pride.
‘Come,’ said Satan, ‘come away,
I’ll soon see if you’ll obey!
John for disobedience bled,
But you can turn the stones to bread.
God’s high king and God’s high priest
Shall plant their glories in your breast,
If Caiaphas you will obey,
If Herod you with bloody prey
Feed with the sacrifice, and be
Obedient, fall down, worship me.’
Thunders and lightnings broke around,
And Jesus’ voice in thunders’ sound:
‘Thus I seize the spiritual prey.
Ye smiters with disease, make way.
I come your King and God to seize,
Is God a smiter with disease?’
The God of this world rag’d in vain:
He bound old Satan in His chain,
And, bursting forth, His furious ire
Became a chariot of fire.
Throughout the land He took His course,

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake
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The worker is the slave of capitalist society, the female worker is the slave of that slave.

quote by James Connolly
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Many talk about a guest worker program. I think most reasonable people believe that a guest worker program in the farming industry, perhaps in the gardening and landscape industries, is reasonable.

quote by Gary Miller
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