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Actors were exploited no less by the capitalist managers than they were by the state.

quote by Bela Lugosi
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.

THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;
From whose corrupted flesh that breed
Of vermin did at first proceed.
So e're the storm of war broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various rout
Of petulant Capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts,
That first run all religion down,
And after ev'ry swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their mothers got their sons,
That were incapable t' enjoy
That empire any other way;
So PRESBYTER begot the other
Upon the good old Cause, his mother,
Then bore then like the Devil's dam,
Whose son and husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral tie of blood
Nor int'rest for the common good
Cou'd, when their profits interfer'd,
Get quarter for each other's beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But only by the ears engag'd:
Like dogs that snarl about a bone,
And play together when they've none,
As by their truest characters,
Their constant actions, plainly appears.
Rebellion now began, for lack
Of zeal and plunders to grow slack;
The Cause and covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b' out of season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O' th' King's Revenue, and the Churches,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on;
Which forc'd the stubborn'st for the Cause,

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poem by Samuel Butler
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Attica State

-"it is my pleasure and privilige at this very solumn moment to introduce a young man and his wife.
Who saw fit to put down in music and lyrics so that it will never be forgotten in our country, by anyone, the tragedy of attica state.
There's no more that i can say, ladies and gentlemen. i would like to introduce you to john and yoko lennon."
-"i'd just like to say, it's an honour and a pleasure to be here at the apollo and for the reasons we're all here.
This song, yoko and i wrote, is called 'attica state'"
One, two, three, four!
What a waste of human power,
What a waste of human lives.
Shoot the pris'ners in the towers,
Forty-three poor widowed wives.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Media blames it on the pris'ners,
But the pris'ners did not kill.
"rockefeller pulled the trigger,"
That is what the people feel.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Free the pris'ners, jail the judges,
Free all pris'ners ev'rywhere.
All they need is truth and justice,
All the want is love and care.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
They all live in suffocation,
Let's not watch them die in sorrow.
Now's the time for revolution,
Give them all a chance to grow.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Come together, join the movement,
Take a stand for human rights.
Fear and hatred clouds our judgement,
Free us all from endless night.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Attica state, attica state,
We all live in attica state.
Attica state, attica state,
Attica, attica, attica state.
-"thank you, aah, thank you, thank you, aah,. some of you, eh, wonder what i'm doinh here with no drummers and no nothin' like that.
Well, you might know i lost my me old band, or i left it. i'm puttin' a, i'm puttin' an elecric band together, it's not ready yet.
Ah, things like this keep comin' up so, i just have to busk it. so i'm gonna sing you a song now you might know
It's called 'imagine'

song performed by Yoko Ono
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Attica State

-"it is my pleasure and privilige at this very solumn moment to introduce a young man and his wife.
Who saw fit to put down in music and lyrics so that it will never be forgotten in our country, by anyone, the tragedy of attica state.
There's no more that i can say, ladies and gentlemen. i would like to introduce you to john and yoko lennon."
-"i'd just like to say, it's an honour and a pleasure to be here at the apollo and for the reasons we're all here.
This song, yoko and i wrote, is called 'attica state'"
One, two, three, four!
What a waste of human power,
What a waste of human lives.
Shoot the pris'ners in the towers,
Forty-three poor widowed wives.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Media blames it on the pris'ners,
But the pris'ners did not kill.
"rockefeller pulled the trigger,"
That is what the people feel.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Free the pris'ners, jail the judges,
Free all pris'ners ev'rywhere.
All they need is truth and justice,
All the want is love and care.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
They all live in suffocation,
Let's not watch them die in sorrow.
Now's the time for revolution,
Give them all a chance to grow.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Come together, join the movement,
Take a stand for human rights.
Fear and hatred clouds our judgement,
Free us all from endless night.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Attica state, attica state,
We all live in attica state.
Attica state, attica state,
Attica, attica, attica state.
-"thank you, aah, thank you, thank you, aah,. some of you, eh, wonder what i'm doinh here with no drummers and no nothin' like that.
Well, you might know i lost my me old band, or i left it. i'm puttin' a, i'm puttin' an elecric band together, it's not ready yet.
Ah, things like this keep comin' up so, i just have to busk it. so i'm gonna sing you a song now you might know
It's called 'imagine'

song performed by Yoko Ono
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Attica State

What a waste of human power
What a waste of human lives
Shoot the prisoners in the towers
Forty-three poor widowed wives
Attica state, attica state,
Were all mates with attica state
Media blames it on the prisoners
But the prisoners did not kill
Rockefeller pulled the trigger
That is what the people feel
Attica state, attica state,
Were all mates with attica state
Free the prisoners, jail the judges
Free all prisoners everywhere
All they want is truth and justice
All they need is love and care
Attica state, attica state,
Were all mates with attica state
They all live in suffocation
Lets not watch them die in sorrow
Nows the time for revolution
Give them all a chance to grow
Attica state, attica state,
Were all mates with attica state
Come together join the movement
Take a stand for human rights
Fear and hatred clouds our judgement
Free us all from endless night
Attica state, attica state,
Were all mates with attica state
Attica state, attica state,
We all live in attica state
Attica state, attica state,
Attica, attica, attica state

song performed by Lennon John
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State Of Mind

You don't need to hang around
You don't need to talk right now
Gotta feeling, it's a mistake
Gotta feeling, it's gonna break
Some days, sometimes just don't feel right
Too hot to touch
It's getting too much
You know it's just a state of mind
Driving you wild
You're torn up inside
You know it's just a state of mind
State of mind
All I need is to breathe
All I need is to believe
Gotta have it, now I know
Gotta have it, take it slow
Some days, sometimes it just goes right
Too hot to touch
It's getting too much
You know it's just a state of mind
Driving you wild
You're torn up inside
You know it's just a state of mind
State of mind
State of mind
State of mind
Ahhh
Too hot to touch (Yeah)
Ahhh
(It's my state of mind)
Driving you wild
(I was driving you wild)
Too hot to touch
It's getting too much
You know it's just a state of mind
Driving you wild
You're torn up inside
You know it's just a state of mind
State of mind
State of mind
State of mind
Too hot to touch
It's getting too much
You know it's just a state of mind
Driving you wild
You're torn up inside
You know it's just a state of mind
State of mind
State of mind
State of mind

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song performed by Holly Valance
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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A Capitalist, a Socialist and a Poet

A Capitalist, a Socialist and a Poet

Capitalist: What profit's there to be made?
Socialist: And how the workers will get paid?
Poet: Forget potatoes and your stocks,
The beauty's in the shining locks
Of my sweet darling-there she is-
An angel gliding through the breeze.
Capitalist: That's fine and dandy. What's the price
Of that sweet bosom and those eyes?
What is the bottom line, my friend?
Socialist: This dreamy nonsense has to end-
With millions walking unemployed,
What beauty's there to enjoy?
Poet: And in the starlight late at night
I see my lady burning bright,
And that is all I really need-
No public good or private greed-
I want my freedom just to be
Away from life's banality.
Capitalist: Good luck, my friend, but then again
You could've been a richer man.
Socialist: And while your comrades starve and hurt,
All you can think of is some flirt,
Who steals men's wallets and their hearts,
While you pursue your foolish art.
Poet: Foolish or not, and who decides
What to extol or to deride,
What we imagine, what we seem,
What we aspire to and dream?
And do we know who we are
Beyond some house or a car,
Beyond our jobs, beyond this life
That starts at nine and ends at five?
Capitalist: You could, my friend, be self-employed.
Socialist: Or one of many unemployed.
Poet: I find my meaning in my art,
While beauty lies within the heart
And shared equally with all,
Igniting passion in the soul,
Beyond appearances and lies,
Beyond demand, beyond supply,
Beyond your wealth or state control-
Mine is the freedom of the soul
To love and dream and to behold
The beauty of the natural world.
Not to despise, and not to claim
To have some answers to your game
Of rich and poor - it's all the same -
I want to live before I die

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;

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poem by Charles Churchill
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The Apology

ADDRESSED TO THE CRITICAL REVIEWERS.

Tristitiam et Metus.--HORACE.

Laughs not the heart when giants, big with pride,
Assume the pompous port, the martial stride;
O'er arm Herculean heave the enormous shield,
Vast as a weaver's beam the javelin wield;
With the loud voice of thundering Jove defy,
And dare to single combat--what?--A fly!
And laugh we less when giant names, which shine
Establish'd, as it were, by right divine;
Critics, whom every captive art adores,
To whom glad Science pours forth all her stores;
Who high in letter'd reputation sit,
And hold, Astraea-like, the scales of wit,
With partial rage rush forth--oh! shame to tell!--
To crush a bard just bursting from the shell?
Great are his perils in this stormy time
Who rashly ventures on a sea of rhyme:
Around vast surges roll, winds envious blow,
And jealous rocks and quicksands lurk below:
Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends;
He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
Look through the world--in every other trade
The same employment's cause of kindness made,
At least appearance of good will creates,
And every fool puffs off the fool he hates:
Cobblers with cobblers smoke away the night,
And in the common cause e'en players unite;
Authors alone, with more than savage rage,
Unnatural war with brother authors wage.
The pride of Nature would as soon admit
Competitors in empire as in wit;
Onward they rush, at Fame's imperious call,
And, less than greatest, would not be at all.
Smit with the love of honour,--or the pence,--
O'errun with wit, and destitute of sense,
Should any novice in the rhyming trade
With lawless pen the realms of verse invade,
Forth from the court, where sceptred sages sit,
Abused with praise, and flatter'd into wit,
Where in lethargic majesty they reign,
And what they won by dulness, still maintain,
Legions of factious authors throng at once,
Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.
To 'Hamilton's the ready lies repair--
Ne'er was lie made which was not welcome there--
Thence, on maturer judgment's anvil wrought,
The polish'd falsehood's into public brought.

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poem by Charles Churchill
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State Of Mind

I was goin round the world
I was lookin for somewhere
I was searchin for someone
Who was gonna take me there
Didnt want to do it cause I knew what Id find
Yourre really only livin in a state of mind, yeah
I was thinkin of the past
I was tryin to rack my brain
I was looking at the future, looking at the future
I was tryin to play the game
Didnt want to do it cause I knew what Id find
Youre really only livin in a state of mind, yeah
Sometimes you get lost
Sometimes you get found
In a state of mind
Sometimes youre too high
Sometimes youre too down
Its just a state of mind
Didnt want to do it cause I knew what Id find
Youre really only livin in a state of mind, yeah
Sometimes you get lost
Sometimes you get found
In a state of mind
Sometimes youre too high
Sometimes youre too down
Its just a state of mind
You think you know it all
Then you think that you know nothing
Cant dance, cant crawl, crawl
Maybe you better forget it
Didnt want to do it cause I knew what Id find
Youre really only livin in a state of mind, yeah
Didnt want to it cause I knew what Id find
Youre really only livin in a state of mind, yeah
Didnt want to it cause I knew what Id find
Youre really only livin in a state of mind, yeah
State of mind
Its a state of mind
State of mind
State of mind
State of mind
State of mind

song performed by Electric Light Orchestra
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State Of Confusion

Woke up in a panic,
Like somebody fired a gun
I wish I could be dreaming,
But the nightmares just begun.
Theres flooding in the basement,
Theres water all around.
Theres woodworm in the attic
And the ceiling just fell down.
Im in a state (state)
Of confusion (whooooh).
Im in a state (state)
Of confusion (whooooh).
All the dirty dishes
Are still in the kitchen sink.
The tumble dryers broken,
Now the tellys on the blink.
My girlfriends packed her bags
And moved out to another town.
She couldnt stand the boredom
When the video broke down.
Dont know why I feel so bad.
Is it the weather, or am I going mad?
Dont know why I feel this way.
I dont know whether Im coming or Im going,
Cant cover up cause its obviously showing.
Its a state (state)
Of confusion (whooooh).
Were in a state (state)
Of confusion (whooooh).
I dont know whether Im coming or Im going.
Should feel happy, should feel glad.
Im alive and it cant be bad,
But back on planet earth they shatter the illusion,
The worlds going round in a state of confusion.
Standing on an island
In the middle of the road.
Traffic either side of me,
Which way will I go?
I shouldve stayed at home,
I should have never come outside.
Now I wish I never tried
To cross the other side.
Im in a state (state)
State of confusion (whooooh).
Its a state (state)
Of confusion (whooooh).
Lyin awake in a cold, cold sweat,
Am I overdrawn, am I going in debt?
It gets worse, the older that you get.
No escape from the state of confusion Im in.

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song performed by Kinks
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Gotham - Book II

How much mistaken are the men who think
That all who will, without restraint may drink,
May largely drink, e'en till their bowels burst,
Pleading no right but merely that of thirst,
At the pure waters of the living well,
Beside whose streams the Muses love to dwell!
Verse is with them a knack, an idle toy,
A rattle gilded o'er, on which a boy
May play untaught, whilst, without art or force,
Make it but jingle, music comes of course.
Little do such men know the toil, the pains,
The daily, nightly racking of the brains,
To range the thoughts, the matter to digest,
To cull fit phrases, and reject the rest;
To know the times when Humour on the cheek
Of Mirth may hold her sports; when Wit should speak,
And when be silent; when to use the powers
Of ornament, and how to place the flowers,
So that they neither give a tawdry glare,
'Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air;'
To form, (which few can do, and scarcely one,
One critic in an age, can find when done)
To form a plan, to strike a grand outline,
To fill it up, and make the picture shine
A full and perfect piece; to make coy Rhyme
Renounce her follies, and with Sense keep time;
To make proud Sense against her nature bend,
And wear the chains of Rhyme, yet call her friend.
Some fops there are, amongst the scribbling tribe,
Who make it all their business to describe,
No matter whether in or out of place;
Studious of finery, and fond of lace,
Alike they trim, as coxcomb Fancy brings,
The rags of beggars, and the robes of kings.
Let dull Propriety in state preside
O'er her dull children, Nature is their guide;
Wild Nature, who at random breaks the fence
Of those tame drudges, Judgment, Taste, and Sense,
Nor would forgive herself the mighty crime
Of keeping terms with Person, Place, and Time.
Let liquid gold emblaze the sun at noon,
With borrow'd beams let silver pale the moon;
Let surges hoarse lash the resounding shore,
Let streams meander, and let torrents roar;
Let them breed up the melancholy breeze,
To sigh with sighing, sob with sobbing trees;
Let vales embroidery wear; let flowers be tinged
With various tints; let clouds be laced or fringed,
They have their wish; like idle monarch boys,
Neglecting things of weight, they sigh for toys;

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poem by Charles Churchill
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Allegany Camp

amazing grace circus camp
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amazon lodge dutch oven camp
ambassador camp at lake waccamaw nc
ambassador camp inc
ambassador chalet
ambassador chalet at doral
ambassador chalet wgc
amber bowers
amber camp lazlo
amber pow camp
amberg germany dp camp
ambition camp hockey pro
ambler baseball camp
ambleside scotland school camp
ambon pow camp
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ambulance bower
amc camp dodge
amc camp movie summer
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amc summer camp for s 2007
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amc summer movie camp arlington
amc summer movie camp ontario california
amc theater camp hill
amc theatres summer camp
amcmovie camps
amelia earhart in japanese war camp

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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State Of The Heart

I know your name
I told you mine
Weve stopped and passed the time of day
You work in town
I work at night
That gives us six until seven to work this out
If I seem a little strange
Its just the state of the heart
Im waiting here for you
In the state Im in
You are the moon
I am the sea
You pull me in and gaze on down at me
I was alone
I thought I was immune
Its good to know
The door can still be open wide
If I feel a little strange
Its just the state of the heart
Im waiting here for you
In the state Im in
Its just the state of the heart
I wait in the dark
I the state Im in
We get closer and closer
To falling out or falling in
I go over and over
But I cant change the state
This heart is in
If I seem a little strange
Its just the state of the heart
Im waiting here for you
In the state Im in
Its just the state of the heart
You know I wait in the dark
In the state Im in
It s the state of the heart
The state of the heart
The state of the heart
The state of the heart

song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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Football Farce

Football managers and players should hang their heads in shame,
For what they've done to our traditional football game.
Now sportsmen in the game are a dying breed,
with managers and players getting rich with greed.
Sportsmen! They are not, for they will cheat and connive,
winning free kicks and penalties by taking a dive.
Pushing, pulling and shirts being torn,
Punching and swearing are now the norm.
After a night on drugs and all night boozing,
players get violent if their team is loosing.
The managers aren't any better when staring at defeat,
encouraging players to go out there and cheat.
If the players do wrong and it's plain to see,
the managers will argue and blame the referee.
And now referees are getting in on this shameful act,
with the top premier clubs they've now formed a pact.
If the top club is loosing, then with the last kick of the ball,
the referee gives them a penalty for no good reason at all.
If that doesn't help they commit another dreadful crime,
by giving them another chance by adding on extra time.
The F.A. watches these games and don't seem to mind,
What's up with them? are they totally blind?
The F.A. should now hang their heads in shame,
for they have let money and greed ruin our football game.
That's why I have finally decided to call it a day,
Football ain't getting anymore of my hard earnt pay.

By
Alan Weston

© Copyright Reserved 2007

poem by Alan Weston
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Your Boom, My Bust

So the he said
'Tell me capitalist
what is profit? '

He said
profit is what I earn
when I sell something for more than it is worth,
it is a reward for my effort.'

Ah, I said, if everyone did that
then the price of an object would
keep going up forever
since each person in the chain
would want their profft
and finally, the price would be so high
nobody could afford to buy
what the capitalist had to sell
and then we would all be in poverty
the last capitalist
would be the only one left with money
enough to buy up our properties
since the price would have dropped
because nobody could afford to pay
and in the end
the richest capitalist
would be the only one standing
and would own everything
while everyone else would have to sell everything to him
because all of the rest of us would be too poor
to pay the high prices its costs to live.

Sell something for more than it is really worth
on the grounds that a profit must be made
leads to disasters, and boom and bust.
Hello Wall Street.
And by the way
if everyone loses everything
who had the money to buy
it all up?
Hello Wall Street.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Tale XXI

The Learned Boy

An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and

hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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I Live Off You

I live off you
And you live off me
And the whole world
Lives off of everybody
See we gotta be exploited
See we gotta be exploited
By somebody by somebody
By somebody
The cat eats the rat
While the pimp beats the whore
As she just screams out
For more and more
See we gotta be exploited
See we gotta be exploited
By somebody by somebody
By somebody

song performed by X-Ray Spex
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Live Off You

I live off you
And you live off me
And the whole world
Lives off of everybody
See we gotta be exploited
See we gotta be exploited
By somebody by somebody
By somebody
The cat eats the rat
While the pimp beats the whore
As she just screams out
For more and more
See we gotta be exploited
See we gotta be exploited
By somebody by somebody
By somebody

song performed by X-Ray Spex
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Political Fruit: A Political Solution!

A yokel’s assessment
loft pigeon holing
key kiwi politics
for term year 2001.

Under Labouring Leadership
exhibited by Prime Minister.
Housewife mentality not
her honourable Helen Clark.

“I’m glad I’m a kiwi
in the land of the free(?)
I wish I was a dog
and Jenny Shipley was a tree! ”

That former National Leader
of the N.Z. Socialist Welfare State.
Effectively exterminated some of
the old the sick the maimed not retained.
The (destained) . Supposedly unemployable.
Through effective long hospital waiting lists.
Patients patiently dying in sickening turn.
Waiting for their turn lifetime tax paid for.

Grossly government underfunded operations.
Patients could not live long enough to have.
Contrast increasing youth adult suicide rates.
Highlights dispirited dispossessed chose to die.
Rather than live with unstomachable shame.
Shame for their families to deal with if had one.

National gave their last paid jobs away to
cheaper ill fated foreign third world workers.
To even more socially exploited workers.
In even more exploited less fortunate lands.

Ensuring aspiring elite rich may free trade
grossing ever more greed upon greed
sweat and misery maximized equating to
an advanced global industrial slavery.

As Neo-liberal policies bite ever harder.

“Full employment is necessary
for capitalism
to grow”; did you never realize!

Shrinking profit rates! Economic Solution?

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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