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Now that I am a deputy, I will cease to be an agitator.

quote by Lajos Kossuth
Added by Lucian Velea
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The press should be not only a collective propagandist and a collective agitator, but also a collective organizer of the masses.

quote by Vladimir Lenin
Added by Lucian Velea
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Personal Vendettas

Personal vendettas,
Seem more to be a solicitation,
Of an invitation sent...
By one.
To create the getting of attention,
From another.
Fishing to distract and to bait,
Someone to escalate a debate...
That initiates a wasting of time,
One who is focused in mind...
Continues to ignore.
And that upsets the agitator,
Wishing to be noticed in a crowd.
With a seeking of a preference to reference.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Chocolate to Die For *aka* Willy Wonka’s Woeful Ways of Weeping

Vincent Smith II died yesterday,
Of a most peculiar way.
He was temporary worker loading cocoa in the Cocoa Service Plant in Camden,
New Jersey.
It was plain to see,
He was quite content working at a chocolate factory.
Vince thought there was nothing to worry about safety,
-nothing- made him quit-
living.
For he fell into a vat of chocolate.
Vince’s fellow workers tried to save him,
Drowning by chocolate was to be induced.
And to top it off,
-the agitator that mixes the mix,
Hit Vince’s head and unfortunately made his breathing body nix.
I wonder if the government would do recall on this batch of chocolate that was produced.

7-9-09

poem by Joe Rosochacki
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Family Meeting

I looked around and saw no one
But fractured bodies of restless faces
Mixed personalities of several mates
Harassing with perfect home grown language

Oduma, the trader town crier
Agitator of recreated home rules
Bent on haughty open hostilities
Against those coming home for help

The new comer that one would wish
To have a welcome full of joy
Congregating with so much hope
In a family meeting with so much venom

Alcohol stricken old men
What sin resides in a city dweller
Coming home to a family meeting
Known squarely to a living parent
In a village unknown to the kids

[...] Read more

poem by Enne Aig
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The Man Who Took On Big Brother

The man who stand for human rights, freedom and justice
Is now in jail perhaps for a long stay
The authorities say he an an agitator
The only reason he is locked away.

He was a brave man to take on big brother
For those who take on big brother are few
And though he may spend many years behind bars
To a higher human principle he is true.

He could have kept his mouth shut like me and others
For human rights is not a popular thing
Instead he spoke his mind and got in trouble
And the wrath of big brother upon himself did bring.

He is that man who dared to take on big brother
But for his brave stand he is in jail today
And for speaking out for human rights and justice
His loss of freedom is the price he pay.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Day of Unrest

There ain't enough of strikes an' things,
There ain't enough of strife,
There ain't enough dislikes an' things
In this 'ere modern life:
'Ow can we 'ope to 'ave unrest
When blokes don't know that they're oppressed?

On Sundees they enjoy theirselves,
An' rush from trams an' trains
When they could best employ theirselves
Be strikin' off their chains:
'Ow can we bid their chains begone
When blokes don't know they got 'em on?

Give us a chance to speak with 'em,
An' tell 'em 'ow they're cursed.
Give us an hour a week with them
So they can know the worst.
'Ow can the crowd know they are slaves
Unless the agitator raves?

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Saint Peter

Now, I think there is a likeness 'twixt St Peter's life and mine
For he did a lot of trampin' long ago in Palestine
He was 'union' when the workers first began to organize
And I'm glad that old St Peter keeps the gate of Paradise

When the ancient agitator and his brothers carried swags
I've no doubt he very often tramped with empty tucker-bags
And I'm glad he's Heaven's picket, for I hate explainin' things
And he'll think a union ticket just as good as Whitely King's

When I reach the great head-station -which is somewhere 'off the track'
I won't want to talk with angels who have never been out back
They might bother me with offers of a banjo meanin' well
And a pair of wings to fly with, when I only want a spell

I'll just ask for old St Peter, and I think, when he appears
I will only have to tell him that I carried swag for years
'I've been on the track,' I'll tell him, 'an' I done the best I could'
And he'll understand me better than the other angels would

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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This Land Is Mine

The little tiny land of Palestine need not be such a big question,
For this land belongs to only One and it's His Eternal Possession.

The land that was given to Abraham, by much of the world is denied,
Most of the world does not know that God said, “This land is mine.”

The name Palestine is truly a misnomer, perpetrated by the deceived,
This name actually gets its roots from God's enemies the Philistines.

The Philistines were one of the peoples found in the land of Canaan,
The land God promised to Abraham, and from God to him it was handed.

Abraham patiently waited to see when The Lord his God would lead him,
Not fully relying on The Lord his God, he made a treaty at Beersheba.

The very first treaty that Israel made was with a Philistine leader,
After Abraham had died they became to Isaac nothing but an agitator.

And during the time of The Judges when Israel did evil in God's eyes,
God would give them over to the Philistines to simply be chastised.

[...] Read more

poem by Bob Gotti
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The Incantation

Scene: Federal Political Arena
A darkened cave. In the middle, a cauldron, boiling.
Enter the three witches.
1ST WITCH: Thrice hath the Federal Jackass brayed.

2ND WITCH: Once the Bruce-Smith War-horse neighed.

3RD WITCH: So Georgie comes, 'tis time, 'tis time,
Around the cauldron to chant our rhyme.

1ST WITCH: In the cauldron boil and bake
Fillet of a tariff snake,
Home-made flannels -- mostly cotton,
Apples full of moths, and rotten,
Lamb that perished in the drought,
Starving stock from "furthest out",
Drops of sweat from cultivators,
Sweating to feed legislators.
Grime from a white stoker's nob,
Toiling at a nigger's job.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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