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To A Foil'd European Revolutionaire

COURAGE yet! my brother or my sister!
Keep on! Liberty is to be subserv'd, whatever occurs;
That is nothing, that is quell'd by one or two failures, or any
number of failures,
Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people, or by any
unfaithfulness,
Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon, penal statutes.

Revolt! and still revolt! revolt!
What we believe in waits latent forever through all the continents,
and all the islands and archipelagos of the sea;
What we believe in invites no one, promises nothing, sits in calmness
and light, is positive and composed, knows no discouragement,
Waiting patiently, waiting its time.

(Not songs of loyalty alone are these, 10
But songs of insurrection also;
For I am the sworn poet of every dauntless rebel, the world over,
And he going with me leaves peace and routine behind him,
And stakes his life, to be lost at any moment.)

[...] Read more

poem by Walt Whitman
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Imagine A Man

Imagine a man
Not a child of any revolt
Imagine a man
But a plain man tied up in life
Imagine the sand
Imagine a man
Running out as he struts
Not a child of any revolt
Parading and fading, ignoring his wife
But a plain man tied up in life
Imagine a road
Imagine the sand
So long looking backwards
Running out as he struts
You cant see where it really began
Parading and fading, ignoring his wife
Imagine a load
Imagine a road
So large and so smooth
So long looking backwards

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song performed by Who
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Anarchy Is For Lovers

They came together-red and black-
In a revolt like no other,
And there is no turning back,
For anarchy is for lovers.

The truth is greater than the lies
Of hollow gods and class divisions,
For loving hearts all rules defy
With a transcendent common vision.

No wars, no boundaries, no states,
No need to subjugate each other,
No rich, no poor, no one to hate-
Just peace and love for one another.

They came together-young and old-
No hippie freaks, but with a vision-
They came together in revolt
Against all wars and all divisions.

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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Revolt

Beware, defection of the populace.
In the murmurs pitchforks square,
Assault the masters thieves
Hang your freedom.

They sold the lands, where the angels stand,
With their crawling hands and bloody stained faces,
Sorrow lives invent their lies for powers and might.
Squeezing freedom of lights, in tunnels of blind sight.

The patience have lost her calm, revolt up rise.
We are the lords, of our worlds, enslaved of comfort and laze.
By the masters' games, on a board of paper and fire.
Of low desire.

Worth like blindfolded eyes on a vessel springboard edge.
Bath of sharks awaiting to jump.
Rip that bandages off from your faces.
Everything awake, desires of freedom penetrate.

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poem by Luca Menin
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The Mutiny of the Chains

PENAL COLONY OF WESTERN AUSTRALIA, 1857

THE sun rose o'er dark Fremantle,
And the Sentry stood on the wall;
Above him, with white lines swinging,
The flag-staff, bare and tall:
The flag at its foot—the Mutiny Flag—
Was always fast to the line,—
For its sanguine field was a cry of fear,
And the Colony counted an hour a year
In the need of the blood-red sign.

The staff and the line, with its ruddy flash,
lake a threat or an evil-bode,
Were a monstrous whip with a crimson lash,
Fit sign for the penal code.

The Sentry leant on his rifle, and stood
By the mast, with a deep-drawn breath;

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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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The Task: Book VI. -- The Winter Walk at Noon

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;
And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased
With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave:
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet, now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!
With easy force it opens all the cells
Where Memory slept. Wherever I have heard
A kindred melody, the scene recurs,
And with it all its pleasures and its pains.
Such comprehensive views the spirit takes,
That in a few short moments I retrace
(As in a map the voyager his course)
The windings of my way through many years.
Short as in retrospect the journey seems,
It seem’d not always short; the rugged path,

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poem by William Cowper
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Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality.

quote by James Joyce
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To revolt is a natural tendency of life. Even a worm turns against the foot that crushes it. In general, the vitality and relative dignity of an animal can be measured by the intensity of its instinct to revolt.

quote by Mikhail Bakunin
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Senses

Closed eyes too can see
Visuals on heart-easel
Tight lips too can speak
In eloquence expressive silence
Deaf ears too can hear
Thundering miseries all around

Searching senses work
even when locked
Hungry are they; for truth
Eager are they; to revolt
Sans smut and rust
They know their worth

(This poem is about oppression. Oppressors think they are perpetrating their evils without anyone's knowledge. But there are searching senses around, that are sans smut & rust, which are live to their surroundings even when shut and ready to revolt)

poem by Sathya Narayana
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All about us we see a world in revolt; but revolt is negative, a mere finishing-off process. In the midst of destruction we carry with us also our creation, our hopes, our strength, our urge to be fulfilled. The climate changes as the wheel turns, and what is true for the sidereal world is true for man. The last two thousand years have brought about a duality in man such as he never experienced before, and yet the man who dominates this whole period was one who stood for wholeness, one who proclaimed the Holy Ghost. No life in the whole history of man has been so misinterpreted, so woefully misunderstood as Christ's.

quote by Henry Miller
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