Sharpe is my favorite role of all that I've played. He's a very complex character. He knows that he's a good soldier, but he will always have to fight the prejudice of aristocratic officers because of his rough working-class upbringing. On the battlefield, he's full of confidence - but off it, he is unsure, a bit shy and ill at ease.
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Working Class Soldier
Working class Soldier.
Don’t blame the TV it is what you want, so smile to the camera;
whatever you do don’t show a picture of a mutilated alien soldier,
tomorrow we will win this war and you’ll be remembered as never
before. I wonder if the working class, one day will wake up and say:
”Why should we do all the dying? Ah, my man, problem is you like
fighting it is the only thing that gives gist to your boring life beats
clocking in at seven every morning; fight on friends our leader are
very good at doing military funerals, make you a hero for the day,
you will miss hearing all the blooming words and your wife will
be poor before the flowers have wizened and a hearse rolls down
the lane driving another soldier hero to his grave.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My upbringing was very straightforward suburban working class upbringing.
quote by Billy Bragg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Good Soldier
This good soldier’s in a war
A war that is not his to fight
And he don’t want to anymore.
This good soldier’s lost what’s right
Trapped in war, nowhere to go
Oh, listen to his painful plight!
This good soldier’s scars do show
Of past wounds that haunt his soul
From battlefields since unfit to sow.
This good soldier plays his role
From his fate he cannot run
But these long years did take their toll.
This good soldier’s finally done
No more of war, he closed the door,
On the field he buried his gun.
poem by Jason Daniels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deaf Gunpowder
Come on soldier.
Soldier?
Get off of your battlefield
Let me take you to a place
Where your weapons are sealed.
Come on soldier.
Soldier?
Look me in the eye
Your heart hasn’t chosen to be here
Then why are you here?
Ask yourself why.
Come on soldier.
Soldier?
It’s time to breathe
It’s time to stop fighting for your life,
For something you don’t believe.
Hey soldier?
Soldier?
I do understand
It wasn’t your choice to be here
But you chose not to fight for that;
You chose to fight for someone else.
That is why in life you were not alive
But when you died,
That was when you started to breathe.
Hey soldier?
Soldier?
I know you cannot hear
Because you strived
You are alive
To you death will never come near.
poem by Mehreen Mujeeb
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Everything Is Kiling Me....
As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
poem by Adnan Zahedi
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Working Class Hero
As soon as you're born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so f***ing crazy you can't follow their rules.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years,
Then they expect you to pick a career,
When you can't really function you're so full of fear.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you're so clever and classless and free,
But you're still f***ing peasants as far as I can see.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
There's room at the top they are telling you still,
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill,
If you want to be like the folks on the hill.
A working class hero is something to be.
A working class hero is something to be.
If you want to be a hero well just follow me,
If you want to be a hero well just follow me.
song, music by John Lennon, lyrics by John Lennon from John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band (11 December 1970)
Submitted by anonym
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A Soldiers Dream
A soldier isn't just a soldier,
but a human being.
sent to fight over seas,
Sent to fight to please his leaders dream,
and as this soldier gets older, his only dream is to live.
But as years pass by, his hopes and dreams are thorn apart,
as he is sent to run to reach the other side,
as he runs through the open battlefield,
were the enemy waits for the kill.
And as this soldier stops and prays, the enemy is moved by this soldiers face.
The enemy lets this soldier flee,
know this soldier is free,
free to live his own dream.
poem by Juan Duarte
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Battlefield Of Love
I am a soldier
A casualty of love
I've been from heaven
All the way to hell
I've had a journey
Much more than I can tell
I've got stories
Much more than I can sell
All this mass confusion
Causes chaos in my brain
I'm on the battlefield
The battlefield of love
With all of the illusions
I won't ever be the same
I'm on the battlefield
The battlefield of love
I'm a prisoner
A prisoner of love
I have been captured
And kept underground
I have been tortured
But I don't make a sound
'Cause I know one day
One day I will be found
All this mass confusion
Causes chaos in my brain
I'm on the battlefield
The battlefield of love
With all of the illusions
I won't ever be the same
I'm on the battlefield
The battlefield of love
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Lenny
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When you have police officers who abuse citizens, you erode public confidence in law enforcement. That makes the job of good police officers unsafe.
quote by Mary Frances Berry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Soldier Boy
Little Soldier boy, fight hard.
Fight for your country, your family, your friends.
Fight for me, little soldier boy.
Keep your head high, your spirit strong.
Be safe, little soldier boy.
Return in one piece.
And if the Lord should take you home,
then so be it.
We love you, little soldier boy.
We pray for you every night.
And hope to hold you tight soon.
I love my little soldier boy.
Come home little soldier boy.
Come back to your family.
Come back to me.
My little soldier boy.
Come home soon.
poem by Nedra Pepin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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British Election
British election
Three men in suit on a podium, they have no shame, all three want to rule
Britain and they tell lies and promise things they cannot keep. Since we are
Serfs at heart we vote for the most aristocratic one forgetting when the loaf
is cut, they keep the slices we get the crumbs. All three men agree about
the war In Afghanistan and it most continue to win the peace and they extol
the brave soldiers who in the end die from an unwinnable war. I should have
been sorry for the soldiers they are mostly un educated working class, and like
the idea of fighting the Taliban. Should they die which they do too often.
There is a great funeral no one does a military send off like the Brits. To end
this war we have to talk to the Taliban, and when we do the suffering of mums
and the deaths of young men have come to nothing. Three well tailored men
on a podium, sing from the same music sheet, produced by newspapers and
everything will be as before in a country where people are made to feel
ashamed of being working class, being told of dependency culture and working
hard when there is no work, and be told how lazy they are.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Joe, the Soldier
You have uniform, stripes and badges you are a hero at last.
No longer alone but in a group and you do as you’re told.
They tell you to fight for your country, but omit telling you
that the same country gave you nothing because you’re poor,
and now you are dying for it. Working class, when they send
your casket home your father is proud. Death on a battlefield
to preserve the haves way of life. Your parents get a medal
of lies to put on the mantel piece. When they see they have
been made fools of they have lost the will to protest.
If they voice their anger over your futile death they will not
be believed, their neighbours are stupid, and lack loyalty to
their own class and so it goes on.
The haves can fool you all the time...yes,
forever my friend....Unless you opt for insurrection.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Soldier's Ghost
I bled for you - would you for me?
I blessed a skin in blazing fuel
Then took a bullet in a duel of
‘He or I to Die.'
I often question ‘Why? '
Do you?
My country was my life to give -
Would you for country cease to live?
Sinking in a mire of death,
You have no choice -
So while you're still alive,
Rejoice!
I cried in failure - did you care?
And as I waned, were you aware of
What I did -?
Fighting for my country while you hid
Behind your comfort back at home?
Still relaxed?
My wife and child are fading at the tomb.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier soldier soldier war
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A market where chief executive officers make 262 times that of the average worker and 821 times that of the minimum-wage worker is not a market that is working well. And it is surely not working well enough to build a solid middle class.
quote by Marcy Kaptur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother’s Cry of Late
Where for art thou, soldier?
Out East? West? –
And when? –
What part your rabid history?
And why? –
What wrought your destiny? –
For whom
You’d wreak your enmity –
I crave your fate to pen!
What comprehension of the
Order? –
‘Listen up! you men!
Raze to ground the taken land!
See they die and e’er you’ll stand, for
Death is but a grain of sand –
The mighty triumph, medal grand!
Now go you well!
Amen! ’
What sight upon the bloody lie
Of war? – your doubtful fate.
‘Where for art thou, soldier? ’ –
Your mother’s cry of late.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Promise Of A Lie
Go to war young soldier,
Your glory will be praised.
Go to war young soldier,
Your home will stay the same.
Fight for us young soldier,
worry naught about your love.
Fight for us young soldier,
She waits for your return.
Welcome home young soldier,
Heres the medal upon your chest.
Welcome home young soldier,
Your life is now a mess.
Go away young soldier,
We have no more use for you.
Go away young soldier,
Till we call again for you.
A firm Handshake
The soldier who comes in a special plane from the battlefield
And at the Air Port he became a hero.
He walks along the red carpet and the band plays aside.
Rifles shot into the silent sky.
When the bugles blow General appears in his full uniform
And gives him a firm handshake.
But the poor soldier is unable to grab as he lost his fingers.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Aristocratic War
The Aristocratic War.
A lone burgundy poppy, amongst the weed on
verge of the lane remembers World War 1,
few wars- this so romantic English war- are as
well recorded. Verdun and stinking mud, many
poems written (not that verses ever stopped
the juggernaut of war.) Plinths and cenotaph,
statues of generals -covered in bird droppings-
astride bronze horses, in every town. Lest we
forget that this is the only war where the upper
classes died, on the battlefield, in equal numbers
as the common soldier. and that, I suspect, is
why it is so well documented.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Young Soldier
Stay calm soldier
Do not panic
Stay calm soldier
And think of what you were taught
You're too young to die
My soldier
You're too young to leave
Run soldier
From the danger ahead
Run soldier
Don't be brave
You're too young to die
My soldier
You're too young to leave
Fight soldier
The enemy that fights you
Fight soldier
And make it though the day
You're too young to die
My soldier
You're too young to leave
Come home soldier
I miss you terribly
Come home soldier
To me and your family
You're too young to die
My soldier
Don't ever leave me
poem by Only Yours
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fascist rebelliousness always occurs where fear of the truth turns a revolutionary emotion into illusions. In its pure form, fascism is the sum total of all irrational reactions of the average human character. To the narrow-minded sociologist who lacks the courage to recognize the enormous role played by the irrational in human history, the fascist race theory appears as nothing but an imperialistic interest or even a mere "prejudice." The violence and the ubiquity of these "race prejudices" show their origin from the irrational part of the human character. The race theory is not a creation of fascism. No: fascism is a creation of race hatred and its politically organized expression.
quote by Wilhelm Reich
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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