winter sun
in the eyes of a street dog
migrant worker
haiku by Chenou Liu
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Related quotes
As soon as the harvest is in, you're a migrant worker. Afterwards just a bum.
quote by Nunnally Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Boots...
the boots of modern America,
are made of black skin, Native American skin,
poor white trash skin, migrant worker skin,
unemployed skin, homeless skin,
prisoner poverty street skin....
who will they walk on next?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Autumn's here
The heat's down from 34 C to below 30 C
and my daughter declares:
It's autumn.
A day of dark clouds and cool air
spoils us and my son declares:
It's autumn.
Are you sure?
I ask and they mock me.
Their friends told them it's autumn
and we unemployed migrant adults
should listen to the children
for their friends have lived here
all the ten or thirteen years of their lives
and who are we unemployable migrant adults to question
the wisdom of the local children?
And, by the way, winter's round the corner.
OK, children of Australia,
we say,
it's autumn if you say so.
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
poem by Raj Arumugam
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One of the most important improvements in the No Child Left Behind Act for migrant students was the requirement for electronic transfer of migrant student records.
quote by Ruben Hinojosa
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Winter Message
A flake of snow in flurry thro’ the air
Had landed as a kiss upon my cheek:
A secret message, just for me to share;
To take to heart but never dare to speak
About or presuppose to other eyes
Your open feelings – distant though they are.
And so, upon your lips, my OWN surprise:
A flake of snow returned from me afar.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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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Who Am I? I Am! (Part Three)
who am i?
i dare speak again...
i am the migrant worker,
going from field to field,
none of which i own.
i am the addict gone straight,
the saint addicted to sin.
i am the child adopted
by women life partners,
loved and fulfilled,
and taught to respect.
i am protest, i am questioning,
i am doubt, i am reasoning.
i am the teacher, the mill worker,
the doctor, the dairy hand.
i am love and sweat,
the passion that trembles.
i am failure and forgiveness,
i am the crack in your mirror.
i am the end of wars,
the end of oil, and the shift.
i am hatred held close
till it breaks and shatters.
i am the preacher gone silent,
going from door to door.
i am the book well read,
and the end of ignorance.
i am equality,
in action not words.
i am a cold drink of water,
and a warm bowl of soup.
i am the shadows
you dare not name.
i am the name,
you dare not speak.
i am the body
of your desire...
i am the grave,
tended by crows....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Eyes
Across the street the eyes
Are swathed in dark's disguise
Across the street the eyes
Froze all my insides
Across the street the eyes
Panicked and surprised
Across the street the eyes
Slashed through the frigid cries
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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Main Street Eyes
This whole country is scared of failure.
My head keeps trying to sell me ambition.
But in my heart, I want self-respect.
Theres a conflict.
Boy, I feel so outgunned today
But Ill get up and fight back, anyway
You and I aare not huge mainstream stars
But unlike them, were really what we are
We got main street eyes
Watchin as the big boys roll by
Under rotten television skies
We got main street eyes
I saw a kitten squashed in the street
I read about a plastic surgeon and his art collection.
We are played for suckers all the time
Phony rock and roll
Its a crime
I dont want to dip myself in trash
I dont want to give myself for cash
We got main street eyes
Tryin to do whats decent with our lives
Under funny television skies
We got main street eyes
Walkin around sometimes
I see a tension under the surface
People are just about ready to explode.
So hold me, and trust me
I love you, dont worry.
Keep your main street eyes
Keep your main street eyes
Keep your main street eyes
Eyes
Eyes
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Street
On the street
On the street
O, O, On the street
On the street
O, O, On the street
[Everybody dance]
[Watch for the difference]
On the street
{Breaking on broadway]
O, O, On the street
[Shaking on sunset strip]
On the street
[Like nobody booming supporting that]
Da, da, da, da, da ...
On the street
On the street
Dancing
On the street
On the street
Dancing
Dancing
On the street
On the street
[Twisting on the turnpipe]
Dancing
On the street
On the street
On the street ...
Da, da, da, da, ...
Dance on the street ...
song performed by by Madonna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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with eyes closed
rugged hands holding a Bible
against his chest
the migrant prays to God
in his adopted tongue
tanka by Chenou Liu
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Light Workers Bring Light
Light workers bring the world more light.
They come to spread light among darkness
on a planet filled with fear and fright.
Most light workers are empaths, psychics
and sages, they feel all of the worlds negativity
before tragedy hits the newspapers pages.
They were asked on a mission that would
bring Earth plane more love—
Like Princess Diana, she was a light worker
who is now in heaven with the doves.
More I could name,
but I will not get into Earth's personality games.
Just remember the bum on the street—
he could be a light worker, he is more discreet.
Written by Christina Sunrise on April 17,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Liberty... (Dont Betray Me Now!)
Liberty...
dont betray me now.
i have paid your price,
in bodies burning,
and mouths that tremble.
in toil and struggle,
in sweat and faith.
take not thy hand from my heart,
for you have spoken to me with eyes.
eyes that see the beauty
of the common, and simple.
eyes that drink equality,
seeing hands joined in darkened rooms.
eyes that pray common prayers.
who am i to have a face?
who are these faces,
giving dignity to names?
history written in warm blood,
on the farmhouse walls,
on the factory floors,
in the carpenter's apron!
i am the voice of what should have been...
what could have been!
i am family handed down to family,
i am equity and justice.
i am the black hand taking down
the all white sign...
i am the horses of Crazy Horse,
Sitting Bull, and Cochise.
i am the mill worker's only son,
going to college.
i am the daughter of the minister,
marching for women's rights.
i am the young man in prison,
teaching himself to read!
i am the sound
of machines shut down,
of fields left unplowed,
of courtrooms empty.
i am the bodies of the young men,
killed in your napalm wars...
i am the mother and father,
burying their only son.
i am the rage of the poor,
with calloused hands torn.
i am the housing projects,
the trailer parks,
and the prisons full.
i am the cities gone mad,
with despair and grief.
i am the spirit of rebellion,
and the body of revolution!
i am the scientist, the doctor,
the preacher, and the drunkard.
i am the free thinker,
daring to question.
i am the man alone,
who dares to stand and defy.
i am the voices of the grandfathers,
and grandmothers,
crying out from their graves.
i am the migrant worker,
the bedpan emptier,
the garbage man,
and the small town sheriff...
the stink of injustice,
and the vote not counted.
Liberty, o Liberty,
turn not your face...
for i am the breath and the blood,
that moves your body!
i am the prayer too long unprayed...
one hand in a fist,
and the other left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Late Night, Maudlin Street
Winter coming
Winter push on
(push on)
Oh, winter push on
Winter is so long
Winter moves on
The last night on maudlin street
Goodbye house, goodbye stairs
I was born here
And I was raised here, and
...i took some stick here
Love at first sight
It may sound trite
But its true, you know
I could list the detail
Of everything you ever wore or said
Or how you stood the day
As we spent the last night
On maudlin street
Goodbye house, forever!
I never stole a happy hour
Around here
Where the worlds ugliest boy
Became what you see
Here I am - the ugliest man
Oh, the last night on maudlin street
Truly I do love you
Oh, truly I do love you
When I sleep
With that picture of you framed beside my bed
Oh, its childish and its silly
But I think its you in my room, by the bed
(...yes, I told you it was silly...)
And I know
I took strange pills
But I never meant to hurt you
Oh, truly I love you
Came home late one night
Everyone had gone to bed
But, you know
No-one stays up for you
I had sixteen stitches
All around my head
Oh, the last bus I missed to maudlin street
So he drove me home in the van
Complaining, women only like me for my mind...
Dont leave your torch behind
A powercut ahead; 1972, you know
And so we crept through the park
No, I cannot steal a pair of jeans off a clothesline
For you
But you ... without clothes
Oh, I could not keep a straight face
Me - without clothes ?
Well, a nation turns its back and gags...
Im packed
I am moving house
A half-life disappears today
With every hand waves me on
(secretly wishing me gone)
Well, I will be soon
Ooh, I will be soon
I will be soon
I will be soon
Will be soon, I will be soon
Mmm ... I will be soon, I will be soon
There were bad times on maudlin street
They took you away in a police car
Inspector - dont you know ?
Dont you care ?
Dont you know - about love ?
Your gran died
And your mother died
On maudlin street
In pain, and ashamed
With never time to say
Those special things ... oh
I took the key from maudlin street
Well, its only bricks and mortar !
Oh, oh, truly I love you
Oh, wherever you are
Wherever you are
Wherever you are
I hope youre singing now
Oh, I do hope
I hope youre singing now
Oh ...
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter's love
Winter, has the charm of life,
Winter, is like my wife.
Winter is my love,
Winter is my dream of always ''wow''
I always wait for winter like its friend,
the trees in winter always bend, having its branches like the ghosts arms.
they are my always my eye's charms.
do you love winter as i do?
poem by Leah Dsouza
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The Other Side of the Street
All though my married days I've lived
on the West side of the street.
I have dealt with plows in winter
that buried me knee deep
The West sides' winter sun is scarce
too weak to melt the ice.
So you'll see me out there chipping away
(Miami would be nice)
They get their trash collected first,
while we must wait a day.
I think the mailman likes them too,
He always starts their way.
In Spring their lawns are greener
In summer they have shade.
My back porch boils each afternoon-
no wonder I'm dismayed.
Mayhap I would be famous for
these poems that I excrete
If only I'd had the wit to live on
the other side of the street.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Flesh And Bones, And Blood!
the family farmer,
the factory worker,
the construction worker,
the truckdriver...
the backbone of America!
these are the people
you've chosen to persecute,
to abuse, and throw away...
you've cut off your hands,
and started a revolution...
your fathers, your mothers,
hardworking, and honest.
the flesh and bones, and blood...
the heart and the soul...
what are you thinking now?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vacant And Cold!
are we then human?
what does that entail?
we light our cigarettes
off the heads of starving children,
drink wine made from
the blood of dead soldiers.
even our gods see through colored lenses!
afraid of the truth,
we chip away at the stone.
turning off our lights to undress.
perfumed by the scent of dead animals,
shamed by the stink of human need!
'Jesus died for our sins...'
we hold our sins close
as the price of oil!
eating multi-lingual tacos and rice,
we chase His brother across the border
on a migrant worker's pay!
may our food rot in our mouths!
our cars up on race divided blocks.
our daughters run with the wolves,
chasing the shadow of the refugee!
the kingdom of heaven uninhabited,
the house of prejudice, vacant and cold!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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