The Peterloo Massacre
The people marched to St. Peter's Field
On a fair and a sunny day,
They'd gone to listen to Henry Hunt
A radical, in his way,
For Manchester was a ruin then,
The people could beg or starve,
For the looms were sitting in silence there
With the wages more than halved.
The government passed the Corn Laws
To protect the growers at home,
But the British corn was inferior,
And the price quite overblown,
The people, faced with a famine sought
To reform the parliament,
A million folk in Manchester,
With just two to represent.
And only a hundred and fifty were
Electors, here I quote,
Not like the rotten boroughs that
Survived on a single vote,
The people marched on St. Peter's Field
While the government sent Hussars,
Fearing the spread of dissidence,
After Napoleon's wars.
The police were there and the yeomanry
As they came from near and far,
And William Hulton, magistrate,
The head of the Northern Bar,
His name was writ on a plaque of blood
In the nether depths of hell,
When he signed the letters to start the charge
On a people that just meant well.
There was no honour or glory there
But a cry of endless shame,
When Lieutenant Colonel Guy L'Estrange
Blackened his soldiers name,
For the horses trampled the people
And the sabres flashed in the air,
While many a woman was trampled to death
By the horses hooves out there.
Margaret Downes was sabred, Mary
Heys was trampled and crushed,
William Bradshaw shot in the head,
They died, it was so unjust,
Martha Partington died on the spot,
Thrown into a cellar, she died,
While sabred and stabbed with a bayonet,
Tom Buckley, and others beside.
Fifteen died on that infamous day,
And seven hundred were hurt,
Henry Hunt was arrested, jailed,
And others were dragged in the dirt,
Napoleon suffered at Waterloo
But the English have suffered too,
It's writ in the annals of infamy
As the massacre, ‘Peterloo! '
22 September 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Related quotes
Them We Tolerate
For being different to others there is some price to pay
That's how it is and it was always that way
Many good people executed for being seen as a social threat
Since Jesus was crucified and put to death
Our own praises as a race of people we often do sing
But a truly tolerant society there is no such a thing
Because of our laws them we do tolerate
But their culture with them we'll never celebrate
Our brave soldiers who died where the gunfire was loud
We remember and honour them and of them feel proud
Their courage when in great danger of them cannot be denied
And we are told that for peace and harmony amongst people they died
But the successes and culture of those different we never celebrate
Them we do not love though them we tolerate.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Today... 'Our Passover Lamb
Blood from the lamb was on the lintel spread
and the people waited in fear and dread.
They could all hear the people outside cry
but the Angel of Death just passed them by.
Because a lamb had been slain and had died
and its blood upon the doorpost applied
Death did not visit them that dreadful day
but passed over them and went on its way.
**********
His life was given and His blood was shed
when He died that awful day in my stead.
The pure unspotted Lamb of God was He.
God saw the blood and then passed over me.
He gave His life to pay sins dreadful price
and offered Himself as a sacrifice.
Crying 'Father forgive' with His last breath
He snatched me from the very jaws of death.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
The times are a-changin again
This government will not control me
I will fight
I will not let it hold me
by making decisions and telling me whats right
I wish somebody could tell me how a kids supposed to make it out of Longsight
there are no jobs
tuition fees are in the dark of a winter night
where I look up
looking for a lucky star
children in the world do starve
while the leaders of our country dip their hands in the cookie jar
our ancestors they have marched too far
they have marched too far, for us to be where we are
we are all done wrong by the right to vote we are given
equality is still forbidden
and we are brain washed into distraction by the things they put on the television
the writers need to expose
and make the ignorant listen so they can see the people nobody knows
the youth are growing to see and are searching for followers to lead
racism survived because we were not let understand each other
we don't know what each other wants and what each other needs
because the bullets are flying the bombs are not stoppin
yesterday another hero was brought home in a coffin
they say that we win the wars but even when we win we lose
you can force us forward but soon enough we will do what we choose
we will live in the present
where the priests and penguins can no longer abuse
many pedophiles and perverts do make the news
but the judges to give time, they do refuse
there are still kids in this world with no shoes
but we will get justice
like the Hillsborough 96 they just did
we might lose more and yes we might win less
but one day will prove royals killed the princess
in moments of silence you know what you've done when you lie in your bed
they find killers every day but don't know who shot 2pac dead
world wars full of death and they tell us we won
they don't like anything new that can make change and give freedom
one million woman, one million men
we shake the parliament until we can see them
they won't be able to pass the blame
because we know the times are a changing again.
poem by Daniel McCann
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The Record
HE sleeps, his head upon his sword,
His soldier's cloak a shroud;
His church-yard is the open field,--
Three times it has been plough'd:
The first time that the wheat sprung up
'Twas black as if with blood,
The meanest beggar turn'd away
From the unholy food.
The third year, and the grain grew fair,
As it was wont to wave;
None would have thought that golden corn
Was growing on the grave.
His lot was but a peasant's lot,
His name a peasant's name,
Not his the place of death that turns
Into a place of fame.
He fell as other thousands do,
Trampled down where they fall,
While on a single name is heap'd
The glory gain'd by all.
Yet even he whose common grave
Lies in the open fields,
Died not without a thought of all
The joy that glory yields.
That small white church in his own land,
The lime trees almost hide,
Bears on the walls the names of those
Who for their country died.
His name is written on those walls,
His mother read it there,
With pride,--oh! no, there could not be
Pride in the widow's prayer.
And many a stranger who shall mark
That peasant roll of fame,
Will think on prouder ones, yet say
This was a hero's name.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Three thousand people died at ground zero. Their families are entitled to a little bit of respect, to respect the memory of those poor people that died there. And how about the families of all those soldiers that died in the two ensuing wars? Aren't they entitled to a little bit of respect - the kids, the wives, the parents?
quote by Carl Paladino
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anarchists
The leaders of this country,
Think were the ones that do wrong,
They take control of the power,
and steal this land of forgotten freedom
Its not the people afraid of the government,
Its the government afraid of the people
They call the ones dressed in black,
The evil ones but we fight back,
We've got hackers, we've got protesters,
we let no man left behind
Its not the people afraid of the government,
Its the government afraid of the people
The unions dressed in black,
With their flag raised up high,
Don't take no for an answer,
As the forces stain the streets with blood
Its not the people afraid of the government,
Its the government afraid of the people
We fight for the people,
Our obligation is good as gold,
And though we fight with arms of steel,
we don't let death go in vein
Its not the people afraid of the government,
Its the government afraid of the people
poem by Bing D'Amico
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The Battle of Corunna
'Twas in the year of 1808, and in the autumn of the year,
Napoleon resolved to crush Spain and Portugal without fear;
So with a mighty army three hundred thousand strong
Through the passes of the Pyrenees into spain he passed along.
But Sir John Moore concentrated his troops in the north,
And into the west corner of Spain he boldly marched forth;
To cut off Napoleon's communications with France
He considered it to be advisable and his only chance.
And when Napoleon heard of Moore's coming, his march he did begin,
Declaring that he was the only General that could oppose him;
And in the month of December, when the hills were clad with snow,
Napoleon's army marched over the Guadiana Hills with their hearts full of woe.
And with fifty thousand cavalry, infantry, and artillery,
Napoleon marched on, facing obstacles most dismal to see;
And performed one of the most rapid marches recorded in history,
Leaving the command of his army to Generals Soult and Ney.
And on the 5th of January Soult made his attack,
But in a very short time the French were driven back;
With the Guards and the 50th Regiment and the 42d conjoint,
They were driven from the village of Elnina at the bayonet's point.
Oh! It was a most gorgeous and inspiring sight
To see Sir John Moore in the thickest of the fight,
And crying aloud to the 42d with all his might,
"Forward, my lads, and charge them with your bayonets left and right."
Then the 42d charged them with might and main,
And the French were repulsed again and again;
And although they poured into the British ranks a withering fire,
The British at the charge of the bayonet soon made them retire.
Oh! That battlefield was a fearful sight to behold,
'Twas enough to make one's blood run cold
To hear the crack, crack of the musketry and the cannon's roar,
Whilst the dead and the dying lay weltering in their gore.
But O Heaven! It was a heartrending sight,
When Sir John Moore was shot dead in the thickest of the fight;
And as the soldiers bore him from the field they looked woebegone,
And the hero's last words were "Let me see how the battle goes on."
Then he breathed his last with a gurgling sound,
And for the loss of the great hero the soldier's sorrow was profound,
Because he was always kind and served them well,
And as they thought of him tears down their cheeks trickling fell.
Oh! it was a weird and pathetic sight
As they buried him in the Citadel of Corunna at the dead of night,
While his staff and the men shed many tears
For the noble hero who had commanded them for many years.
Success to the British Army wherever they go,
For seldom they have failed to conquer the foe;
Long may the highlanders be able to make the foe reel,
By giving them an inch or two of cold steel.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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On that Friday
On that day
Babies were born
Elderly died
Flowers bloomed
Crops grew
Breezes blew
The sun crossed the sky
On that day
Some men cursed
Other men worked
Some women sighed
Children played
Babies cried
People walked the earth
On that day
Birds sang
Insects chirped
Donkey’s brayed
Dogs barked
Fish jumped
Rivers ran to the seas
On that day
People woke
People ate
People spoke
People loved
People slept
The sun rose and set
On that day
Everything was the same
Until He died
So that everything changed
poem by Mary Havran
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People Choose To Lay Up On Their Backsides
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
Hear them talk about their pains,
And those agonies they reveal.
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
And...
Listen how they boast about,
Reasons why they choose NOT to heal.
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
People like to stay flat on their back-
Sides!
People like to moan and that's a fact.
People like to stay flat on their back-
Sides!
People like to feel that keep it real...
To suffer!
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
And...
People choose to lay up on their backsides!
Listen to their reasons NOT to heal!
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.
I have suffered this.
And...
I suffer from that.'
People choose to lay up on their backsides!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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9/11 September 11
in remembrance of the people who have lost their lives on a dreadful day
this wont be so much of a poem, but I've got something to say
On September 11th people all over the world will remember that day. So much violence and hatred in this world. It is so unfair to the parents who had to endure this day knowing their child iss somewhere else than with you at a time like this. It is also unfair to the people who died because of people's careless acts. September will always be a day of silence for me. Knowing that my parent got deeply affected by peoples acts.
I bow my head in silence.
Why are people always
Why are people always cheating?
Why are people always fighting?
Why are people always dieing?
Why are people always crying?
Why are people always hating?
Why are people always debating?
Why are people always trading?
Why are people always trying to fit in?
Why are people always cursing?
Why are people always bursting?
Why are people always tripping?
Why are people always not trying to be fair?
Why are people always trying to be dumb?
Why are people always playing too much?
Why are people always misbehaving?
Why are people always do drugs?
Why are people always not trying to have a future?
Why do people always try to ruin their life?
Why?
poem by Shaquan Mack
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God Why?
God why do people die?
God why did you make pain?
God why weren’t you there on the day my grandfather died?
God why are there earthquakes?
God why do hearts break?
God why are people on there own?
God why do you make people get hurt?
God why is there fear?
God why are there storms?
God why are people all alone?
God why are there drugs?
God why do people committee suicide?
God why aren’t you stopping global warming?
God why do I have nightmares?
God why is there no peace in this place?
God why did Jesus really die?
God why did you make sin?
God why do people hurt?
God why do children get kidnapped?
God why does love hurt so much?
God why do people break up?
God why do people get beat?
God why is there bad in this world you made?
God why did you make me?
God why?
Just False Patriotism
'Tis true to the dead that respect we should show
But they still honour men who died ninety years ago
For a dubious cause in Lands far away
But the war that was supposed to end all wars is re-lived today.
In that war it is said a million people died
And in such needless slaughter why do we take pride
At the war memorial the last post is played
And the long war dead are honoured with one more parade.
Those who march for peace it does seem to me
Do more for the betterment of humanity
Than those who go to war memorials to honour the long dead
Far too much about war has been written and said.
Just false patriotism to me this does seem
A boost to big egos and to self esteem
The mistakes of war are repeated today
And people are dying in war zones far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Don't Understand
I don’t understand
Why people kill
Why people have hatred
Why people destroy nature
But most of all
Why people never care
Why people gamble
Why people died
What I understand most is
Why people love
Why the world rotates
Why people feel
poem by Stardasia Livngston
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Power To The People
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
Say you want a revolution
We better get on right away
Well you get on your feet
And out on the street
Singing power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
A million workers working for nothing
You better give em what they really own
We got to put you down
When we come into town
Singing power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
I gotta ask you comrades and brothers
How do you treat you own woman back home
She got to be herself
So she can free herself
Singing power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
Now, now, now, now
Oh well, power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
Yeah, power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Along The War Avenue Of honour
Along the war Avenue of Honour a plaque to a dead soldier nailed to every tree
Brave young men who died in battle their reward for their bravery
They died in the war said to end all wars in the killing fields of World war one
But many wars since and far too many bloody battles and peace in the World not yet won.
Wars started by silly ageing men who send the young for them to die
Ageing men who themselves will die of old age and their twilight years they will enjoy,
ageing males heroes of their people we honour cowards as heroes one might say
The young men will go to war for them and the young men with their young lives pay.
The war supposed to end all wars long over almost nine decades since have gone by
But many wars have been fought since then and war pilots dropp their big bombs from the night sky
But suppose that's what will always happen when we give all of our power away
To silly and ageing male war men who with hair dyes cover their gray.
Along the war avenue of honour long dead soldiers names on every tree
Young noble men who died in battle far from homeland and family
In what was to be the war to end all wars yet we don't have much wisdom to show
For the loss of so many fine young men well over eight decades ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Day the Soldiers Came
The old man sat at his cottage door
As the soldiers came to town,
And laughed as the trucks went rumbling by,
Laughed as the soldiers frowned,
They carried their rifles high that day,
Marched past him by the score,
And scowled as the old man mocked them there,
As they waged their futile war!
The tanks sat threatening in the square,
The people stood in the street,
Watching the flood of khaki power,
The boots on the marching feet,
The General stood in his jeep that day
A scroll in his scrawny hand:
‘It's never too late to liberate
The folk in this tortured land! '
But then a ripple of laughter came
From the townsfolk standing there,
They seemed to enjoy a local joke,
A joke that they wouldn't share.
The soldiers were tense, bemused at that,
They'd rather the ripple of fear
They'd felt in a hundred similar towns
Since the war broke out that year.
The General barked, ‘Enough of that!
Where is your National Pride?
We've come to free you from servitude
And a great deal more, beside! '
But the old man, sat in his cottage seat
Had let out a great guffaw,
And the soldiers dragged him out of his chair,
To face the General's scorn.
‘Why do you laugh, old man, ' he said,
‘I could shoot you in your pride! '
‘I'm sure you could, and probably would
As you scorch our countryside!
But what price honour, when history
Ascribes your deeds to your name,
Will shooting a poor old peasant man
Ring loud in your Hall of Fame? '
‘Then why do you laugh? ' the General said,
‘The picture here is grim!
These soldiers fought, and died and bled,
You lack respect for them! '
‘This town has sat two thousand years, '
The old man said at last,
‘Was here when Hannibal's elephants stopped
To feed on the mountain grass.'
‘The Roman Legions passed through here
In their conquest and their might,
And Charlemagne's Grand Army
For a single, baleful night;
Even Napoleon Bonaparte
Conquered this little town,
For years, we had the Fascisti, and
The Nazis held us down.'
‘But where have their soldiers gone today,
They lie, each under his mound,
While we sit back, as your troops attack
And thrive in our little town.
You'll only be here for a moment more
Two lines on a history page,
Just one more army to pass through here
In your arrogance, and your rage! '
The army was there for a week or so,
But then, they had to withdraw,
The old man laughed as the soldiers passed,
He let out a great guffaw;
The Rebel General brought his tanks
And a speech that he had planned:
‘It's never too late to liberate
The folk in this tortured land! '
18 August,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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In Democracy People Are Supreme
In democracy people are supreme
People elected their representatives
And sent to parliament to make laws
On behalf of them.
To make democracy a success
Endemic protest is necessary
To make the representatives in order
They should cautioned.
People are the soul of parliament
Parliament can change but not people
People are the root parliament is foot.
Come to the people O parliamentarian
O representatives of people
People are your master
You are there in different posts to
Serve the people and to do all welfare works.
Democratic institutions are for the people
Without people the state is a big zero
In democracy people are supreme
Do not handle the people in whim.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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How Many People
How many people stand in a line?
How many people never get a chance to shine?
If you can tell me Ill gladly listen
How many people have died?
One too many right now for me
I want to be happy, I want to be free,
One too many tight now for me
I want to see ordinary people living peacefully.
How many people, go for a ride
How many people, never make it through to the other side?
If you can tell me, Ill gladly listen,
How many people have cried?
One too many right now for me
I want to be happy,
I want to be free,
One too many tight now for me
I want to see ordinary people living peacefully.
How many people, will I take? how many people
For goodness sake?
How many people?
How many people?
One too many ...
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half-life: a prophecy
They died; they all died, without a moan;
their final passage writ in stone.
Dark shadows here and there you see
where Jews passed to eternity.
In these silent streets no children play
No trees survived the heat that day.
A suicide martyr some call a hero
was detonated at ground zero.
Nine hundred thousand are believed lost
in this second, instant, holocaust.
The suitcase he held in his hand
was the latest weapon from Iran.
My team has come here to retrieve
the evidence from Tel Aviv.
No one will be living here
Not for another fifty years.
• * * * * *
A damsel with a dosimeter,
in a vision I once saw,
warned me that appeasement
nearly always leads to war.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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