A Living Wage!
a living wage....
seems like not so much
to ask... after 40 years
of
...working
.....daylight
.........to
...........dusk....
feeding someone elses dream...
America the great,
...America the fallen,
can
...you
.....not hear?
can
...you
.....not
.......feel?
the men and women
that built your highways,
your cities and towns...
worked your mills,
your factories, your farms,
are crying out!
we have to eat too!
we need shelter!
we need hope!
honest hard working people...
is this
...how you
......pay us back?
do you remember our names?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Work To Do!
i came from a generation
that worked.... was born to
work, daylight to dawn,
for everything we had.
we grew our own food, we
cut firewood, we worked
with our hands.
we were taught to work...
we built houses, bridges,
paved roads... worked on
farms, worked in sawmills,
worked in factories...
whatever it took for food
and shelter...
and if a neighbor got hurt,
or sick, and couldnt work...
we helped him and his family
till he could.
those of us left who can work
are still working, a lot of us are
out of work, and cant find work!
and so the world has changed...
it seems like a lot of people
spend more time avoiding work
than working... a lot of people
look for the easy way out...are
dependent on society...
still a lot of good and willing people
just need help.
they call this progress...based
on technology, and looking out for
number one. seperated, almost islands...
greed has taken the place of the bent back!
so when it all falls apart, and that will
be soon, what happens? who knows how
to survive? who has the backbone?
things to think about, and yes...
work to do!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Workers Of America
Workers of America shout long and loud
As we work together hard and proud
We are the ones that built this great country of ours
From the strain on our backs and our blisters and scars
We were the ones to clear the fields and lay the tracks
We are the ones to build the cities and break our backs
And we are the ones to sweat and bleed and die
As we built this great country, which no one can deny
We work the factories, and the stores and the mills
We dig the ditches and collect the garbage to pay our bills
We are the ones to work in the snow and in the heat of the sun
If it wasn't for us the workers, no work would ever be done
It wasn't the politicians or the judges who built this great land
But it was the workers of America as destiny had planned
Also we are the ones to fight the fires and all the wars
When our elected officials send us away to foreign shores
And we are the ones to feed the deprived and the needy
While the rich man cares for no one, but himself and the greedy
Without us the workers this land or any land would certainly fall
As we are the one that mixes the mortar and builds the wall
We pay the taxes to keep America's heart beating
And we are the ones to keep America always competing
Workers of America look up, as GOD gives us a nod
And listen to the past, as our forefathers do applaud.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They Came From Distant Places
They came from distant places to this far southern shore
The men who built the city at rest forever more
Some of them could not speak the language but they were strong and young
And they were willing workers and their praises ought be sung
The men who built the city their grandchildren old today
They worked hard to support their wives and families from their old homeland far away
They built the factories, homes and railways and they worked hard for their pay
The men who built the city for years with Nature lay
No monument built to them no last post for them played
For the men who built the city there was never a parade
Only their direct descendants would have heard of them by name
To be honest and hard working is never a claim to fame
The men who built the city their praises remain unsung
And today their grandchildren are not what one would call young.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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America
Walkin' 2 the corner of Main Street, USA
Look at the good people, hear what they gotta say-uh-huh
All right
See a sexy girl with her long black hair
See a preacher man sporting Abercrombie wear-uh-huh
All right
Walk into a corner store
A man says, "This is what I'm fighting for"
[CHORUS]
We are living in America
We're giving in America
We're tripping in America
Everywhere I go, seems like Bush is on TV
We shed blood in the name of liberty-uh-huh
All right
The circus tents are dead, but the sideshow is doing well
The Osbournes and Anna Nicole are too freaky 2 tell-uh-huh
All right
Take the bad with the good
I wanna change it, but I wouldn't leave it if I could
We are trying in America
We're spying in America
Getting high in America
We are laughing in America
We're crying in America
We're dying in America
We are trucking in America
We are f**king in America
We are lucky in America
We are breaking ground in America
Just another town in America
We are breaking down in America
Take the bad with the good
I wanna change it, but I wouldn't leave it if I could
[CHORUS]
We are trying in America
We're spying in America
We're getting high in America
We are getting tan in America
We love Spam in America
Polanski's banned from America
10 million served in America
Have u heard in America?
We're crying in America
We're laughing in America
We're living in America
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Red, White, and Blue
brown and black,
red, and white...
old and young,
male and female.
tired and poor,
pushed too far!
too honest for
our own good...
small towns, big cities,
farms and factories...
hands that work
joined together...
we are a people
that believe in people...
the faces of freedom,
and we have names!
red, white, and blue!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why America
America, America you don't know me,
But dear America I know you.
I see you in the faces of young people,
I watch you sleep in your crib at night.
I hear your voice in the crowded streets,
I taste your soul in the resturants at dinner time.
Why America have you forgotten about us?
You got too big and you left us behind.
Not thinking about the little man,
We were just a waste of your time.
Dear America turn back and look at what you are,
The wind in our hair, the dirt in our pots,
The rain on our cheeks, the oil in our homes.
America why would you allow yourself to forget?
We made you what you are today.
We the little man dug into your land to find oil.
We turned over your soil to feed the pig you are now.
We America are who you should thank
We, America are the working class people.
Without us there is no you.
Without the work we do there is no product,
Without the product there is no profit.
We, America fuel you, yet you leave us behind.
It's okay though, all is forgiven.
WE FORGIVE YOU! !
poem by Racquel Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am
i am, become...
i worked your steel mills,
i walked the i-beams of your scrapers.
i dug deep in your coal mines,
i plowed your fields, picked your crops...
i picked your cotton, milked your cows,
worked your furniture factories,
in your cotton mills...
built your tracks, rode your trains,
popped your trucks, poured your concrete...
my sweat and blood, the foundation,
the nails in the wall!
i an America, the common,
and the magnificent...
i am the pulse, the breath, the beat.
i am the lover, the fighter, the dreamer...
i am the father, and the mother...
i am the sinner and the holy.
i am the truth, at all costs.
i am the man behind the wheel,
the dream behind the man...
the faith behind the dream...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Notes From America
(desmond child/ robbie seidman)
Producer for bonnie: desmond child
Somewhere in america
The tour bus roars through the dead of night
The sleeping towns fade out of sight
You know what I mean
Here it comes and goes so fast
Lookin out this window
I just see black
Sometimes I wish that I was back
And this was all a dream
I been up and down
I been lost and found
In america, in america
I been turned around
Till I dont know where Im bound
In america, in america
And I miss you now
Just a note from america...
Livin on the road again
Im the only woman
In this rock and roll band
Fifty states of one night stands
You know what I mean
Railroad crossing, midnight train
Just the lonely sound
Of the clickety-clack
Still I know I cant turn back
American dream....
I been up and down
I been lost and found
In america, in america
I been turned around
Till I dont know where Im bound
In america, in america
And I miss you now
Just a note from america...
Sometimes when it gets to me
I dream that you are next to me
I can feel you near (whisperin my name)
I can feel your touch (take away my pain)
I can hear you say
I just want to love you again
Baby, baby....
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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America, America...
i remember...
$1.55 an hour, furniture row,
55 hours a week.
getting up hay, milking cows,
and them cotton mills
we worked in...
family member to family member,
generations of workers.
no running water,
carrying buckets up the hill,
spiders on the outhouse wall.
the hoe, the shovel, and the plow.
reading by candle light,
and writing socialist manifestos
on a 1913 underwood typewriter!
making love in the front seat
of a 1966 Rambler Classic.
raising babies, raising hell,
renegade thoughts...
climbing mountains, picking music,
living, living, just living
and working!
America, America...
where did you go?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Still Loving Mas'sa
Yes'sa walmart
yes'sa Lowe's
yes'sa kfc
yes'sa Sam's club
yes'sa MC/Donald's
yes'sa burger king
etc...
You have kelp my people...
In the slave ring...
A non-living wage...
A non-comprehensive health care...
Working for you...
While seeking help at the county hospital...
Working for you and still...
Standing in a read line...
Tears are as the days of slavery...
Still loving mas'sa...
We had jobs even then...
No! health benefits...
Nop rise in wage...
There os no turn of the page...
Pimping me and mine...
Without wasting anytime...
Is still a crime...
Over time.
Non-amercians comes to this land...
Yet I am still less...then
That woman of man...
And you america gives me...
A job when you can...
And for that...
I stand.
Still loving Mas'sa...
Some food is better then no food...
Death means no food at all...
We've build many things in this land...
And America can't call me MAN.!
And for that I stand.
Lost my arm or leg...
Eye or ear...
And we still are not fee here.
Still loving mas'sa...
Respect me for who or what I am...
A man or woman with a family...
We need a comprehensive health care...
As well as a workable living wage...
I see 'willie lynch' at work here...
In this land of the free...
America your freedom and your willie lynch...
Works agaist me.
Mas'sa Mas'sa! let us be...
We evaluate our self esteem...
To those who died and the 'Dream'...
You my review if you will...
But our families 'America' you will not kill.
If you want me...
There is a standard,
You must OBEY.
A living wage starts today.
Do us as you do to others...
Respect us and our brothers.
A gun, we will not...
Pick up, and a dance we will not do.
So I guess there is no mo' loving you.
The constitution is remarkable...
And so is 'willie lynch'
God is watching in that sense...
So now we stand...
Not with rifle in hand...
But with paper and pin.
A man now and a man then.
Respect and self-esteem...
Will give us the know how...
Like that 'Apple a Day'
Education will be the way.
Still loving mas'sa,
We will no longer has to say...
My brothers and sisters before me,
Have made us see...
How to live in america and still be free.
Short not ourtselves,
And give life to everything else.
whisperkwane
[email protected]
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Small People!
it is then...
the small people,
common men and women,
who by their hands built this dream,
who plowed the fields,
paved the roadways...
who picked your fruit,
who built your small businesses.
who worked your factories and mills.
who built your homes and churches.
who drove your trucks, who fixed your cars,
who made your clothes and your furniture.
who worked for too little
to make you too rich....
who hauled your trash,
who wiped your asses.
who worked as cashiers, clerks, and salesmen.
who covered for you when you were sick,
yet worked when they were sick.
who laid your bricks, who cut your logs,
who stocked your grocery stores.
who dug your graves and fought your damn wars,
the small people, that you throw away!
no jobs, no work, no benefits, no insurance...
no medical care, no cars...
no lights, no rent, no food, no shelter...
no name, no reason to be!
the small people...
too old, too tired, too angry, too used up.
self taught, no degree, experience doesnt count.
the small people....
pushed into a corner,
stacked in the alleyways.
broken wheels turning on broken glass.
the small people....
staring back from your mirror,
from the darkness outside your window.
the small people...
who are not going
to take it anymore!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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State Of The Union (In Closing)
we, the working people
of America, demand our dignity!
we demand equality, and fairness!
we are all immigrants here!
yet no human being is illegal.
we demand the right to work,
and to educate our children.
we demand shelter, and healthcare!
we are a hard working, hard fighting
people... we demand a
hard working, hard fighting President!
we know that you are limited
by the hand of the controlling elite,
at the mercy of the corporate machine.
dont be just a figurehead.
your choice!
freedom is a work in progress.
the real revolution is in
the human heart, in the mind.
we are ready for change,
and willing to act.
be ready, and willing!
there are no small people,
we are all people.
we will not be owned!
we cannot go back to the
bigoted, ignorant ways of the past.
you are our best option,
be the man!
most of all, we demand the action
that follows words well spoken.
be the action!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm Glad I Live Here
America has its problems
Soldiers sacrificing lives for others
Apart from their families for so long
Living every day in a foreign land
But I’m glad I live here
America has its problems
So many people without homes
Living on the streets desperate for shelter
Cold and sick they suffer each day
But I’m glad I live here
America has its problems
Countless people in poverty
Families unable to pay for their needs
Begging for help from others and the government
But I’m glad I live here
America has its problems
Illegal immigrants in our country
Working the jobs many of us refuse
Causing an uproar all around
But I’m glad I live here
America has its problems
Extremely high gas prices
Drivers unable to afford anything else
Because gas prices leave a hole in their pockets
But I’m glad I live here
America has its problems
Disputes over the current president
Whether he’s doing well running the country
Many disputes between Democrats and Republicans
But I’m glad I live here
poem by Natalie Collins
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America
(Francis Scott Key)
Oh, say, can you see
By the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed
At the twilight's last gleaming
Whose broad stripes and bright stars
Through the perilous fight
O'er the ramparts we watched were so
Gallantly streaming?
America, America, America
America, America, America
And the rocket's red glare
The bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night
That our flag was still there
Oh, say, does that star
Spangled banner yet wave
Over the land of the free
And the home of the brave!
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America
ooohhh
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am (Desire)
i am, become...
i am the stillness of the mountains,
and the whisperings of the grasses.
i am the kiss of the river,
running o'er stones and dirt.
i am the magnificent eagle,
but no less the sparrow...
i am the wind that weeps
for the land of the free!
i am concrete and glass,
the great cities you built.
i am factories and mills,
i am trucks hauling freight.
i am rows of corn,
your tractor, your mule.
i am brick houses built,
row upon row...
i am breasts and hands,
i am lips and legs wrapped.
i am sweetness and wetness,
i am heat and the moan..
i am the cave of desire,
the ride long, deep, and hard.
i am the dance of the lovers
in the great room of darkness.
i am children taught by lamplight,
books written by the candle.
i am integrity and dignity
handed down from generation to generation.
i am discernment and questioning,
and the prayers of all traditions.
i am the hope that listens,
hears, and cares....
i am the magic belief
that awaits the star,
and the birth...
the faith that demands
that living goes on...
i am all that you are
given without holding back...
i am tomorrow believing in today!
i am, i dance, i make love, i sing...
i am America's desire,
i am, become....
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Decline!
to not believe
that America is in decline
is a stronger opiate
than i am familiar with!
but America is not a country,
not a political process,
not Wall Street, not big oil!
America lives within
the hearts of the working people.
and we are stronger
than you think!
we have arisen from the ashes
and we demand hope!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jobism-According to Uncle Bob
'Jobism'
he said
'the real disease of the 2Oth century'
Bob was warming up to the topic.
'Now you take my grandfather,
what he wanted was his own piece of land
the ability to run his own life
he didn't work all his life for a job.
He worked for land and the independence
that land meant.
It has been that way for all of history of the human race.
From the cave man marking up the cave walls
to the rancher, the farmer
and the homesteader,
all we have ever wanted was a piece of land
to call our own.
My people came here to America not for a job
but for freedom.
Now we are settling for cubicles.
Mere one-hundred years ago
they taxed us off the land
gave to the corporations;
the farmers left the land,
got herded
into the dirty cities
plopped down into factories
becoming wage-slaves.
My Grandad is still bitter about that.
Now our kids are taught be good,
get a good education
and try to get a good wage-slave job.
One hundred years ago
it was get your own piece of land,
be independent,
don't be beholden to any man,
don't let the authorities run your life.
What a change huh?
This has had for more impact
than we think.
Hitler's minions asked why did they gas the Jews
and their answers were, 'it was my job.'
People in experiments will kill other people
if scientists in white lab coats tell them its ok to do so.
Whole nations go to war and maim
because somebody told them it was their job to do so.
Job one
means obedience is number two,
obedience to those that you might not ever obey
except for they tell you
obey me or your family starves.
or you can't get a good job.
We need to sever the wage-slave
from the job
which enslaves.
Cities never really worked
they create wealth for the few
and poverty for the many. Still does.
My idea, ' he said'
is I don't want no job:
I want independence.
Then he smiled.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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I believe in an America that is on the march — an America respected by all nations, friends and foes alike — an America that is moving, doing, working, trying — a strong America in a world of peace. That peace must be based on world law and world order, on the mutual respect of all nations for the rights and powers of others and on a world economy in which no nation lacks the ability to provide a decent standard of living for all of its people.
quote by John F. Kennedy
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Am (Still Being Born)
i am, become...
i am the dust
of the Great Depression,
the bodies falling from windows,
when the stock market crashed.
i am the victims of Mccarthyism,
the troubadour of the working class.
i am the young boy hanging
from the arch above the door.
i am the woman washing clothes
in a stained old sink.
i am the old man stacking firewood,
i am the young man bulletproof.
i am the lovers' cry,
the backseat of a car.
i am the preacher,
the bride, and the groom.
i am the simple hard worked for,
the dream in a baby's flesh...
i am hunger and callous,
i am grit and determination.
i am honest and brash.
i am quiet and respectful.
i am history and hope,
i am invention, and drive.
i am two ears, and one mouth!
i am, and more...
i am America, still being born...
i am, become...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Working Class
hard calloused old hands,
back bent with time and work.
feet beaten and worn,
old tired eyes that still twinkle.
i love the working class.
am more at home
with truckers, farmers,
and factory workers,
than politicians and priests.
the lives built brick by brick,
silent years of sacrifice.
hard lines of faith and worry,
and moments of gentle caring.
the hand extended,
the heart that's honest.
the love of passion,
and blowing off steam.
the cook pot, and the table,
set for whoever walks through the door.
neighbor standing behind neighbor,
the saturday night fire,
and the sunday prayer.
i love the working class...
the people that built your cities,
paved your roads,
that have grown your food,
and made your goods...
so what the hell are you doing to us?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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