How to be a Good American
This snarling mass of cars go past at
Breakneck speed, each one containing
But a single harried drone, who dreams
Of home and rest, but knows that leaving
Work for suburb only means a different
Set of tasks. A brace of children wait
To go to soccer games and tap-dance
Classes. Just as well; the adage holds,
Some half-millennium away from when
Those English zealots came: in idleness,
Evil awaits, so work, so never pause for
Thought. In cash and phony Tudor
Houses is one's worth. One needn't
Read. One needn't understand a thing.
The point is to be moving always in a
Snarling mass.
poem by Lawrence Beck
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The Jilted Lover To His Mother
You needn't pray for me, old lady, I don't want no one's prayer,
I'm fit and jolly as ever I was--you needn't think I care.
When I go whistling down the road, when the warm night is falling,
She needn't think I'm whistling her, it's another girl I'm calling.
If I pass her house a dozen times, or fifty times a day,
She needn't think I think of her, my work lies out that way.
If they should tell her I've grown thin (for that is what they've told me)
This cursed weather counts for that, and not the girl who sold me.
And if they say I'm off my feed I still can tip a can;
If I get drunk what's that to her? I am not her young man.
I know I've had a lucky let-off--she ain't no class, she ain't,
For all she looked like a bush o' roses and talked like a story book saint.
I never give a thought to her. Don't worry your old head,
I've quite forgot her pretty ways and the cruel things she said,
There's lots of other gals to be had as any chap can see,
So you cheer up, you've got no call to go and pray for me.
But all the same, if you want to pray, you'd best pray God take care of them,
For if I catch them two together, by hell! I'll swing for the pair of them.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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like This And Like That
i say:
'how do i do,
this algebra homework? '
daddy says:
'like this and like that'
but i nerver understand,
the home work given by mrs gray,
i say:
'how do i do,
this science homework? '
sister says:
'like this and like that'
but i swear i never understand,
the home work given by mr carlson.
i say:
'how do i do,
this english assignment? '
little brother says:
'like this and like that'
but it is awonder,
i never understand,
the english work,
given by dr moscovitz
the thing is,
i only want to,
get a pencil and apiece of paper,
and start writing a,
POEM.................
Epistle iii
What if the notions of leisure
and entertainment were defunct?
Celibacy, vegetarianism, tee-totality-
the Shavian trilogy, our game:
we'd certainly get more plays written.
In the new republic
the only sin will be to fail to see
that everything's just a point in a spectrum:
male-female; birth-death; darkness-light;
and the value traditionally given each point
a vestige: silly, feudal, invalid, agricultural,
and that we needn't work.
'No', say the 1%,
you must work and whelp!
the wages of wages are....more wages-
happiness consists in the accumulation of goods!
Happiness means-
(don't tell us, we'll tell you)
more soldiers. More workers.
The more of them, the cheaper the labor for us,
the more dependent, the more depleted you get
and the richer we get-
a good thing, no?
poem by Morgan Michaels
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On A Seven-Day Diary
Oh I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and talked and went to sleep.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
from work and ate and slept.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and watched a show and slept.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate steak and went to sleep.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and fucked and went to sleep.
Then it was Saturday, Saturday, Saturday!
Love must be the reason for the week!
We went shopping! I saw clouds!
The children explained everything!
I could talk about the main thing!
What did I drink on Saturday night
that lost the first, best half of Sunday?
The last half wasn't worth this 'word.'
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
from work and ate and went to sleep,
refreshed but tired by the weekend.
poem by Alan Dugan
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Second Class wait here
At suburban railway stations--you may see them as you pass--
there are signboards on the platform saying 'Wait here second class,'
And to me the whirr and thunder and the cluck of running-gear
Seem to be forever saying 'Second class wait here--
Wait here second class
Second class wait here.'
Seem to be forever saying, 'Second class wait here.'
Yes, the second class were waiting in the days of serf and prince,
And the second class are waiting--they've been waiting ever since,
There are gardens in the background, and the line is bare and drear,
Yet they wait beneath a signboard, sneering 'Second class wait here.'
I have waited oft in winter, in the mornings dark and damp,
When the asphalt platform glistened underneath the lonely lamp,
Glistened on the brick-faced cutting 'Sellum's Soap' and 'Blower's Beer,'
Glistened on enamelled signboards with their 'Second class wait here.'
And the others seemed like burglars, slouched and muffled to the throats,
Standing round apart and silent in their shoddy overcoats;
And the wind among the poplars, and the wires that thread the air,
Seemed to be forever snarling, snarling 'Second class wait there.'
Out beyond a further suburb, 'neath a chimney-stack alone
Lay the works of Grinder Brothers, with a platform of their own;
And I waited there and suffered, waited there for many a day,
Slaved beneath a phantom signboard, telling all my hopes to stay.
Ah! a man must feel revengeful for a boyhood such as mine.
God! I hate the very houses near the workshop by the line;
And the smell of railway stations, and the roar of running gear,
And the scornful-seeming signboards, saying 'Second class wait here.'
There's a train, with Death for driver, that is ever going past;
There will be no class compartments when it's 'all aboard' at last
For the long white jasper platform with an Eden in the rear;
And there won't be any signboards, saying 'Second class wait here'
poem by Henry Lawson
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It is your work to clear away the mass of encumbering material of thoughts, so that you may bring into plain view the precious thing at the center of the mass.
quote by Robert Collier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Socialist And The Suffragist
Said the Socialist to the Suffragist:
'My cause is greater than yours!
You only work for a Special Class,
We work for the gain of the General Mass,
Which every good ensures!'
Said the Suffragist to the Socialist:
'You underrate my Cause!
While women remain a Subject Class,
You never can move the General Mass,
With your Economic Laws!'
Said the Socialist to the Suffragist:
'You misinterpret facts!
There is no room for doubt or schism
In Economic Determinism–
It governs all our acts!'
Said the Suffragist to the Socialist:
'You men will always find
That this old world will never move
More swiftly in its ancient groove
While women stay behind! '
'A lifted world lifts women up,'
The Socialist explained.
'You cannot lift the world at all
While half of it is kept so small,'
The Suffragist maintained.
The world awoke, and tartly spoke:
'Your work is all the same:
Work together or work apart,
Work, each of you, with all your heart–
Just get into the game!'
poem by Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman
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Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder” (The Billion-Dollar Question)
We must all stay aware…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder….,
It’s been increasing for years….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Can’t dare turn our backs….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
It’ll sneak up and kill us…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
It’s hard to believe and conceive….
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
That’s why so many are blind….,
To the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !
We’ve seen the bloody attacks…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
So we must face the facts….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Yes they’re after us all…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
Their radical religion condones it….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Can we control it or stop it….,
So it won’t go any further….? ? ?
That’s the billion-dollar question….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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We Need to Die Once
Every moment you needn't die
Death is too glorious for that
When you have made your home in the sky
You don't heed mortality's diktat.
You know your life is brief
But you don't pause to lament over it
You travel on toward the cliff
Knowing it's too precious for retreat!
When you have set your spirit free
Death finds no place in your mind
You rise to finish the journey
Leaving all your fears behind!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Chaplain ReadsTo The Soldiers Before They Go Out to Combat
*The other day before we left the Chaplain read this to us. I'm not a huge religious buff, surprise..I know, but it was a good little speech that kind of tied in to what we were doing (pretty much moving into contact) . So I figured I would pass it on, because ironically, I could relate to it. It's Psalms 59, and it kind of skips around in the verses. It is also out of the New Living Translation, because the New Testament just doesn't sound as good. It says:
Rescue me from my enemies, O God. Protect me from those who have come to destroy me.
Rescue me from these criminals; same me from these murderers.
They have set an ambush for me. Fierce enemies are out there waiting, Lord, though I have not sinned or offended them.
I have done nothing wrong, yet they prepare to attack me. Wake up! See what is happening and help me!
They come out at night, snarling like vicious dogs as they prowl the streets.
Listen to the filth that comes from their mouths; their words cut like swords. 'After all, who can hear us? ' they snarl.
But Lord, you laugh at them. You scoff at all the hostile nations.
You are my strength; I wait for you to rescue me, for you, O God, are my fortress.
Because of the sinful things they say, because of the evil that is on their lips, let them be captured by their pride, their curses, and their lies.
Destroy them in your anger! Wipe them out completely!
My enemies come out at night, snarling like vicious dogs as they prowl the streets.
They scavenge for food but go to sleep unsatisfied.
poem by Donna Nimmo
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Weapons of Mass Destruction
The Holy Roman Empire and Alexander The Great
Exterminate the globe, with extreme prejudice,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The European Inquisition, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The Holy Christian Crusades, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The Manifest Destiny and land expansion, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
Globalization and commercialization of the many rain forests,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction
Comprehensive sanctions is economic violence,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The procreation of religion and God, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
Democratizing the whole world, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The extermination of The Iroquois Confederation, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
World domination the salvation of, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
War, is the greatest Weapon of Mass Destruction
The justification for annihilation of, The Constitution
The constitution of retribution, the absolution of, A Weapon of Mass Destruction.
poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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Six Feet Below
Past the fence is where they lay,
This is their home, this is their ground,
This is where they cry,
In this place they rest and are never found.
Here he put them when he was through,
Here is the place he comes when his work is done,
They all lay and watch, they used to be few
Now it has become his hobby what he does for fun.
They want to tell you, they send you dreams,
Yet we block these dreams for we are scared,
We shall never know what it means,
And so we shall be in darkness and the pain will never be repaired.
In this hidden graveyard they lay,
They watch people walk past unknowing,
They watch them day by day.
Being the only ones that know the truth, they hold the knowing.
He does his work so quietly, so well,
That we never see him coming, we never know.
Is he saying the truth, the living will never be able to tell,
For if you want to know the truth you have to be six feet below.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Finding Nectar
The scent of pollen
Draws it nigh
The butterfly
Needn't fly high!
It needn't go far
Nor mind the briar
To draw nectar
From the yearning flower!
I learned it from butterfly
All I ought to find lie
So near me
I only have to see!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Whether or not the standard of living made possible by mass production and in turn by mass circulation, is supported by and filled with the work of us hucksters, I guess is something that only history can decide.
quote by Leo Burnett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half Mass
american soldiers were slaughtered
on a military base today.
by an arab american officer
who held everyone at bay.
and for these departed soldiers
all of america will pray.
but a question was put to me
and i was'nt sure just what to say.
if they are flying the american flag
at half mass for those who died today
what about the ones who've given their lives
to protect the american way?
why should we fly the flag at half mass
just for those who died at FORT HOOD.
it should be for all soldiers
and they would argue if they could.
keep our flags at half mass for all
that put their lives at stake.
there will be many more that we will honor
and their families at their wakes.
we should also put a yellow ribbon
on our red, white, and blue
until our soldiers come home
and this fighting is finally through.
poem by Louis Rams
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Im Moving On
Save your sweet talk
For when you score,
Keep your monday kisses
For your glass lady.
I want the truth and nothing more,
Im moving on,
Moving on,
Youre getting phony.
You didnt have to tell me a white lie,
You know you scored me for life.
Dont stick your fingers in my pie,
You know, Ill see through your jive.
I want the truth and nothing more,
Im moving on,
Moving on,
Were getting phony.
When you were angry
You had love in your eyes,
When you were sad
You had dream in your voice.
Now youre giving me your window smile,
Im moving on,
Moving on,
Its getting phony.
Moving on!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Once I Thought My Failure To Make My Work Known
ONCE I THOUGHT MY FAILURE TO MAKE MY WORK KNOWN
Once I thought my failure to make my work known
Was only a private thing -
Poor me for not being praised by Eternity-
But now I understand
It hurts others
The people I care for
Our people threatened-
It means essentially
That I give zero-
That all the enemy voices are heard
While our side
The side of Truth and Freedom
Has one less defender-
I must try then in my old age
To make my work known-
Even if it is not so good
It stands for something
Far beyond and far more important than myself -
Walking in the Way of God humbly
In doing Justice and Mercy
Israel's and Mankind -
Well- being and Happiness
For my family my friends-
Resisting Evil when necessary
Not doing unto others
What we would not have done to ourselves-
Goodness and Kindness and Mercy
Walking in the Way of God.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Work To Do
I cant wait to get home to you
I got so much work to do, work
Im taking care of business baby cant you see
I goota make it for you, and I gotta make it for me
Sometimes it may seem boy Im neglecting you
But Id love to spend more time
But I got so much to do
Ooh, I got work to do, I got work baby
I got work to do, I got a job yeah
I got work to do, said I got work to do
Oh Im out here trying to make it baby cant you see
It takes a lot of money to make it lets talk truthfully
So keep your love light burning
Oh you gotta have a little faith
You might as well get used to me coming home a little late, oh
Ooh, I got work to do, I got work baby
I got work to do, I got a job yeah
I got work to do, said I got work to do
I cant wait to get home to you
I got so much work to do
Written by isley/isley/isley
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Im Moving On
Save your sweet talk for when you score
Keep your monday kisses for your glass lady
I want the truth and nothing more
Im moving on, moving on youre getting phony
You didnt have to tell a white lie
You knew you scored me for life
Dont stick your finger in my pie
You know Ill see through your jive
I want the truth and nothing more
Im moving, moving on were getting phony
When you were angry you had love in your eyes
When you were sad you had dream in your voice
But now youre giving me your window smile
Im moving on, moving on its getting phony
Moving onnnnnnnnnn!
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forgetting About A Birthday
On my birthday time came and went.
At this point in my life presents are irrelevant.
No friends remembered the date this year.
Only my brother, my step father and mom.
And I only saw one of them that day.
I went to work for 3 hrs only to get stitches in my head.
1hr and half wait at med express near the lycoming mall.
Because my boss is too cheap to take me to the emergency room.
That's okay the wait was shorter then what emergency room from what I understand.
A 2 hr + wait there.
100 bucks versus 700 bucks also don't blame him there.
After that it was back to work for another hour yah!
Yeah right the excitement was when I was getting home and going to bed.
You get a gash in your head and tell me how you would feel.
But it is okay.
That is how much my boss really cares about money versus his employee that never calls off for a single day.
No wonder his turn over is so high.
Hes so tight he squeaks, even when hes buying you a lunch with money you borrowed, he is both expecting you too pay it back and keeping the receipt to write it off on his taxes as a business expense.
I got some dirt in my mouth please excuse me while I rinse.
Ahh that's better, well not really but at least it's off my mind.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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