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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Working Class Hero
(alan jackson/don sampson)
A callused right hand
Holds a shiny gold watch
For thirty years spent on the clock
But you wont see no tears
>from this workin class hero
Hes always been hard as a rock
But he knows hes too old
To really start over
Besides he just wouldnt know how
I guess hes just glad
That hes not alone
But hes got to wonder what now
cause theres no hall of fame for that working class hero
No statute carved out of stone
And his greatest reward is the love of a woman
And his children
So after hes gone
That old working class hero lives on
That three-bedroom house
He built in the 50s
Seems so much bigger today
With just him and mama
And not many bills
cause all of the kids moved away
What hes done with his life
Might not be remembered
But hes got every right to be proud
cause the blood sweatin years
Of this workin class hero
Is really what livins about
cause theres no hall of fame for that working class hero
No statute carved out of stone
And his greatest reward is the love of a woman
And his children
So after hes gone
That old workin class hero lives on
Yes, that workin class hero lives on
That workin class hero lives on
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fool's Litany
When a youth they said I was uncouth, but they were wrong about me.
The world was in error as I could plainly see.
When I disagreed I did not heed whether friend, teacher or such.
I knew more than they in every way. I was better by so much.
Now I'm an adult and richer than all those poor, useless fools
Who make up a stagnant middle class where no one rules.
I seek more money so I and others in my chosen class
Can transform these non producers into a pile of broken glass.
Only then will this country regain the power it needs;
Rules not from middle class fools, but a selected, special breed.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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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
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That Most Humans Crave For Glory
That most humans crave for glory is surely not a lie
And though you well may love your Country for your Country why should you die
Since dead heroes like dead cowards cannot help their Country in any way
Whilst alive you can help your Country even though you look old and gray
The dead hero cannot hear the bugler when the last post it is played
Though some may say his ghost is present at every war parade
The deserter is dishonoured from the fight he ran away
But to his Country he's of some use he's alive and well today
The dead hero he is honoured though to him that of no use
For to justify their recent war the war leaders use the war dead as an excuse
For another bloody battle a war they themselves will not fight in
Though in every war that ever was humanity did not win
You cannot serve your Country by dying for it so live for as long as you can
And die hopefully a painless death as a very old man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Goodbye Middle America
The death of middle america is coming
What use to be the back bone of this country
Is disappearing fast
What the goverment said would save the country
Is killing the middle class
People going hungry in the country that feeds the world
What about our own who have gave all their lives
Who will come to their rescue
When life has gone astway
Wake up America
You fight for rights of others
Fight for your brothers and sisters
Wake up the goverment to their fate
Before it's to late
When poverty comes to your front gate
poem by David Kush
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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
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The three bad fools
Every fortnight report shows
Wisdom is the last in the class.
One day the English Teacher asked pupils to write an Essay
using the word 'fool'.
Then after sometimes Teacher noticed that Wisdom has finished first.
'Wisdom read aloud your Essay to the class.'
He stretches his story; When my father was drunk
He shouts along the road and Mom drags him home.
He mutters like a sick man;
'There are three fools I dream always,
A Prime Minister of a remote country, Landlord and our Son.'
Then Mom argues; 'Not three dear and what about you? '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Never Saw It Coming
All of the things
That happened just so I can be here
Who's pulling the strings?
Do I have company?
'cause I'd like to think
That I'm in control of my own destiny
All of the signs begin to point the other way
Who would have known
That I'd be standing right here next to you
'cause I never saw it coming
Who would have known
That I'd get control of things I do
All the could have should haves
Never would have happened anyway
Maybe it's me
Or maybe there's something more to it
I believe what I see
'cause seeing is believing
And I like to think
That I'm in control of when and how I go
What if I stepped outside
And I got blown away
Who would have known
That I'd be standing right here next to you
'cause I never saw it coming
Who would have known
That I'd get control of things I do
All the could have should haves
Never would have happened to me
All the could have should haves
Never would have happened anyway
Happened anyway...
Happened anyway...
I never saw it coming
I never saw it coming
(Happened anyway)
I never saw it coming
I never saw it coming
All the could have should haves
Never would have happened to me
All the could have should haves
Never would have happened
Who would have known
That I'd be standing right here next to you
'cause I never saw it coming
Who would have known
That I'd get control of things I do
All the could have should haves
Never would have happened to me
And now I know that everything
That's going on around me
Is meant to be
They're gonna happen anyway
song performed by by Hoobastank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The People We Don't Want To Know
From pay check to pay check many working class people have two jobs,
then it all dries up and there is no work and manual labourers are
called work shy…. I knew a woman with three jobs she was tired coming
home, yet boiled potatoes and fried fish for her children before falling
asleep, coughing a lot. She had tuberculosis and sent to a sanatorium,
and the children sent to foster homes. Her illness caused by unhygienic
home, people from the social services said. No one asked why a woman
should hold down three jobs to fed her children and no one said she was
a “deserving” poor whatever this word means. This inequity will go on till
we understand poverty is not a choice but a mishap of birth, few escape,
those who do will always carry the dishonour, the mark of Cain, by being
more hateful of poverty and branding the poor lazy. As the average actor
who got a role in a film that made him famed, his hate his own class, poor
himself once, reveals his fear of slipping back to poverty again; he harms
his flesh and blood in an attempt to get rid of his own stench of privation.
But the Haves can smell an imposter, but they do like money so perhaps
his daughter will make it to the The People We Don't Want To Knowball.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Telling Me Lies
They say a womans a fool for weeping
A fool to break her own heart
But I cant hold the secret Im keeping
Im breaking apart
Cant seem to mind my own business
Whatever I try turns out wrong
I seem like my own false witness
And I cant go on
I cover my ears, I close my eyes
Still hear your voice and its telling me lies
Telling me lies
You told me you needed my company
And I believed in your flattering ways
You told me you needed me forever
Nearly gave you the rest of my days
Shouldve seen you for what you are
Should never have come back for more
Shouldve locked up all my silver
Brought the key right to your door
Repeat chorus
You dont know what a chance is
Until you have to seize one
You dont know what a man is
Until you have to please one
Dont put your life in the hands of a man
With a face for every season
Dont waste your time in the arms of a man
Whos no stranger to treason
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father Death Blues
Hey Father Death, I'm flying home
Hey poor man, you're all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I'm going
Father Death, Don't cry any more
Mama's there, underneath the floor
Brother Death, please mind the store
Old Aunty Death Don't hide your bones
Old Uncle Death I hear your groans
O Sister Death how sweet your moans
O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths
Sobbing breasts'll ease your Deaths
Pain is gone, tears take the rest
Genius Death your art is done
Lover Death your body's gone
Father Death I'm coming home
Guru Death your words are true
Teacher Death I do thank you
For inspiring me to sing this Blues
Buddha Death, I wake with you
Dharma Death, your mind is new
Sangha Death, we'll work it through
Suffering is what was born
Ignorance made me forlorn
Tearful truths I cannot scorn
Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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The Somme - 1916
Proud I was, to join up and fight for my Country.
The khaki uniform, the regimental badge.
Then I saw Charlie. He bled to death, poor sod,
no one to help him,
he was just cannon fodder.
Are we winning Sarge?
Stuck in this filthy trench, socks saturated, serge wet,
soul soaked in despair.
What're we fighting for Sarge?
I'd write home, but they'd most likely never receive it,
and even a letter would be plastered with mud
before it even got as far as the envelope.
Ammo's low Sarge!
Firing at mirages, floating far off in a mist,
ethereal bodies.
Call this life, mate!
Nah! Living death!
They said it'll be over by Christmas.
Do you believe that Sarge?
Hope so, cos all we have left is 'hope'!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Who That Soldier Is
Thats somebody's little boy out there
Getting shot at on the field
Thats somebody's baby
In more pain than anyone should feel
Thats somebody's daddy
Out there in the middle of the fight
Thats somebody's parent
Who will never get to kiss his daughter goodnight
Thats somebody's lover
Who will never get to tell her he loves her again
Thats somebody's husband
Her protector and her best friend
Thats a mother's son
Thats her pride and joy
Thats a father's favorite companion
Thats his little boy
And the soldier you see in the casket
Was very proud of what he was fighting for
But he'll never see his parents, wife or daughter again
Because he died protecting our country in the war
poem by Tatianna Rei Moonshadow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Battle Field Of Life
Many have been wounded on the
battlefield of life. Wounded, in
their homes, streets and back
alleys of social interaction.
In the battle to survive, are there
more formidable enemies, than
grief, loneliness, illness, poverty,
and lost love?
So many, although seemingly
defeated, by an army of foes,
to opposition of life and living,
they fight...go on.
Countless millions, are wounded by
emotional bullets...lethal grenades
of death, taking a loved one... and the
machine gun fire, of cancer and
other devastating diseases.
Yet, with a courage that can not be
measured, these unsung heroes
..go on.
Let there be a Congressional Medal
Of Honor, for life, for those unsung
heroes and their unyielding courage. Let
them know, in their time of need,
we shall provide them with, they emotional
medicine and care they require.
Love, compassion and understanding.
The next time, the word 'hero' is spoken,
look around, for on the battlefield of
life, there are millions, 'of unsung hero's.'
Called Them Heros...
Many have been wounded on the
battlefield of life. Wounded, in
their homes, streets and back
alleys of social interaction.
In the battle to survive, are there
more formidable enemies, than
grief, loneliness, illness, poverty,
and lost love?
So many, although seemingly
defeated, by an army of foes,
to opposition of life and living,
they fight...go on.
Countless millions, are wounded by
emotional bullets...lethal grenades
of death, taking a loved one... and the
machine gun fire, of cancer and
other devastating diseases.
Yet, with a courage that can not be
measured, these unsung heroes
..go on.
Let there be a Congressional Medal
Of Honor, for life, for those unsung
heroes and their unyielding courage. Let
them know, in their time of need,
we shall provide them with, they emotional
medicine and care they require.
Love, compassion and understanding.
The next time, the word 'hero' is spoken,
look around, for on the battlefield of
life, there are millions, 'of unsung hero.
Sunburned Country (feat. Keith Urban)
I carry her with me (Ah)
I carry her pride (Yeah yeah)
Whenever I speak her name
My soul it comes alive
She taught me to be strong (oh)
She taught me to fight
And I am who I am today
Because she raised me right
Yes it is
Chorus:
In a sunburned country
Her magic and her mystery (oh)
In a sunburned country
Forever will be home to me
Yeah that's where my heart is truely free
Yes it is
Yeah....Yey,Yey,Yey...
Ooh
The creaks and the rivers
The dust and the mud (ooh dust and the mud)
All of us understand
This land gets in your blood
Yes it does
The sight of the blue gums
And black cockatoos
White snow Kosciusko
Red rock Uluru
Sing it one more time
In a sunburned country
Her magic and her mystery
In a sunburned country
Forever will be home to me
Yeah that's where my heart is truely free
Yes it is
Yeah....Yey,Yey,Yey...
Oh yeah...
We've always been humble (Oh yeah)
Too scared to be proud (Yes we have)
I think it's time that
We all stand and say that
We love our home out loud
Sunburned country
I'm proud to say that's sweet our home
In a sunburned country
That's always gonna be my home
Yeah
In a sunburned country
Her magic and her mystery
In a sunburned country
Forever will be home to me
Yeah that's where my heart is truely free
Yes it is
I love all the people
I love all the sounds
Sleeping under a tin roof
With a hard rain coming down
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bang On The Ear
Lindsay was my first love
she was in my class
I would have loved to take her out
but I was too shy to ask
The fullness of my feeling
was never made clear
but I send her my love
and a bang on the ear
Nora was my girl
when I first was in a group
I can still see her to this day
stirring chicken soup
Now she's living in Australia
working for an auctioneer
But I send her my love
and a bang on the ear
Deborah broke my heart
and I the willing fool
I fell for her one summer
on the road to Liverpool
I thought it was forever
but it was over within the year (oh dear)
But I send her my love
and a bang on the ear
The home I made with Bella
became a house of pain
We weathered it together
bound by a ball and chain
It started up in Fife
It ended up in tears
But I send her my love
and a bang on the ear
Krista was a rover
from Canada she hailed
We crossed swords in San Francisco
We both lived to tell the tale
I don't know now where she is
Oh, but if I had her here
I'd give her my love
and a bang on the ear
So my woman of the hearth fire
harbour of my soul
I watch you lightly sleeping
I sense the dream that does unfold .. like gold
You to me are treasure
You to me are dear
So I'll give you my love
and a bang on the ear
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anger With Death
There was a thing called anger
that he didn't knew
untill one day
when death came to him and said
'this is not yet the time'
That was the day
after he jumped
from the 13th floor of a building
that gave him a broken spinal
that made him no longer able to move
his two legs and one arm
for the rest of his life.
Anger with death....
that's all he has
in his whole heart
....now.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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