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Fragment: To The People Of England

PEOPLE of England, ye who toil and groan,
Who reap the harvests which are not your own,
Who weave the clothes which your oppressors wear,
And for your own take the inclement air;
Who build warm houses . . .
And are like gods who give them all they have,
And nurse them from the cradle to the grave . . .

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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To The Men Of England

Men of England, wherefore plough
For the lords who lay ye low?
Wherefore weave with toil and care
The rich robes your tyrants wear?

Wherefore feed and clothe and save,
From the cradle to the grave,
Those ungrateful drones who would
Drain your sweat -- nay, drink your blood?

Wherefore, Bees of England, forge
Many a weapon, chain, and scourge,
That these stingless drones may spoil
The forced produce of your toil?

Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,
Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?
Or what is it ye buy so dear
With your pain and with your fear?

The seed ye sow another reaps;
The wealth ye find another keeps;
The robes ye weave another wears;
The arms ye forge another bears.

Sow seed, -- but let no tyrant reap;
Find wealth, -- let no imposter heap;
Weave robes, -- let not the idle wear;
Forge arms, in your defence to bear.

Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells;
In halls ye deck another dwells.
Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see
The steel ye tempered glance on ye.

With plough and spade and hoe and loom,
Trace your grave, and build your tomb,
And weave your winding-sheet, till fair
England be your sepulchre!

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song To The Men Of England

I.
Men of England, wherefore plough
For the lords who lay ye low?
Wherefore weave with toil and care
The rich robes your tyrants wear?

II.
Wherefore feed and clothe and save,
From the cradle to the grave,
Those ungrateful drones who would
Drain your sweat -- nay, drink your blood?

III.
Wherefore, Bees of England, forge
Many a weapon, chain, and scourge,
That these stingless drones may spoil
The forced produce of your toil?

IV.
Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,
Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?
Or what is it ye buy so dear
With your pain and with your fear?

V.
The seed ye sow another reaps;
The wealth ye find another keeps;
The robes ye weave another wears;
The arms ye forge another bears.

VI.
Sow seed,-- but let no tyrant reap;
Find wealth,-- let no imposter heap;
Weave robes,-- let not the idle wear;
Forge arms, in your defence to bear.

VII.
Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells;
In halls ye deck another dwells.
Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see
The steel ye tempered glance on ye.

VIII.
With plough and spade and hoe and loom,
Trace your grave, and build your tomb,
And weave your winding-sheet, till fair
England be your sepulchre!

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Plus coated minus

Small people only
Build big, big houses.
Bitter people only
Wear sweet smiles.
Spotted people only
Don spotless garments.
Shy people are
Tigers in privacy,
Who win the love game.

One projects the plus
To hide the one’s minus
16.03.2000, Palakkad

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Englishman

St George he was for England,
And before he killed the dragon
He drank a pint of English ale
Out of an English flagon.
For though he fast right readily
In hair-shirt or in mail,
It isn't safe to give him cakes
Unless you give him ale.
St George he was for England,
And right gallantly set free
The lady left for dragon's meat
And tied up to a tree;
But since he stood for England
And knew what England means,
Unless you give him bacon
You mustn't give him beans.
St George he is for England,
And shall wear the shield he wore
When we go out in armour
With battle-cross before.
But though he is jolly company
And very pleased to dine,
It isn't safe to give him nuts
Unless you give him wine.

poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Englishman

St George he was for England,
And before he killed the dragon
He drank a pint of English ale
Out of an English flagon.
For though he fast right readily
In hair-shirt or in mail,
It isn't safe to give him cakes
Unless you give him ale.

St George he was for England,
And right gallantly set free
The lady left for dragon's meat
And tied up to a tree;
But since he stood for England
And knew what England means,
Unless you give him bacon
You mustn't give him beans.

St George he is for England,
And shall wear the shield he wore
When we go out in armour
With battle-cross before.
But though he is jolly company
And very pleased to dine,
It isn't safe to give him nuts
Unless you give him wine.

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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All I Want Is You (7" Edit)

You say you want a diamond on a ring of gold
You say you want your story to remain untold
All the promises we made from the
Cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
You say you'll give me a highway with no one on it
Treasure just to look upon it
All the riches in the night
You say you'll give me eyes on a moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbour in the tempest
All the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
You say you want your love to work out right
To last with me through the night
You say you want a diamond on a ring of gold
Your story to remain untold
Your love not to grow cold
All the promises we break from the
Cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
All I want is you

song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All I Want Is You

YOU SAY YOU WANT A DIAMOND ON A RING OF GOLD
YOU SAY YOU WANT YOUR STORY TO REMAIN UNTOLD

ALL THE PROMISES WE MADE
FROM THE CRADLE TO THE GRAVE
WHEN ALL I WANT IS YOU

YOU SAY YOU┬┤LL GIVE ME A HIGHWAY WITH NO ONE ON IT
TREASURE JUST TO LOOK UPON IT
ALL THE RICHES IN THE NIGHT
YOU SAY YOU┬┤LL GIVE ME
EYES ON A MOON OF BLINDNESS
A RIVER IN A TIME OF DRYNESS
A HARBOUR IN THE TEMPEST

ALL THE PROMISES WE MAKE
FROM THE CRADLE TO THE GRAVE
WHEN ALL I WANT IS YOU

YOU SAY YOU WANT YOUR LOVE TO WORK OUT RIGHT
TO LAST WITH ME THROUGH THE NIGHT
YOU SAY YOU WANT A DIAMOND ON A RING OF GOLD
YOUR STORY TO REMAIN UNTOLD
YOUR LOVE NOT TO GROW COLD

ALL THE PROMISES WE BREAK
FROM THE CRADLE TO THE GRAVE
WHEN ALL I WANT IS YOU

ALL I WANT IS YOU

song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cities Of White Men

Those men build many houses:
They dig the earth, and they build;
They cut down the trees, and they build;
They work always - building.

From the elevation of the mountainside
I behold the clouds:
The clouds build many beautiful houses in the sky:
They build, and they tear down;
They build, and they dissolve. . . .

The cities of white men,
They are not beautiful like the cloud cities;
They are not vast, like the cloud cities. . . .

A wind-swept teepee
Is all the house I own. . .

poem by Anonymous Americas
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I And Thou!

i wont wear your clothes,
wont wear your shoes.
i wont live in your house,
i wont sweep your floors.

i wont share your food,
i wont wipe your ass.
i wont sleep in your bed,
i wont build your fire.

i will wear your clothes,
will wear your shoes.
i will live in your house,
i will sweep your floors.

i will share your food,
i will wipe your ass.
i will sleep in your bed,
i will build your fire.

i and thou,
defiant and reliant.
one in many, many in one,
confined, set free,
defined, beyond definition!
illusion, concepts,
or uncarved block!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Evening Hymn In The Hovels

'WE sow the fertile seed and then we reap it;
We thresh the golden grain; we knead the bread.
Others that eat are glad. In store they keep it,
While we hunger outside with hearts like lead.
Hallelujah!
'We hew the stone and saw it, rear the city.
Others inhabit there in pleasant ease.
We have no thing to ask of them save pity,
No answer they to give but what they please.
Hallelujah!
'Is it for ever, fathers, say, and mothers,
That we must toil and never know the light?
Is it for ever, sisters, say, and brothers,
That they must grind us dead here in the night?
Hallelujah!
'O we who sow, reap, knead, shall we not also
Have strength and pleasure of the food we make?
O we who hew, build, deck, shall we not also
The happiness that we have given partake?
Hallelujah!'

poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Crow On The Cradle

(from the soundtrack to no nukes; peformed live by jackson browne with graham nash & david lindley)
The sheeps in the meadow
The cows in the corn
Now is the time for a child to be born
Hell laugh at the moon
And cry for the sun
And if its a boy hell carry a gun
Sang the crow on the cradle
And if it should be that this babys a girl
Never you mind if her hair doesnt curl
With rings on her fingers
And bells on her toes
And a bomber above her wherever she goes
Sang the crow on the cradle
The crow on the cradle
The black and the white
Somebodys baby is born for a fight
The crow on the cradle
The white and the black
Somebodys baby is not coming back
Sang the crow on the cradle
Your mother and father will sweat and theyll slave
To build you a coffin and dig you a grave
Hush-a-bye little one, never you weep
For weve got a toy that can put you to sleep
Sang the crow on the cradle
Bring me my gun, and Ill shoot that bird dead
Thats what your mother and father once said
The crow on the cradle, what can we do
Ah, this is a thing that Ill leave up to you
Sang the crow on the cradle
Sang the crow on the cradle

song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To the hero of toil

Another days labour for the man at the front
another days work of sweat and of grunt
of straining of muscle of tendon and joint
no praise for the hero of toil

Head down and end up as he reshapes the earth
for the rich and the mighty he'll give all he's worth
with the spade and the hammer he was handed at birth
no praise for the hero of toil

In the darkest of climates he'll give it his last
he wont mumble or groan, he's just one of his class
with the spit on his hands he'll get on with the task
no praise for the hero of toil

Where would we be if it weren't for him
our lives would be dull and our futures be dim
yet he still carries on while the rich sip their gin
no praise for the hero of toil.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life

WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life!
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come;
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight
weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant
weave! tire not!
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, the end--nor
really aught we know;
But know the work, the need goes on, and shall go on--the death-
envelop'd march of peace as well as war goes on;)
For great campaigns of peace the same, the wiry threads to weave;
We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave.

poem by Walt Whitman
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Gods and Pinnacles

Over the houses of living beings
Places of Gods
Pinnacles of
Churches
Mosques
And temples
Colossal and magnificent
Glorious scare in the air
Those Gods never expected

Birds that fly in sky
Sometimes perch on that
And have a rest
Being a God of God

Without any care
Invaded investors
Build their glorious tombs
Exceeding the pinnacles

Gods and agents are silent
They want them
To scare the bellow and to follow
For the splendid survival

poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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The Scarlet Letter

My dear Earth,
please do not get surprised after you receiving this letter,
and do not chew or swallow it as you do to the human beings.
please do not get angry with me.
May I ask some questions?
Why you grant premises to the culprits, murderers and liars
to sleep with innocents, saints and gods together.
You give enough space to the rich to build their skyscrapers;
but not an inch to poor who wander around the world.
You never give them to build a hut even.
You are proud of your soil hiding precious stones, gold, diamond
and silver et cetera.,
You allow poor people to dig them and worship the lords and knights
to wear them on their heads and backs.
I am waiting for a reply soon.
Sincerely yours, I remain Madam, a Man.
A white crow brought the letter wrapped in a snake skin.
I opened it and a single line appeared
written in blood.
is poverty God's will?

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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People Puttin People Down

People who are sad - sometimes they wear a frown
And people who are kings - sometimes they wear a crown
But all the people who dont fit
Get the only fun they get
From people puttin people down
People puttin people down
People without love - sometimes build a fence around
The garden up above - that makes the whole world go round
But all the people who dont fit
Get the only fun they get
From people puttin people down
People puttin people down
So cold, sometimes it gets so cold
You may love your wife - you may lose your family
You may lose you mind - just to keep your sanity
But the people who dont fit
Get the only fun they get
From people puttin people down
People puttin people down
People that are glad - sometimes they wear a smile
And people without dreams they walk the extra mile
But all the people who dont fit
Get the only fun they get
From people puttin people down
People puttin people dwn
From people puttin people down
People puttin people down
So cold, sometimes it gets so cold

song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ripoff

I don't wanna be no traitor to the cause
But England is a luxury - not many can afford
There's people going under - it's getting out of hand
Whatever happened to our - our green and pleasant land?
It turned into a wilderness; it turned into a third world country
Most people ain't getting what they pay for
Some people gettin' more than they should be
I know, I know - I'm an alien - but what are you gonna do
I wanna live in England - but it gets to you
It gets to you, it gets to you, it gets to you
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
I really don't know why - England wants to rip off you
England wants to rip off you, England wants to rip off you
What do you do when you find out?
Where do you go if you leave?
There's no place like home - that's what they say
And that's what you always believed
Someday you might win the Lottery
Someday you might win the Pools
But that's all you've got - that's all you've got
- to live for, to live for
That's all you've got - that's all you've got -
to live for, to live for (yeah)
To be or not to be - that's the question
Oh what's it gonna be?
I'd love to live in England - but it gets to me
it gets to me, it gets to me, yeah it gets to me
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
I really don't know why - England wants to rip off you
England wants to rip off you, England wants to rip off you
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
Oh I really don't know why - England wants to rip off
England wants to rip off , England wants to rip o

song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fool By The RoadSide

WHEN all works that have
From cradle run to grave
From grave to cradle run instead;
When thoughts that a fool
Has wound upon a spool
Are but loose thread, are but loose thread;
When cradle and spool are past
And I mere shade at last
Coagulate of stuff
Transparent like the wind,
I think that I may find
A faithful love, a faithful love.

poem by William Butler Yeats
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Gods

Gods of the white man,
Gods of the black man,
Gods of the almond shade
all of these Gods
have done one thing,
made the people afraid.

Gods of the red man,
Gods of the brown man
Gods of the yellow hue,
all of these Gods
have done the same
divided them into

Separate people
who've been led to believe
their God is the holy one
to save their souls
and pardon them
and deliver them
from earthly sin.

How can there be
so many Gods?
Isn't there only one?
One for every single soul
born unto this earth.
He's every color that there is
since the world's begun.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Closet

In the closet hung her dresses
and her shoes were on the floor.
She would not wear the dresses now
nor the shoes anymore.
He could not give her clothes away.
He smelled them everyday.

In the closet hung her robes
and nightgowns that were sheer.
She would not wear them in the nights,
her nights no longer here.
He could not give them all away.
He fingered them every day.

In the closet he felt close to her
and spoke in whispered word.
'I remember how you looked in these.'
He spoke as if she heard.
'I cannot give your clothes away.
They're all I have of you today.'

poem by Edwina Reizer
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