Supply And Demand..
mothers of our nations produce babies,
to send them as immigrant workers:
work at the plantation to yield,
toil at the construction field,
sweat at the rig with oily hands,
sweep the roads with gloved hands,
hit the key board to program,
touch the patients to diagnose,
build the machines to fly and float,
and a few be the customers,
to the whores for comfort and to rot.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
My heart is my hands
My hands
Is
Only my hands...
Not for
your hands....
So...
I want too work
My hands...
I want too serve
My hands...
I want to do about
Somthing of my
Hands...
My hands is
Free for only
Sleeping time only...
my hands is
working all the times
My hands not only
Hands...
It is human workers...
Allways for my friends...
My hands...is my heart...
My heart is my hands.....
Ok...How is your hands...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
These Hands
Given by God -are these hands!
One can do many things -with these hands
With love one can help a strangers' hands-
Allay and comfort the elders' gnarled hands
Clean sweep and mop with these hands
Decorate and embellish with these hands
Cook and serve food to all with these hands
Clasp a loved one with these hands
Applaud one with pleasure with these hands
Dig the soil and form a garden with these hands
Hold a book to read with these hands
Write and post a card with these hands
Type a poem to cheer someone with these hands
Draw a picture and sew clothes with these hands
Paint a beautiful scene to amuse with these hands
Play a game of volley ball or cricket with these hands
Swim the waters and row a boat with these hands
Pick the harvests and fruits with these hands
Feed the animals and birds with these hands
Seek the warmth of dear ones with these hands
Feel the soft petals of a flower with these hands
Fold the palms to pray with these hands
Given by God - are these hands!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Happy May Day, 2012!
All workers need a day their own,
To talk and rest and have some fun;
May Day is one in every town
For labourers, when shutters are down.
Who will not praise the ones who toil?
Who can live without tillers of soil?
The ones who slog must celebrate,
And think about their future days!
The world must pay a decent sum
To all who sweat and labour hard;
The toilers must not remain dumb,
But air their troubles like a bard.
Too many strikes, protests are bad;
Work struck turn nations poorer still;
But love of work, brethren, not wad,
Can make a task easy uphill!
And pray, you must to patron saints -
St. Joseph, Philip, James, others;
They work miracles for workers
Who love God, work and their brothers!
"Happy May Day,2012! "
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-5-12
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
But also, the guest workers program, it's quite often misused, meaning people could come in as part of a guest workers program and after two weeks in the fields, they'd run off to do every other kind of job that isn't covered by a guest workers program.
quote by Dana Rohrabacher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
The Passing Of A Heart
O touch me with your hands--
For pity's sake!
My brow throbs ever on with such an ache
As only your cool touch may take away;
And so, I pray
You, touch me with your hands!
Touch--touch me with your hands.--
Smooth back the hair
You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair
That I did dream its gold would wear alway,
And lo, to-day--
O touch me with your hands!
Just touch me with your hands,
And let them press
My weary eyelids with the old caress,
And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way,
That Death may say:
He touched her with his hands.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet On Curse Upon A Farmer’s Blessing
A farmer can never be churlish
even if shabby be his clothes
even if his clothes reek sweat
honest dirt grains forehead hands
his toil in hot sun blesses bellies
his labour feeds families prevents
famine starvation disease death
his field feeds pace of progress.
Destiny of kingdoms empires nations
are feed from lie in soil rough hands
dirt being cultivation civilization toils
politic threat war vast army marches
stomachs well fed fight pride glory wars
nature blesses with food feeding beasts.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Plantation Boy
Lots of people walk about proud and free
Lift up your head start looking around
Theres a brandnew feeling of liberty
Like a clear bell thats starting to sound
Plantation boy
Cmon and get going
Yesterdays chains have broken in two
Plantation boy
The new move is growing
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you
Plantation boy
Plantation boy
Lots of smiling faces for you to meet
So many hands to help you along
Just shake off the mud that weighs down your feet
If you stand tall you just cant go wrong
Plantation boy
Cmon and get going
Yesterdays chains have broken in two
Plantation boy
The new move is growing
Reaching the hills, the valleys and you
Plantation boy
Plantation boy
Years of picking cotton for little pay
Living alone in some wooden shack
Sweating in the heat of a summers day
This is all over, you wont come back
Plantation boy
Cmon and get going
Yesterdays chains have broken in two
Plantation boy
The new move is growing
Reaching the hills, the valleys and you
Plantation boy
Plantation boy
Plantation boy
Cmon and get going
Yesterdays chains have broken in two
Plantation boy
The new move is growing
Reaching the hills, the valleys and you
Plantation boy
Plantation boy
Plantation boy
Plantation boy
Wherever you may go
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
Reaching the hills and the valleys and you...
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Young mother!
When the mother is left with young children,
The hands are full and the mind is not dull,
Her eyes are down on the children, who rattle,
Not on the spouse, who suddenly stops to tattle,
Young mother is as busy as a bee, flying around,
The messy house to have the neat hive and honey,
She is not a queen bee to order the servants,
She is a human and needs help and love,
Helpless responsible young mothers are great,
For they have sacrificed their comfort for their brood,
So many professionals gave up their career,
For the love that they have upon their future,
Young mothers of the world, just relax and not to cry,
So much work day in and day out, but you are the Gods,
To provide what your young children need,
To cover them with comfort of loving blanket,
To protect them from all invisible germs and harms,
To plant the seeds of care in their mind to bloom,
Disciplined children are the outcome of your salty sweat,
Continue to sacrifice as our ancestors did.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Workers’ Lamentations
This place isn’t thrilling anymore!
There is no fun or work to do;
Most things in shambles lie for long;
There is no soul who bothers much.
Corruption rules the roost to core;
The honest workers are ignored;
The lazy ones are most favored;
The sincere ones are shown the door!
The patients’ numbers keep dwindling;
New doctors are not attracted;
Touts direct patients to clinics-
The Management is well aware!
The contract system works too well;
Poor employees are temporary;
A kind of cheating continues;
They call it ‘ADMINISTRATION’!
A lot of trees have been cut down;
The place is not getting good rains;
The Cauvery-water is off;
The current-cuts are frequent now.
Some quarters are in ruins too;
Private-roads are not laid within;
The changing bosses do nothing,
Each one retiring without blame!
There is no one to ‘bell the cat’!
No one cares to revamp the place;
It is no doubt a beauteous one;
The glory seems to fade with time.
A sorry state of things, Alas!
No one is dedicated much;
The place has lost its magic-touch;
They do not give you a bus-pass!
But students do read well o’er here,
Although the faculty is less;
May be, some kind of curse is on;
May be, God’s rod is upon all!
The righteous workers are scapegoats;
Luck favors dishonest doctors;
I see no clouds of changes now;
A desert-like, place looks somehow!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-28-2007
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hands Across The Sea
(findon/wilkins)
And therell be hands, hands across the sea
Touching everybody, joining you and me
If we could build a new horizon
Id like to see some changes made
When nations hear the voice of reason
And all the world live unafraid
And therell be hands, hands across the sea
People joined as one, innocent and free
And well have love, love and sympathy
Touching everybody, joining you and me
If we could share that new tomorrow
You with your troubles, me with mine
Then we could face the world together
With open heart and easy mind
And therell be hands, hands across the sea
People joined as one, innocent and free
And well have love, love and sympathy
Touching everybody, joining you and me
Hands across the sea
Hands across the sea
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I am a King While Working
Working is very nice and fine
It gives a very healthy sign
The working pleasure is mine
I want to work again and again
I am adequately compensated
While working I am not irritated
By sweat my body is irrigated
My efforts will never get wasted
To work I feel very very hungry
Too much work makes me not angry
To do work I always love to agree
I behave like a well-watered tree
My hands may look dirty
My age may be fifty
I love to do my duty
My body ever feels thirsty
I will never grudge
I will ever budge
I will never dodge
I will take a pledge
I care not my body being sweated
I worry not by being disappointed
Only to work I am appointed
To do duty only I am created
Till my last breath
I will toil on this Earth
My birth must give mirth
Only six feet land I am worth!
I will distribute cash
Secretly I will not stash
To work I will make a dash
Lazy feelings equal trash
Day and night I will truly toil
Under the Sun which will boil
I will pray to the mother soil
To make sweat better than oil
O- God- Help me wake up
O- God- Help me make up
Any task, help me take up
Any riddle, help me rake up.
poem by Mailrangam Visvanathan Venkataraman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our Hands
My hands once warm,
And clothed in yours,
my hands once full,
and held in yours.
Empty hands,
Cold hands,
my hands have lost their,
Partner as you once were for me,
Your hands at once rough,
and soft,
Always gentle when in mine,
our hands would meet to fill the cold,
My hands now empty cover tears,
my hands once warm now with
a freezing touch,
your hands are gone,
the warmth they held has left,
these hands of mine.
poem by Rebecca Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shovels, And Whores!
shovels and whores!
cant get nothing done,
for digging people out
in way too deep,
and loaning money to whores
for their crack rock pillows,
their babies crying
with hunger cursed lips.
addicts and losers,
prisoners put out,
to work the streets, or die.
and the unemployed breed
with despair driven need,
old people eating dogfood
with plastic spoons....
fight and give, eyes in the back
of your head, back to the wall...
shovels and whores,
all God's children gotta live!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Faces On Hands, Hands On Heart
police brutality, freedom mortality,
Big Brother at your back!
riot squads, sent by gods,
to lash out and attack....
fear oppressive, greed obsessive,
the plantation ran by force!
slaves kicking chains, runaway train,
let the river run its course!
faces on hands, hands on heart.
a small fire strong against the dark.
all God's children doing their part...
faces on hands, hands on heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sowing
Upon the wind sheltered hillside,
the sharp tang of metal and the sting of salt air lay
over a field of blood-red poppies, no Flander's Field.
At years fall, fields of rape roll like waves,
in the harshness of winter-sleet, stray boulders bow;
like the backs of mothers, daughters sowing.
Their nails torn, ragged and bleeding.
They bleed by the moon, and son upon the field.
No white crosses mark their passing.
For hundreds of years, and crops of rape, barley and wheat;
small hands, soft hands, and soft thighs bleed.
They bleed daughters, and sons.
They birth the fields and in the fields by consent or rape;
unadorned by silver stars or purple hearts.
Today, as May's sun wakes the blood blasted pasture,
each precious dropp blooms…..a heroines acknowledgement
the poppies yield.
poem by Deborah Guzzi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We need to give the Iraqis a chance to build their own future. It should be in their hands. It must be in their hands. That is what democracy is all about. We can teach it, we can explain it, but they must want it enough to make it work for them.
quote by Barbara Boxer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
An Immigrant Here!
i am an immigrant here,
i claim no nation,
choose no side...
but this earth is my home,
formed from it's dirt,
it's bottomless oceans...
my friends are trees,
mountains, and rivers...
the long grasses my beard,
the great plains my soul.
i am the birthing of spring,
the death of the snow...
i am an immigrant here,
many colors, all human.
i am the hunted, and the hunter,
i am the pounding of waves
held in the tiniest shell.
i am wind, fire, and darkness...
i am an immigrant here,
i am the plow of the man,
the valley of the woman.
i am the roar of the cities,
the hush of the forests...
i am the water spilling o'er the dam!
i am an immigrant here,
illegal only to those who fear!
the river i crossed,
i will cross again!
my only map the lines
in an old man's hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Work The Black Seam
This place has changed for good
Your economic theory said it would
Its hard for us to understand
We cant give up our jobs the way we should
Our blood has stained the coal
We tunneled deep inside the nations soul
We matter more than pounds and pence
Your economic theory makes no sense
One day in a nuclear age
They may understand our rage
They build machines that they cant control
And bury the waste in a great big hole
Power was to become cheap and clean
Grimy faces were never seen
But deadly for twelve thousand years is carbon fourteen
We work the black seam together
The seam lies underground
Three million years of pressure packed it down
We walk through ancient forest lands
And light a thousand cities with our hands
Your dark satanic mills
Have made redundant all our mining skills
You cant exchange a six inch band
For all the poisoned streams in cumberland
One day in a nuclear age
They may understand our rage
They build machines that they cant control
And bury the waste in a great big hole
Power was to become cheap and clean
Grimy faces were never seen
But deadly for twelve thousand years is carbon fourteen
We work the black seam together
Our conscious lives run deep
You cling onto your mountain while we sleep
This way of life is part of me
The is no price so only let me be
And should the children weep
The turning world will sing their souls to sleep
When you have sunk without a trace
The universe will suck me into place
One day in a nuclear age
They may understand our rage
They build machines that they cant control
And bury the waste in a great big hole
Power was to become cheap and clean
Grimy faces were never seen
But deadly for twelve thousand years is carbon fourteen
We work the black seam together
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!