Sweatshop
These are our brothers and sisters
Trapped in the chains of poverty
There is a sudden need for autonomy
Like MLK when he sang for peace
Like Howard Zinn’s soul released
Pier 1, Wal-Mart, Abercrombie and Fitch
Universal hatred toward the careless rich
And as the gut eaters sit in mansions and spoils of gain
Women and children are dying in vain
This tears on my hear and leaves only blisters
Related quotes
Peace That Was Never Peace
Wars, famon, and hatred
That’s what our world’s full of today
Nothing but pain and suffering
That never goes away
‘We’re in a time of peace, ’ they say
But how can that be true
With news of war on every channel
The word peace just won’t do
People are being killed
By brothers, sisters, friends
People they thought cared about them
Are forcing their life to end
This is no time of peace
There are many who can prove it
There are baby’s dying, and children
And it’s all of us who do it
Where is our peace now
It’s gone, it is decieced
Our lives are filled with the lies
Of peace that was never peace
poem by Faith Offerman
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Dying For Love
Can you hear, the people sing their song
To tunes of glory, they move as one.
Refugees of liberation marching on,
Sing our song, rock the nation, write of wrongs.
When you take of life and steal its shadow, all thats
Left is humanity.
Its getting closer, change is bound to come.
Theres someone out there, holding candles to the
Sun.
Then an answer, says that peace will come around,
Stand in line, take our time and be proud.
Take a life and steal its shadow, all thats left its
Humanity
Take a man and steal tomorrow, all thats left is you
And me.
Here them call you, soldiers all in the fields of love,
Brothers, sisters, children, all dying for love.
Refugees of liberation, marching on,
Sing your song, rock the nation, write of wrongs.
Take a life and steal its shadow, all thats left is
Humanity.
Take a man and steal tomorrow, all thats left is
You and me.
Hear them call you, soldiers all in the fields of love,
Brothers, sisters, children, all dying for love.
Hear them call you, dying for love, those who know
You, dying for love,
Brothers, sisters, dying for love, saints and sinners,
Dying for love,
Dying for love.
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For the People of East Africa
how can we go on not believing,
how can we turn our heads?
when children are starving
and people are dying...
are we alive or are we dead?
our brothers, our sisters,
we can feel your pain from here.
what can we do and
what can we change...
to see the world through your tears?
how can we see and not know
that what's happening to you...
is a part of us, is in
the very heart of us,
we're responsible, we're due!
our brothers, our sisters,
we can feel your pain from here.
what can we do and
what can we change...
to see the world through your tears?
the family of man so far apart,
we've lost the meaning in our souls.
until we join hearts to hands,
and walk side by side...
we'll never touch and never hold.
our brothers, our sisters,
we can feel your pain from here.
what can we do and
what can we change...
to see the world through your tears?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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1: 00 am Prayer.
Oh Lord, before I close my eyes
On this troubled world,
Let me posses peace in my heart.
Make me witness such kindness and love,
So my eyes fill with tears of joy.
Turn fear, avarice, violence and racism,
Into a another past in time.
Deep int a new understanding.
Stop our brothers and sisters from
Dying in a dying war,
And raise hope for the hopeless.
Give peace to the troubled.
Let us remember that we are separated,
By fear, hate, poverty
And the politicians of a corrupt World.
poem by Willow Moon Pearce
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Are you rich?
Because parents are rich
I am not rich.
Because brothers or sisters
Or in-laws are rich,
Because own children are rich
I am no richer.
Unless I myself am rich
I cannot be rich.
Too late to understand
And hence poor I went.
Agartala
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Poverty: War Of Today
POVERTY: WAR OF TODAY
melvin banggollay
Poverty abound everywhere
Even in paradise of plenty
As long as there are brothers
Who seldom eat sweet honey,
as long as there are sisters
under prostitution's malady,
when children are still under
abuse and exploitation by many
and as long as there are disaster
jeopardizing life and property.
Poverty is a war and disaster
Hounting every nation today
that can't be won by a leader
without the help of everybody
as it is a war arm with disaster
that can only be hurdled with unity,
frugality, thriftiness with power,
economical spending and industry,
good governance by our leaders
with an undying vow to foster unity
peace and cooperation as brothers
among anyone to preserve humanity.
poem by Melvin Banggollay
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Cry Peace
Let’s wage a war against,
Violence and crime,
Hostility, retribution, hatred,
and revenge,
Let’s cry peace, peace, peace,
Let it be a fervent never ending,
Prayer upon our lips,
This cry for peace,
Let us be brothers and
Sisters and friends
poem by Marva Seaton
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The Route March
Did you hear the children singing, O my brothers?
Did you hear the children singing as our troops went marching past?
In the sunshine and the rain,
As they’ll never sing again—
Hear the little school-girls singing as our troops went swinging past?
Did you hear the children singing, O my brothers?
Did you hear the children singing for the first man and the last?
As they marched away and vanished,
To a tune we thought was banished—
Did you hear the children singing for the future and the past?
Shall you hear the children singing, O my brothers?
Shall you hear the children singing in the sunshine or the rain?
There’ll be sobs beneath the ringing
Of the cheers, and ’neath the singing
There’ll be tears of orphan children when
Our Boys come back again!
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Box
Once upon a time, in the land of Hush-A-Bye,
Around about the wondrous days of yore,
They came across a kind of box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labeled 'Kindly do not touch; it's war.'
A decree was issued round about, and all with a flourish and a shout
And a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on before.
Don't fiddle with this deadly box,Or break the chains, or pick the locks.
And please don't ever play about with war.
The children understood. Children happen to be good
And they were just as good around the time of yore.
They didn't try to pick the locksOr break into that deadly box.
They never tried to play about with war.
Mommies didn't either; sisters, aunts, grannies neither
'Cause they were quiet, and sweet, and pretty
In those wondrous days of yore.
Well, very much the same as now,
And not the ones to blame somehow
For opening up that deadly box of war.
But someone did. Someone battered in the lid
And spilled the insides out across the floor.
A kind of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags
And all the tears, and horror, and death that comes with war.
It bounced right out and went bashing all about,
Bumping into everything in store.And what was sad and most unfair
Was that it didn't really seem to care
Much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly. And I'll tell you this quite plainly,
It bumps them every day and more, and more,
And leaves them dead, and burned, and dying
Thousands of them sick and crying.
'Cause when it bumps, it's really very sore.
Now there's a way to stop the ball. It isn't difficult at all.
All it takes is wisdom, and I'm absolutely sure
That we can get it back into the box,And bind the chains, and lock the locks.
But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.
Well, that's the way it all appears, 'cause it's been bouncing round
for years and years
In spite of all the wisdom wizzed since those wondrous days of yore
And the time they came across the box,
Bound up with chains and locked with locks,
And labeled 'Kindly do not touch; it's war.'
poem by Lascelles Abercrombie
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The Box
This poem was first released on the poems, prayers and promises album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Once upon a time in the land of hushabye
Around about the wondrous days of yore
I came across a sort of box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labelled kindly do not touch, its war
Decree was issued round about
All with a flourish and a shout
And a gaily coloured mascot tripping lightly on before
Dont fiddle with this deadly box or break the chains or pick the locks
And please, dont ever play about with war
Well, the children understood
Children happen to be good
They were just as good around the time of yaw
They didnt try to pick the locks, or break into that deadly box
They never tried to play about with war
Mummies didnt either
Sisters, aunts, grannies neither
Cause they were quiet and sweet and pretty in those wondrous days of yaw
Well, very much the same as now, not the ones to blame somehow
For opening up that deadly box of war
But someone did
Someone battered in the lid
And spilled the insides out across the floor
A sort of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags and all the tears and horror and the death that goes with war
It bounced right out
And went bashing all about
And bumping into everything and stored
And what was sad and most unfair is that it didnt seem to care who much it bumped
Or why, or what, or for
It bumped the children mainly
And Ill tell you this quite plainly
It bumps them every day, and more and more, and leaves them dead and burned and dying
Thousands of them sick and crying
Cause when it bumps, its really very sore
Now theres a way to stop the ball
It isnt difficult at all
All it takes is wisdom, Im absolutely sure that we could get it back into the box
And buy the chains and lock the locks
No one seems to want to save the children any more
Well, thats the way it all appears
Cause its been bouncing round for years and years
In spite of all the wisdom wiz since those wondrous days of yaw
And the time they came across the box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labelled kindly do not touch, its war
Words by lascelles
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For my sisters
The women I call sisters
Are always there
The women I call sisters
Will always care
The women I call sisters
Can make me smile when times are blue
The women I call sisters
Are always very true.
The women I call sisters
By choice, are my best of friends
The women I call sisters
Will be there with me till the world ends
The women I call sisters
Are blessings from God above
The women I call sisters
Are sisters that I'll always love.
poem by Trinette Naidoo
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Houses—so the Wise Men tell me—
"Houses"—so the Wise Men tell me—
"Mansions"! Mansions must be warm!
Mansions cannot let the tears in,
Mansions must exclude the storm!
"Many Mansions," by "his Father,"
I don't know him; snugly built!
Could the Children find the way there—
Some, would even trudge tonight!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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We need to decide that we will not go to war, whatever reason is conjured up by the politicians or the media, because war in our time is always indiscriminate, a war against innocents, a war against children.
quote by Howard Zinn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If Wise Women Led Governments
If wise women led Governments it would seem to me
We would not hear of wars and less talk of poverty
For war would become extinct and poverty would be on the decrease
And we would be on our way to a lasting World peace,
The women in Governments play the games of men
To cause division for them is a sure way to win
Support for their power base by their spreading of fear
Of those seen to be different positive things from them we don't hear,
Though no shortage of wise women in the big world out there
Wise women in politics for to say the least rare
Perhaps only cynical women in politics can hope to survive
In a game where negativity and cynicism is very much alive
And if wise women led Governments there would not be wars and terrorism and less of poverty
And far more compassion and understanding that leads to harmony.
poem by Francis Duggan
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And not only my own brothers and sisters agreed so but my brothers and sisters in law; and their children, although but young, had the like agreeable natures and affectionate dispositions.
quote by Margaret Cavendish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What children know (understand)
Children know laughter
They know tears
Children know peace
They know chaos
Children know acceptance
They know rejection
Children know joy
They know pain
Children know abundance
They know lack
Children know health
They know illness
Children know fulfillment
They know emptiness
Children know hope
They know dismay
Children know love
They know hatred
What they don’t know is WHY!
poem by Namie Elisha
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The Wood-Nymph
-After a picture by Burne Jones-
The green leaves, ah, the green leaves cover me:
Would I might lose this unloved human life
And share the happy being of the leaves!
For lo, they live and grow and drink the sun
And sip the nectar of the heavenly showers
And have no sorrow with it; but they grow
Happily, and Pan at even blesses them.
While I, alas me hapless, I am joined
Part to their life, and all in longing to them;
Part to the gods, the bright gods whom I see
Flash through the woods at even or morn, and make
The beautiful familiar trees seem strange;
And part to mortals and their little life.
Green leaves that cover me, to you I mourn,
My sisters, my more happy sisters, ye
Rustle, rustle in the summer air,
With happy cries of birds among your boughs:
Be happy, though I am not happy. Nay,
I am not all unhappy, evermore.
One while a bird sings on the topmost bough
And my heart sings, forgetting life and death
And sorrow: so forgetting I were blest,
And bliss the gods deny me. When they walk
The forest before sundawn--Artemis,
Girt for the chase and followed by her hounds,
Queen Herê or another, ere the dawn,
Or Aphrodite with the rosy dawn--
I may not speak my longings, but they pass,
Pass unregardful to their happy heaven.
They see me not--not me, akin to Gods!
These tears are vain.--When mortals pass at eve,
Treading a delicate path between the trees,
Pale mortal men and women, with their loves--
It pains me that I see them, for I know
I am not as they are, and cannot share
The little love that fills their little life--
Vain, vain; and they too pass and see me not.
Ah me, dear leaves, forsaken of gods and men,
And sad because I cannot live their life,
Will you not love me whom none others love?
Will you not teach me how to live your life,
My sisters, my more happy sisters?--live
In peace and quietness and still content,
And freshen and fade and freshen and have no care
And have no longing, full of peace to live,
Forgetting thus for ever life and death
And Gods and men and sorrow and delight.
poem by Arthur Symons
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We Would All Be Brothers and Sisters
We would all be Brothers and Sisters
In my perfect world there would be no war
People would communicate, and work their problems out diplomatically
All nations would be allies
People would wear smiles
And no one would ever know what a gun was
We would all be brothers and sisters
In my perfect world there would be no racism
People would be judged based on the content of their character
We would all hold hands
We would all be friends
We would all be brothers and sisters
In my perfect world there would be no heart ache
Families would love unconditionally
Lost love would become friendship
Friends would have no troubles, only fun
And no one would ever be lonely
We would all be brothers and sisters
In my perfect world there would be no worry
There would be no wars
There would be no racism
There would be no heart ache
There would only be occasional tears of joy
We would all hold hands together, as brothers and sisters
poem by Marie Souline
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Villanelle: Blest Art the Poor
God keeps me better than many others!
And yet, I seem very dissatisfied;
I envy my poorer sisters, brothers!
Despite their troubles, nothing them bothers;
They seem to wear a smile on sad a face;
God keeps me better than many others!
Neither the sun or moon or rain or cold matters;
They laugh away their problems most, always.
I envy my poorer sisters, brothers!
Some shelterless do wear clothes in tatters;
Their children play amusing all in ways.
God keeps me better than many others!
They bathe happily in river-waters;
They play in mud and run in sand a race.
I envy my poorer sisters, brothers!
The forests give them wood, berries, feathers;
No grief or strife can halt their living pace.
God keeps me better than many others!
I envy my poorer sisters, brothers!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-28-2005
(my first villanelle)
poem by John Celes
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Better Brothers and Sisters
we were
brothers and sisters
even before we were born
these physiques
they are superb
instruments
a bonus for games
sensual, pleasure
triumph, losses
tears, laughters
we all throw away
the temporary masks
after our adventures
to be better brothers and sisters
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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