Seeds Ye Sow.

        Perhaps, if anybody feels they need it, that today's struggles of the ordinary people for justice, freedom and equality, has been one continuous struggle for many generations, these few verses might support that proof. We can perhaps forgive Percy Bysshe Shelley for the hint of patriotism in the title of this piece, but the sentiment is universal, and the content of the poem/song, is the problem we have to solve. Three verses from Men of England, by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

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 hall ye deck another dwells.
Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see
The steel ye tempered glance on ye.

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There Will Come A Time---

         A corrupt government, so what's new, across this ailing planet, people are governed by despot dictators, moronic monarchs, unbalanced and  irrational presidents, and corrupt governments, that is the norm. This results in misery, poverty, repression and endless wars, for the ordinary people, so that these degenerate cabals can hold onto their wealth, power, unearned and undeserved privileges. When will the fury of the people erupt, when will that subservience explode, tearing apart these edifices of exploitation and corruption? For how much longer will we hand this legacy to our grandchildren. Are we going to continue to wait for that legion of Messiahs to come along and rub some soothing balm on our chains, and then be forever grateful? Shelley said it, "Ye are many, they are few", we are governed by consent, that governing is killing us, we can withdraw our consent. Thanks for the link Loam.

There Will Come a Time

There will come a time when the hordes remember,

who bound our grand-parents to the yoke of oppression,

who sentenced our parents to deprivation,

who bid poverty sink its teeth into our heart,

who teach our children, greed is a noble art.

Who sent our sons through the gates of hell

to a litany of cambist brawls,

crammed coffers with blood-stained gold

while laughing in Ares’ halls.

“Who does these terrible things to us?” they will ask,

and when they remember,

they’ll bring an energy that is endless

to drive a fist that is fearless.

Then this merciless market-driven world will crumble

under an insurrection of integrity,

the poor will emerge from the dark husk of capitalism

to live in the light of social justice.

There will come a time when the hordes remember.

If not now, when, if not us, who? 

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Like Lions After Slumber.

         The capitalist world seems to be in perpetual change, but no matter how it changes, some things remain as constant, exploitation, injustice and inequality. However, the divisions have become clearer, the lines more clearly drawn, which side to choose has become simpler. We are witnessing a world of greed and inequality laid bare, the façade has fallen, the illusion is melting into a thin haze.
       The dreams we have held in our hearts for generations are now being seen as possible, seen as the only answer, the only way. The debating should be over, it is time to gather your friends, step outside the ”economy” create communes in the cities, in the valleys and the fields, link your communities through bonds of mutual aid. Each creaking capitalist crisis, widens our path, re-enforces our dream, opens opportunities.
        It is now obvious the we, the ordinary people, must put ourselves on a war footing and accept the we are fighting a class war we can’t afford to lose, and act accordingly. If we win, the world is ours, to fashion as we wish, to see to the needs of all our people. If we lose, we remain on our knees, in servitude to corporate capital, and will hand that legacy to our children and grandchildren.

The Mask Of Anarchy. 

'rise like lions after slumber

 In unvanquishable number, 

Shake your chains to earth like dew 

Which in sleep had fallen on you --

 Ye are many -- they are few. 

 `What is Freedom? -- ye can tell 

That which slavery is, too well -- 

For its very name has grown 

To an echo of your own.

'Tis to work and have such pay 

As just keeps life from day to day 

In your limbs, as in a cell 

For the tyrants' use to dwell, 

`So that ye for them are made 

Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade,

 With or without your own will bent 

To their defence and nourishment.

Percy Bysshe Shelley.

The Sacrificed, On War's Red Altar Lie.

      To mark Remembrance Day, with an abhorrence of war, and all those who plan, engineer and profit from its vile destructive power, two short passages from the recently re-discovered Political Essay by the young Percy Bysshe Shelley. One the first passage, the second is the last passage from the poem. 

DESTRUCTION marks thee! o’er the blood-stain’d heath
Is faintly borne the stifled wail of death;
Millions to fight compell’d, to fight or die
In mangled heaps on War's red altar lie.
The sternly wise, the mildly good, have sped
To the unfruitful mansions of the dead

Oppressive law no more shall power retain,
Peace, love, and concord, once shall rule again,
And heal the anguish of a suffering world;
Then, then shall things, which now confusedly hurled,
Seem Chaos, be resolved to order’s sway,
And errors night be turned to virtue’s day.

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What Is Freedom?

   To all the the world, seasons greetings from Percy Bysshe Shelley:

XXXVIII
'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you-
Ye are many-they are few.

XXXIX.
'What is Freedom?-ye can tell
That which slavery is, too well-
For its very name has grown
To an echo of your own.

XL.
''Tis to work and have such pay
As just keeps life from day to day
In your limbs, as in a cell
For the tyrants' use to dwell,

XLI.
'So that ye for them are made
Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade,
With or without your own will bent
To their defence and nourishment.

XLII.
''Tis to see your children weak
With their mothers pine and peak,
When the winter winds are bleak,-
They are dying whilst I speak.

XLIII.
''Tis to hunger for such diet
As the rich man in his riot
Casts to the fat dogs that lie
Surfeiting beneath his eye;

XLIV.
''Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
Take from Toil a thousandfold
More than e'er its substance could
In the tyrannies of old.

XLV.
'Paper coin-that forgery
Of the title-deeds, which ye
Hold to something of the worth
Of the inheritance of Earth.

XLVI.
''Tis to be a slave in soul
And to hold no strong control
Over your own wills, but be
All that others make of ye.

XLVII.
'And at length when ye complain
With a murmur weak and vain
'Tis to see the Tyrant's crew
Ride over your wives and you-
Blood is on the grass like dew.

XLVIII.
'Then it is to feel revenge
Fiercely thirsting to exchange
Blood for blood-and wrong for wrong-
Do not thus when ye are strong.

Excerpt from The Mask of Anarchy.

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I Will Inherit The Earth.

 

A wee message from the inner sanctum of my strange mind.

 Marginalised.

You cannot rob me, I have nothing

You cannot treat me like a dog, you already made me less than a dog

You cannot drive me to the abyss, I am already there

You cannot betray me, more than I have been betrayed

You cannot take my life, I have no life

When I breathe, you will tremble

When I awake, you shall not sleep

When I walk, you will know fear

When I rise, you will fall

I am dangerous, destructible, fearless, I am the marginalised

I will inherit the earth.

And from Percy Bysshe Shelley:

“Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number-
Shake your chains to earth like
dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you
Ye are many-they are few.”

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk