masses.

                                           Image courtesy of We Are In The Crowd.

      Listening to the venom spewing from the mouths of our lords and masters that frequent The Westminster Houses of Hypocrisy and Corruption, at those on strike for a decent life, such as holding the country to ransom, playing into Putin's hands. We should perhaps remind them of the irrefutable truth. Those on strike and all other workers built this world by sweat and blood, theirs and the forbearers. It's time we took it back.

image courtesy of The Manchester Evening News.

 

 WE THE LABOURING MASSES.

We the people have, every brick laid,
have fed the world with sweat and spade,
every instrument played in every band
created by the skill of the craftsman's hand.
We made every truck and every load,
our toil our effort every winding road,
every ship that ever sailed the sea,
our power our imagination made it be.
Cities and towns large and small,
our labouring hands fashioned them all,
every home, every spire,
luxury mansion or humble byre.
No matter what dreams the mind might spawn
without labour's hand, never see the light of dawn,
without labour's strength and labour's skill,
we would be foraging beasts in a jungle still. 

Image courtesy of The Guardian. 

 

Visit ann arky's home at https://spiritofrevolt.info  

We The Labouring Masses.

         I recently received a comment from a comrade, Loam, on a piece I wrote, Organise, Prepare, Act. "Turn off the damn computers, phones and televisions. Turn off cars, turn off lights. Turn off everything ... Keep silent, stay still, invisible, uncontrolled ... The masses become invisible to their exploiters. The streets, the shops, the buses, the subway ... nobody. The system is nothing without us, the people." A fact that doesn't seem to come to the forefront of most people's minds, we are the power, we have all the power that keeps this stinking system alive, we have the power to shut it down. Without us the system wouldn't exist, we can stop it at will, and that's the point, we have to realise we can stop this insanity and summon up the will to do so. We should remember----

WE THE LABOURING MASSES.

We the people have, every brick laid,
have fed the world with sweat and spade,
every instrument played in every band
created by the skill of the craftsman's hand.
We made every truck and every load,
our toil our effort every winding road,
every ship that ever sailed the sea,
our power our imagination made it be.
Cities and towns large and small,
our labouring hands fashioned them all,
every home, every spire,
luxury mansion or humble byre.
No matter what dreams the mind might spawn
without labour's hand, never see the light of dawn,
without labour's strength and labour's skill,
we would be foraging beasts in a jungle still.

Visit ann arky's home at https://radicalglasgow.me.uk

I Am The Owner Of Everything.

 

Labourers after dinner, artist JM Johnstone, 1895.

        Poetry is a wonderful way to speak the truth, to express emotion, to paint a picture, to say so much without filling pages and pages, it is that halfway place between conversation and music. On the same theme as a previous post, for those who don't read the comments, I believe this is worthy of repeating, thanks Loam.

I am the owner of everything

I am the owner of everything,
but I never got anything.
I make light and I make fire,
I push the wind and the water.

My hands to the wood
They make it do wonders.
I'm the one who tempers the steel
and who casts the seed.

I make the chair and the table
and I have no where to sit.
Finally, I dont even have
the right to get tired.

I do palaces, and my children
sleep in tin shacks.
I am hammer, ax and tong,
clip, spoon and hoe.

I am the owner of everything
but I never got anything.
The day I say enough!,
flares will burn!

                                                               - Horacio Guarany
____________________________

Original version:
Yo soy el dueño de todo

Yo soy el dueño de todo,
pero nunca tengo nada.
Yo hago la luz, hago el fuego,
hago el viento y hago el agua.

Mis manos a la madera
le hacen hacer maravillas.
Yo soy quien tiempla el acero
y quien echa la semilla.

Yo hago la silla y la mesa
y no tengo ’onde sentarme.
Total, si ya no me queda
ni el derecho de cansarme.

Yo hago el palacio, y mis hijos
duermen en ranchos de lata.
Soy martillo, hacha, tenaza,
pinza, cuchara y azada.

Yo soy el dueño de todo
pero nunca tengo nada.
¡El día que yo me canse,
van a arder las llamaradas!

                                                   - Horacio Guarany

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

We The Labouring Masses.

     What insanity we tolerate, we who create everything, live with poverty continually knocking at our door, and those who create nothing wallow in unimaginable wealth, and splendour. We sweat and toil to feed an army of parasites. From the fishing boat, to the super luxury yacht, from the football stadium to the lakeside mansion, we created them. Then because of some totally irrational line of thought, we hand them to the do nothing brigade, who grow fatter and fatter on our sweat.

 

WE THE LABOURING MASSES.

We the people have, every brick laid,

have fed the world with sweat and spade,

every instrument played in every band

created by the skill of the craftsman's hand.

We made every truck and every load,

our toil our effort every winding road,

every ship that ever sailed the sea,

our power our imagination made it be.

Cities and towns large and small,

our labouring hands fashioned them all,

every home, every spire,

luxury mansion or humble byre.

No matter what dreams the mind might spawn

without labour's hand they'll never see the light of dawn,

without labour's strength and labour's skill,

we would be foraging beasts in a jungle still.

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

Without Our Labour, Nothing.

Time for a wee poem.

We The Labouring Mass

We the people have, every brick laid,

have fed the world with sweat and spade,

every instrument played in every band

created by the skill of the craftsman's hand.

We made every truck and every load,

our toil our effort every winding road,

every ship that ever sailed the sea,

our power our imagination made it be.

Cities and towns large and small,

our labouring hands fashioned them all,

every home, every spire,

luxury mansion or humble byre.

No matter what dreams the mind might spawn

without labour's hand they'll never see the dawn,

without labour's strength and labour's skill,

we would be foraging beasts in a jungle still.

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