Without Us.

Without Us.

You, yes you in your Armani suit and Gucci watch,

don't judge me by the label on my shirt.

I've no need for labels,

my worth is etched on my face,

emgraved on my hands.

I'm the power that tore roads through mountains

dragged logs across the earth.

Brick by brick

these hands built your "DESIRABLE RESIDENCE",

your "EXCLUSIVE RESTAURANT".

My sister made your fancy suit,

What we create we can destroy

and recreate for ourselves.

Don't you know,

without us,

you stand cold, hungry, naked?

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

Never Rise Off Their Arse.

Rebel Tam.

When rebel Tam was in the pit

He tholed the very pangs o' Hell

In fechtin' for the rights o' Man,

And ga'e nae thoucht unto himsel'.

"If I was in Parliament,

By God!" he vowed, "they soon would hear

The trumpet-ca' o' Revolution

Blastin' in their ear!"

Noo he is there, back-bench Tam,

And listens daily to the farce

O' Tweedledum and Tweedledee,

And never rises off his arse.  

Joe Corrie.

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

I'm Proud.

What I think.

I’m Proud

I’m proud of my people, proud to be one of them,

that great mass on society’s bottom rung.

Those who, with coal-dust under their nails

in their eyes, in their lungs

claw at the earths entrails.

Their brothers,

cement in their hair

in their mouth, in their ears,

oil ingrained in their fingers,

on their face.

Sisters, glistening with sweat

midst the ceaseless noise of machines

that throw out shirts, shoes, toys, carpets

for other people.

Those with soil and sweat stuck to their skin

smelling of the earth, feeding the multitude,

grinding out their lives in a harsh pitiless system

weighted down

with a sack load of half-dead dreams,

sometimes brought to their knees

by a tidal wave of despair,

never defeated,

groping in the dark to find tomorrow,

keeping hope alive;

they amaze me.

Somehow, from somewhere

in this cold, cruel

unforgiving scheme of things

they find love for their children.

Not a teaspoonful, not a cupful,

but buckets full, to bathe them in,

to pour over them.

They seem to know

that one day this world will be ours

and to take care of it

we will need those who have been loved.

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

The Clutha And John McGarrigle.

       By now everybody will have heard the tragic news of the police helicopter crashing onto the roof of the Clutha pub in Glasgow. All our thoughts, for some considerable time, will stay with all those friends and relatives of the injured and the dead. The Clutha along with the Scotia, just across the road, were much more than places for a drink, together they formed an institution, an oasis of poetry, music, debate, banter and laughter. Those who visited either of them once, usually became life members of both, you could slip seamlessly from one to the other, perhaps even several times in a night. I was a great fan of the Scotia poetry nights, and it was there that I met John McGarrigle. John didn't have an easy life, but he lived it with energy. I always thought that in his poetry, he could capture the full spectrum of human emotions, he could come up with the witty, ridiculously funny, stupidly funny and the profoundly moving. Sadly he will write no more, as John was one of those who died in that dreadful event. 

Old Young Man.

Unemployment. Rising prices

Never bothered me before

Now, struggling for subsistance

I slowly realised my wasted years

steeped in ignorance

The brashness of youth has gone

Leaving behind an emptiness

not easy to define

Old before my time

I yearn for contentment

Where has the young lad gone

That angry young man

That shook his fist in careless anger

At any unfair society?

Shall we ever see him again

Write Nice Things.

last night

as I sat by my typewriter

a junkie 

climbed in my window,

I was writing a poem

a very interesting little poem

about a flower that I'd seen

that day,

the junkie battered my wife

stole all of our money

and when he left

took with him

my television set

and my hi fi unit,

this unfortunate little incident

rather disturbed me

it really put me off writing

my little poem

about the birds and bees

and the flower that I'd seen

so, I wrote about the wind and the trees

instead

Two of John's poems from his little book, Glasgow's McGarrigle. Fat Cat Publications, ISBN 187 1009 014

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

GREAT OAK TREES FROM LITTLE ACORNS GROW!!

         Glasgow's Occupy protest at George Square on October 15, probably wasn't the biggest in the world, but never the less it was passionate. Speaking to different individuals and groups, the same thing came through, the system wasn't working, it was a rip-off, it was corrupt. They all wanted a change, though most weren't quite sure what that change should be, just that it should be a fairer system that saw to the people's needs and not those of the corporate or financial world. Most had no faith in any of the political parties and didn't trust them to bring about the desired change. In spite of Glasgow's cold and damp ground there were those who seemed quite determined to camp out in October, on the Square's inhospitable grass.

Though Glasgow's protest was small it should be remember that this is the first time in the history of the human race that there has been a protest in practically every city on the planet at the same time, on the same matter, all with the same desire, to change a corrupt system. Obviously the people are waking up to the fact that this world-wide corporate system does not work in their favour and has to be changed. By communicating and staying clear of political parties, they will arrive at how they want to change it and with growing numbers, co-operation and solidarity between the various groups and individuals involved, nothing on the planet can stop them.

Great oak trees from little acorns grow!!

FIRES OF THE FUTURE.

I

am fire,

I surge, I hiss,

sometimes bursting forth in a flame

that lights up the world

illuminating unimagined dreams.

Then the black cloak

blankets out the glow.

Again all is dark,

but, still

beneath the surface

I surge, I hiss,

I endure, waiting, seeking,

building up pressure.

One day I will explode

destroying forever

the Tartarean crust of oppression.

I am fire,

I am the people.

ann arky's home.

THEY HAVE EARNED DEFEAT!!

         We are an unbeatable force, governed by consent, we have the right to withdraw that consent, and when we do, we are ungovernable, our lives will be ours to live.

Source untraced, yet.

FIRES OF THE FUTURE.

I

am fire,

I surge, I hiss,

sometimes bursting forth in a flame

that lights up the world

illuminating unimagined dreams.

Then the black cloak

blankets out the glow.

Again all is dark,

but, still

beneath the surface

I surge, I hiss,

I endure, waiting, seeking,

building up pressure.

One day I will explode

destroying forever

the Tartarean crust of oppression.

I am fire,

I am the people.

ann arky's home.