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This section will be a showcase for socialist poetry by both famous poets, and those yet to become renowned for their poetry! Submit you favorites or original work to info@newyouth.com!!! Online Socialist Poetry Magazines Poetry by famous socialists Poetry by YFISers Poetry by others
The Fire Comrade JMVogel I Am The Clouds And The SKY Mohammad J. Alam There Is Power In A Union Billy Bragg Honour To Labour In Memory Of The Paris Commune, Born March 18, 1871, Me daddy said to me, 'The time has come, me bonny bonny bairn To learn your ABC'. Now daddy was a Lodge Chairman In the coalfields of the Tyne, From the Enid Blyton kind. And that ABC was different He sang; A is for Alienation that made me the man that I am and B's for the Boss, who's a bastard, a bourgeois who don't give a damn. C is for Capitalism, the boss's reactionary creed and D's for Dictatorship, laddie, but the best proletarian breed. E is for Exploitation, that the workers have suffered so long; and F is for old Ludwig Feuerbach, the first one to see it was wrong. G is for all Gerrymanderers, like Lord Muck and Sir Whatsisname, and H is the Hell that they'll go to, when the workers have kindledthe flame. I is for Imperialism, and America's kind is the worst, and J is for sweet Jingoism, that the Tories all think of first. K is for good old Keir Hardie, who fought out the working class fight and L is for Vladimir Lenin, who showed him the Left was all right. M is of course for Karl Marx, the daddy and the mammy of them all, and N is for Nationalisation, without it we'd crumble and fall. O is for Overproduction that capitalist economy brings, and P is for Private Property, the greatest of all of the sins. Q is for the Quid pro quo, that we'll deal out so well and so soon, when R for Revolution is shouted and the Red Flag becomes the top tune. S is for sad Stalinism, that gave us all such a bad name, and T is for Trotsky the hero, who had to take all of the blame. U's for the Union of workers, the Union will stand to the end, and V is for Vodka, yes, Vodka, the one drink that don't bring the bends. W is for all Willing workers, and that's where the memory fades, for X, Y and Z, me dear daddy said, will be written on the street barricades. But now that I'm not a little tiny boy, Me daddy says to me, 'Please try to forget the things I said, Especially the ABC.' For daddy's no longer a Union man, And he's had to change his plea. His alphabet is different now, Since they made him a Labour MP. Alex Glasgow There are five thousand of us herein this little part of the city. We are five thousand. I wonder how many we are in all In the cities and in the whole country? Here alone are ten thousand hands which plant seeds and make the factories run. How much humanity exposed to hunger, cold, panic, pain moral pressures, terror and insanity? Six of us were lost as if into starry space. One dead, another beaten as I could never have believed a human being could be beaten. The other four wanted to end their terror - one jumping into nothingness, another beating his head against a wall, but all with the fixed look of death. What horror the face of fascism creates! They carry out their plans with knife-like precision. Nothing matters to them. For them blood equals medals, slaughter is an act of heroism. Oh God, is this the world that you created? For this, your seven days of wonder and work? Within these four walls only a number exists which does not progress. Which slowly will wish more and more for death. But suddenly my conscience awakes and I see this tide with no heartbeat, only the pulse of machines and the military showing their midwives' faces full of sweetness Let Mexico, Cuba and the world cry out against this atrocity! We are ten thousand hands which can produce nothing. How many of us in the whole country? The blood of our companero Presidente will strike with more strength than bombs and machine guns! So will our fist strike again. How hard it is to sing When I sing a song of horror. Horror which I am living Horror which I am dying. To see myself among so much and so many moments of infinity in which silence and screams are the end of my song. What I see I have never seen What I have felt and what I feel will give birth to the moment...... |
