Verse

Joe Hill

Joe Hill was a Swedish-American labour activist and songwriter, a member and troubadour of the Industrial Workers of the World. Framed for robbery and murder he was executed by firing squad in November 1915. A decade later, this verse appeared in Labour Defender, monthly magazine of the International Labour Defence. High, head and back unbending—fearless and true, Into the night unending; why was it you? Heart that was quick with song, torn with their lead; Life that was young and strong, shattered and dead. Singer of manly songs, laughter and tears; Singer of Labor's wrongs, joys, hopes and...

55 The Broadway (the sell)

HOTEL HERITAGE: 55,BROADWAY.

80 years, this Art Deco building overlooked the tides of Westminster.
Stream streets slipping onto Victoria,
Stratton Ground, Petty France and Brewer Street.
Her faces, front, back and side, sanguine maps at the wakening day,
The swell and brim of traffic,
And tangle...

Hymn of the warmonger

Gun God, we are nearly ready for the sacrifice. How many millions it shall be we do not know: But it shall be considerable. We shall dig them from the cities Ere the grime is from their face Ere the ink is from their fingers You shall have them All the strata in a bundle Slums and all. They're a holocaust for you, Gun God. Do they tremble at the ordeal before them? No, They are preoccupied with trifles. Like young mice they will nibble at our cheese: delicious, intoxicating cheese, having nothing at all to do with traps. A national cheese. You shall have them from the fields, Fresh and brown...

Clément Méric — ni oubli, ni pardon!

On Wednesday 5 June, a young student militant in Paris, Clément Méric, was shopping with his friends. They had an exchange with some individuals who were members of far right organisations who later on confronted Clément and his friends. They severely beat Clément, using a knuckle duster. He was knocked unconscious, and after being hospitalised, was pronounced brain dead. This is a tragedy, and heartbreaking. Our condolences go to Clément’s family and his friends. Clément was 19 years old, studying political science at university. He was known for being calm and thoughtful. He was interested...

'Labour'

While the ages changed and sped I was tolling for my bread. Underneath my sturdy blows Forests fell and cities rose. And the hard reluctant soil Blossomed richly from my toil. Palaces and temples grand Wrought I with my cunning hand. Rich indeed was my reward— Stunted soul and body scarred With the marks of scourge und rod. I, the tiller of the sod, From the cradle to the grave Shambled through the world—a slave. Crushed and trampled, beaten, cursed, Serving best, but served the worst, Starved and cheated, gouged and spoiled. Still I builded, still I toiled, Undernourished, underpaid In the...

'The Pickets'

Like a roll of distant thunder The pickets tramp their beat. And our slave enshackled brothers Can hear their marching feet. Even as the guns of Sumter* Belched harbingers of doom. For a system long out-moded And consigned it to its tomb Mark the surging ranks of freemen! Oh! Hark ye to their songs! Flung against the walls of plunder. Assailing ancient wrongs Mighty is their righteous anger, And terrible their wrath! They,the fighting hope of millions Who tread the union path Naught can stay eventual victory Or madmen hope to ban— Culmination of our triumph. The Brotherhood of Man! *Fort...

The True Prison

Ken Saro-Wiwa was a writer and activist. He was one of the leaders of the Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People, a community-rights and environmental movement which challenged the power of oil companies and the Nigerian government. In 1994, the Nigerian government launched a concerted offensive against the Ogoni people to make the region safe for oil multinationals. 3,000 people were killed. In 1995, Ken Saro-Wiwa was executed by the Nigerian government. His poem The True Prison bases itself on a recurring and striking anti-capitalist trope —that actual prisons are merely reflections...

"I am the people"

I am the people—the mob—the crowd the mass. Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me? I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world's food and clothes. I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons come from me and the Licolns. They die. And then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns. I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand for much plowing. Terrible storms pass over me. I for- get. The best of me is sucked out and wasted. Everything but Death comes to me and makes me work and give up what I have. And I forget. Sometimes I growl...

Respect for the dead

Janine Booth is a member of the Rail, Maritime and Transport (RMT) union Executive and Workers’ Liberty. She has written and performed poetry for many years. She wrote this piece in response to the death of Margaret Thatcher. Respect for the dead Today I mourn the passing of those who deserve our tears The many many victims of Margaret Thatcher’s years The teenage generation, hopes destroyed without a care Like jobless Sean and Raffy*, who ended lives filled with despair Derelict inner cities where hopelessness was rife Miners who lost their jobs, their communities and some their life The...

Reckoning Song

Samiya Bashir’s poem stakes a claim to universal access to joy and freedom. It takes the form of a series of questions, but there are no question marks, and the lack of the formal interrogative turns the poem from a tentative wondering into a series of demands for the way things should be. Samiya Bashir is an African-American poet born in Somalia and the founder of “Fire & Ink”, an organisation supporting and promoting the work of LGBT writers of African descent. Several of her poems appear on her website as photo-art pieces. We reproduce “Reckoning Song” here as it appears on her site. For...

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