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Shepherds, cobblers, carpenters and joiners of all creeds and worldly dreamers
You troubled souls, the brittle spirits drinking spirits cleaner
Taunted workers of yore, farmers gone and industries endowed
Disseminating futures, who's gonna build your ***** barrels now?
**** it, I'm going to work in a call center
Continuing clearing my notebooks. I think this one was supposed to be inspired by the death of coal industry and other types of jobs going extinct, but I am not sure anymore.


Hard workers
are only rewarded by

...


more hard work.


But I hope that it will all pay off in the end.
anotherken Jan 22
Call it the most vile evil thing,
Call it what you want, it's still waiting,
Waiting to be put up once again.

The red flag of worker utopia,
The change for a capitalist dystopia.
What we need: a permanent revolution.

Where the term of rich and poor are free;
Here, we share our rewards equally!
Is it not the most ideal thing?

Coal is shovelled all as one,
Laziness is easily frowned upon.
Where people unite and work hard.

No more rich; no more poor.
Where we live by shovel and lure,
Where we die equal and pure.

In practice, yes, it may fail.
But in due time, we'll all follow the trail
To a utopia, filled with red and yellow.

Call me a fool, I may be a dull tool.
But I stand by my dreams, we'll start anew.
A permanent revolution for us all.
I believe in a permanent revolution.
de Negre Oct 2018
from his hand, the cotton folded,
and from hers, she spun rough string.
then from his, the letters bolded,
but from her tongue no songs to sing.

from his heart, he felt no pumping
her cuts and scrapes had not left marks,
from the wheel, he heard the thumping,
from her eyes, she looked as stark.

their posture spoke obedience,
with feet and arms that hurt as such,
in their thoughts, all fists were clenched,
though their souls felt cold to touch.

from his hand, the paper stolen,
and from hers, the same, again,
and in his mouth, the gums were swollen,
her eyes, a place always like fen.

“respect” their cold leader once said,
“is what you ought to have.”
their labor left them feeling dead,
and for this, he had no salve.

from the thread they harvested,
they sewed him his expensive clothes,
and once the laborers felt bested,
he raised his hand, more came in droves.
laborers and slaves built america
Steve Jun 2018
Tired of living in a false paradise of consumption,
suffering everyday our labored prostitution,
trade in your hours for a handful of scraps,
smile while your master puts the cigar out on your back,
this is the workers symphony,
aching joints, aching psyche,
smothered with whiskey to **** the pain,
our autonomous freedom we'll never regain,
slave till you die, laugh till it hurts, your meaning in life, to merely survive,
collect your checks week after week, creative minds stomped out, just smile and drink,
be a good slave except your fate,
it's just the way it is boy get back in your place,
we gravel in dispair, they spit in our face,
we waste our lives away,
on our hands and knees we just smile and drink,
thinking about breaking these chains,
it's punishable by law,
authority laughs when you die slow for your keep,
with your eyes wide shut,
don't wake your slumber,  
it's all a bad dream,
just go back to sleep,
and forget life's blunder
Born May 5, 1818, in Trier Germany
     to Heinrich and Henrietta Marx,
sans the third of nine children
     (and second oldest heir)

     Karl Marx thinking begot incendiary sparks,
asper his two most controversial publications
     titled The Communist Manifesto,
     and Das Kapital

which political philosophy
     incubating seeds of self destruction didst birth
doctrines of class struggle,
     historical materialism, dearth

of equitable wealth, and inherent
     contradictions of industrial capital
     distributed unevenly
     across avast swath of Earth

thus inviting his perspective
     (conveniently exploited,
     mined, and usurped) advocating
     the working class (proletariat)

     to expedite organized revolutionary action
to topple capitalism and bring about
     socio-economic emancipation,
where wages of sin exchanged for labor bled

fingers to the bone life source, viz proletariat
     till slaving laborer nearly became gratefully dead  
despite being cased in 12 point
     Times New Roman garb, who incessantly fed

insatiably maws of production,
     (no way to get a supportive talking head)
particularly highlighted
     within schema of Capitalism),

     a predominant paradigm
     stratifying society led
to internal tensions engendered
     between bourgeoisie red

dilly controlling means
     of production codified as said
as die a critical approach Marx coined
     as historical materialism,

    where figurative landmines forced one to tread
gingerly, thus above stated philosophy
     would supposedly lead down the road
     where self destruction wrought marriage
     birthing Socialism offspring from shot gun wed

     ding, thus coaxing eventual establishment
of classless communist society meant
to establish free association of producers who spent
exchanging merchandise amidst classless
     campy population hood pitched a tent.
solfang Jan 2018
words,
do you know
how toxic you sounded?
it was your spirit of anger;
distinguishable amongst
your flaming passion
of your career.

words,
do you know how
you made a maiden
cry in a filthy land;
and because of your ego,
you have used the kingdom
for your battles without
clear victories.

your words.
they hurt.
sword-wounds
would probably
feel better than
your words.
My team and I were badly critiqued by one of our colleagues for our work performances. His words were unprofessionally said. It felt like a personal attack as I played a huge role in the teamwork. But it didn't affect him – but all of us.

I really felt like quitting my job that instance.
Ksjpari Aug 2017
In the month of July during whirlpool
A Legacy was born to challenge a fool
Who in sphere of market did money drool.
As all feast and dance and sing in yule
Many people like Vipul, Maulik and Sanket rule
Over minds of customers who remain very cool
In our D-Mart which served as a perfect tool,
Come and join the ever-widening D-Mart Whirlpool.
All - cashier, attendants, owners, sweepers - pull
Praise, sympathy, good words and have globule.
There are many wicked, old, shrewd ghoul
Who conspire against you O! D-Mart, My soul!
ACs, clean floor, smiling faces and nature cool ;
Bhaiya, didi, managers, workers, watchmen Spool
Are the real source of income than other tool,
Come and join the ever-widening D-Mart whirlpool.
Future is bright of D-Mart with such module,
It also includes good products, service Gruel.
No judge can verdict anything like rice overrule
Or China food item never finds in its pool;
Clean and healthy food items, fine variety gul
And great discount on many items that ridicule
Those who conspire despise it for its fame and tool,
Come and join the ever-winding D-Mart whirlpool.
I am developing a new style of writing poetry where ending words of a line rhyme with one another, at least in last sound. I named it Pari Style. Hope readers will like it. Thanks to those invisible hands and fingers which supported and inspired me to continue my efforts in my new, creative, artistic and innovative “Pari” style.
Sunil Sharma Apr 2017
A few drivers,
mid-summer afternoon

lean against the divider,
paint peeling

some perch on it lightly---
indulge in hot group-talk;

the waltzing-shadow
of a banyan tree
opposite side of the
auto-rickshaw stand---

a street-art, delicate, dark-hued;

the phantom arms
hug
the disparate crew
in a tight family-embrace,
its breath tousling their hair

and it---
protects them from
the Mumbai heat!
@Sunil Sharma
A real scene witnessed and then embellished.
Ormond Mar 2017
.
Slaving for wage,
Lungs fired by ****
Crumbled in pockets
Asked for in alleys
And never returned
To people who give
Without question
As their own nation
Shuns them clearly
As their dream beacons
All souls to a new kind
Of slavery, so silky
That oil forgives, oily,
All oppressions black
Endless, perpetual wars
That the slick tongued
Are singing for, more
Deaths in faraway
Places, thirty pieces
Of silver for immortal
Judas, thirsty for bane
Vengeance on innocence
Insanity by a rope on tree
Familiar strangers who hate
Blinded by signs and seals
Corrupted in a makeshift Eden
That they themselves have
Soiled, spoiled, laid barren
By the polluted streams,
In the bigoted townships
Yea, there shall be order
Left off in a barren field
And all shall see my flag
Holey in my tattered jeans.
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