I Will Raise My Voice

I Will Raise My Voice (My first poem every publish by Tim Hall of Struggle Magazine)

 

David Smith he was a good friend of mine

He worked next to me on the assembly line

He said his goal was to set man free

I won’t sell my soul to the factory

Oh yes my name is David Smith

I’ll give my life if it comes down to it

 

And as we worked all day long

He would softly sing this song

I will raise my voice until they hear

I will raise my voice I’ll have no fear

I will raise my voice both day and night

I will raise my voice till they see the light

 

After work sometimes we would go to the café

Dave would speak wonders of a better day

Capitalism is crazy with greed insane

The rich get richer the poor get pain

But the workers one day will unite

And the workers will make it right

 

And between drinks of domestic beer

A soft song I would hear clear

I will raise my voice until they hear

I will raise my voice I’ll have no fear

I will raise my voice both day and night

I will raise my voice till they see the light

 

Well Dave hated the union he hated the job

He hated the rich and he hated the mob

I don’t know who but some one did poor Dave in

When I heard I cursed and said what a sin

And when I was at the grave saying goodbye

I just couldn’t help but to cry

 

And as they lowered him in the ground

The wind blew a familiar sound

I will raise my voice until they hear

I will raise my voice I’ll have no fear

I will raise my voice both day and night

I will raise my voice till they see the light 

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Facing Fifty

 Facing Fifty

 

Fifty

Half a century

Less on my head

More on my behind

Less ahead, more behind,

Talking about my walk

Years, tears, fears

Seriously contemplating the end

Thinking about my friends

Where they are?

Near or far?

Mourning mom and dad

The best I had

Understanding what really matters

Love, family, righteousness

Some bitter bones underneath

A couple of crappy teeth

Haven't gotten it all figured out

Got a little doubt

Only believe what I see with my eyes

Learned to be a little wise

Damn certain the government lies

I could say a whole lot for sure

Hope I make fifty more

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Chico

Chico

 

Father far away in some distant land                         

Hard, hard, hard to understand                                  

Having so little yet called to sacrifice                        

Poverty of life comes with high price                        

 

A little baby boy of sad Spanish eyes

Robbed of joy victim of sordid lies

Chico is his name Chico is his fame

Chico will grow old Chico will grow bold

 

Father works hard harvesting the crops

The barley the grapes the hops

His sin darker skin temporarily tolerated

Speaks little English uniformly hated

 

A little baby boy of sad Spanish eyes

Robbed of joy victim of sordid lies

Chico is his name Chico is his fame

Chico will grow old Chico will grow bold

 

Far away Chico’s life at home isn’t well

The marine in green deals hell

Gringo comes with his gun killing just for fun

A war with the poor a victory is won

After all bananas for all ages

Must be tended with minimum wages

 

A little baby boy of sad Spanish eyes

Robbed of joy victim of sordid lies

Chico is his name Chico is his fame

Chico will grow old Chico will grow bold

 

The spirit of Somoza is on the rise

Few and far between the cries

Nobody cares what they do to the brown

When they come and burn down your town

Oh the little things that they will hide

Like the silent genocide

 

A little baby boy of sad Spanish eyes

Robbed of joy victim of sordid lies

Chico is his name Chico is his fame

Chico will grow old Chico will grow bold 

GREAT BOOK OF SONG LYRICS

The Big Book Of Song Lyrics, Check It Out!!

Homeless In Suburbia

 Homeless In Suburbia

 

The preacher says his prayer

With tender care

God bless

All unfortunate homeless

Meanwhile

He lives in lavish style

With the sanctuary

At night, dark and empty

So the masses on the street

Out of garbage cans eat

Or stand in a long line

Simply to dine

They can sleep dormitory style

At least for a little while

If they can stand the crime

Of beating and stealing

It's as bad as doing time

Guilt is a common feeling

But we did nothing wrong

Is a common song

Perhaps they have an addiction

Or circumstances just turned sour

In their darkest hour

 

But there is a harsh fiction

That there is no place live

Everybody knows

That banks foreclose

As debts they cannot forgive

So there are homes boarded up

More than enough

To house those who wander

Many, many times over

I see

Irony of agony

It is a shame

And there are people to blame

Society does bleed

Because of blatant greed 

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Poet To The Poor- Beyond The Poetry

 Poet To The Poor- Beyond The Poetry

 

          Before one can solve a problem, one must find a solution. This is, of course, a mental endeavor. One can only share a vision when one can articulate it—that is, express it into words so that it can be shared and conveyed to another. That is why education is so important—to learn from those who walked our way in the past and to have the means to learn from one another. We must be able to talk the talk, or we can never walk the walk.

          I defy the logical view of life. I am not saying that life is not logical. Rather, I am emphasizing that there is something more. There is an intangible that exists. A 'spirit' to humanity if you will. There is something that makes a certain combination of musical notes pleasurable to the ear. There is something in the right coordination of colors and brush strokes that thrills the heart. There is something in words, when cleverly written that inspire the soul to action.

          Poet To The Poor, Poems Of Hope For The Bottom One Percent is a book of poetry with a mission. It is one that will infuse the reader with a zeal of revolutionary desire to change the world. For the common man has many heroes. Some, Jesus Christ, Langston Hughes, Pete Seeger, Fred Hampton, Mumia Abu Jamal, Joe Hill and Mother Jones are recognizable names. (And if you don't know them you should investigate them!!) But there are many more. Anonymous faces from my life who have bravely struggled in their daily existence.

          For you see society is created from the whole. Though the rich man dominates the world is certainly not is. As Chief Joseph taught the indigenous lesson, 'nobody can own the land'. In the same way 'nobody can own the truth'. There in lies the beauty of Poet To The Poor. It speaks of those truths, present, past and future that the bankers and their ilk would like for us to forget. It presents ideas that have the potential of changing the world.

The Mistress Money

 

By John Kaniecki

 

She’s a sultry siren singing her song

A temptress with a taunting desire

Men blindly serve her doing all wrong

Cold as ice hot as hell fire

Money, that’s her name

Evil is her favorite game

She seems to be a mighty power

Her servants kill, destroy and devour

But she is simply a piece of paper

Free your mind you shall escape her

Money, that’s her name

Greed it is to blame

Don’t fall in love with Mistress Money

Don’t make her your sweet honey

She’ll give you a thrill

All the while setting you up for the kill

She laughs when nothings funny

That’s Mistress Money

 

          Poet to the Poor is a journey. It will take you places that you never even knew existed. Important places where you can gather strength and learn wisdom. It is a work in the greater context of the left. It draws from our diversity but unifies us in our purpose. To make the world a better place for all people to live in.

          Above all it is written for the disenfranchised. For the poor fellow who is down and out on his luck. Hope is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. You can kill a man but you can't kill an idea. If you can get a man to believe that there is something good coming down the line than wonderful things will happen. Not only will they survive but they will work towards a brighter future. Hope never surrenders.

          Please support the cause by purchasing "Poet To The Poor, Poems Of Hope For The Bottom On Percent". The Kindle edition can bought for less than two dollars. For less than a cup of coffee you can get something the will warm your heart. And if you are kind enough to purchase my book of poetry then please give a review on Amazon. At a certain point I hope that Poet To The Poor will become a loud voice in the never ending struggle against oppression for liberation of all. The revolution will always survive it is up to us to make it thrive.

Poet To The Poor

 

Pandora’s Box

Pandora’s Box

 

Judge a man by his clothes, how were you born

Christ the King he knows a crown made of thorns

Fascists in business suits promoting lies

Press the tragic button everyone dies

 

Pandora’s Box is empty

Do you have eyes to see

Pandora’s Box is empty

Slaves in the Land of the Free

Pandora’s Box is empty

 

War is declared I got scared full of fright

Anger surged inside what gives you the right

Across the globe a world away the say

The evil infidel we’ll make them pay

 

Pandora’s Box is empty

Do you have eyes to see

Pandora’s Box is empty

Slaves in the Land of the Free

Pandora’s Box is empty

 

Fracking in the Earth water is destroyed

Businessman makes money he’s overjoyed

Who cares about the future I got mine

This hell hole was once Eden divine

 

Pandora’s Box is empty

Do you have eyes to see

Pandora’s Box is empty

Slaves in the Land of the Free

Pandora’s Box is empty

 

There’s a golden chest

Treasure is the best

Gold, silver, Mammon

Endless war and famine

Hatred, greed, strife

All the pains of life

 

Children singing praise to the god of lust

Bow before the priest give man all you trust

Stalin, Hitler demagogues of pain

In the institutions find the sane

 

Pandora’s Box is empty

Do you have eyes to see

Pandora’s Box is empty

Slaves in the Land of the Free

Pandora’s Box is empty

GREAT BOOK OF SONG LYRICS

The Big Book Of Song Lyrics, Check It Out!!

 

GREAT BOOK OF SONG LYRICS

The Big Book Of Song Lyrics, Check It Out!!

Nostalgia

Nostalgia

 

A time warp caught my seventy eights

Mondale Reagan debates

Dialing a phone

Working our fingers to the bone

Taxes on paper with ink

We could really think

Coffee for a dime

No high-tech crime

Playboy magazine

Backyard trampoline

Talking into the late Saturday evening

The future would be better

We were believing

Hope

Striving to cope

Saying hello

Watching a television show

Movies in a theatre

Friends near

The police cars proper and blue

Saying “I love you” 

 

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