Mother Jones

Mother Jones

She was 93 years old,
grandmother of all agitators,
immigrant teacher’s words stirred men to action,
she wrote her story down,
passing labours flame from Pennsylvania,
from coal mining heartlands built on the bones of union,
tales of the silk children’s knight crusader,
charging the power of the mill.

The call of the woman of the north side,
fell into the ear of the ragged trousered wretch,
growing straight in the regimented pines,
arrayed through the ruins of famine homesteads,
hemmed in by the meandering dry stone walls,
built from their shells,
pray for the dead,
fight like hell for the living,
in mines and bogs or dockyard slips,
the boot seeks a neck,
the company scales the pocket picked,
join a union.

Gael of social justice,
blowing across the stamped out fires,
rising from the body blow of lost yellow fever family,
none came to her in the nights of grief,
she went out instead to others,
rebuilding after tragedy,
entirely reduced in the remains of the dressmakers,
black ashen ruins of Chicago,
were sky pilots pray for reward in the next life,
reached by suffering in this one,
Mary calling for a bit of heaven to come to earth,
claiming her home wherever the fight may be.

She lies at peace in Illinois,
surrounded by her battling boys,
the fallen of Virden,
where white and black truthfully stood to face detectives rifles,
the union maid remembered each 11th of October,
when the strong men and toil torn women gather to kneel on Mount Olive,
laying black flowers on the pink granite,
heads uncovered to remember the miners angel mother.

Note:
Please find the owner of the Mother Jones image above here at:

You can also follow them for some more brilliant art work.

You can also read Mothers Jones Autobiography here:

http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/jones/autobiography/autobiography.html

Hate

Hate.

Torch light flickers over university grass,
where imposing bronzes are as hollow as their deliberate message,
rewriting history and celebrating ignorance,
demonising orange pickers and glorifying slavers.

Blood & soil chants,
fat Nazis in combat pants,
fake fatherland hero’s,
cowards in cheap swastikas,
shaming Old Glory with runes of death,
grasping at history which never was,
for a future that will never be.

From Omaha beach to Virginia,
people died to resist the last tidal wave,
these thugs always so quick with a list,
automatic rifle army surplus lynch mobs,
longing to burn flesh instead of crosses.

Failed weekend warriors,
praying to Jesus while spitting on Jesús,
beer bellied Teutons emboldened by arch degenerates,
wizards, grand dragons and clowns,
the manipulation of the poor and ignorant by the most deviant rich.

In a garden store Nuremberg rally,
desperate for their boot to find somebodies neck,
to stand for a moment above another,
for that instant feel so superior in a miserable wasted life,
in fevered white supremacy dreams.

Fascism emboldened, suited and booted,
standing in rows on ordinary streets,
militias in chest rigs armed to teeth,
decrying all signs of past progress,
dragging the world back to the past,
when segregation was instituted and apartheid was openly preached.