in keeping with the current protests going on in egypt, and the student protests going on across the world, i thought the topic this week could reflect that a little bit.
SUBJECT THIS WEEK: PROTEST
post your work, i've been seriously impressed with the contributions so far, keep up the great work.

I'm never a poet but I think I'll start this off by something I hope could be considered a poem. lol.
(it's about the current public colleges budget cut issue in our country)

PROTEST

What makes a man a man in this modern times,
what seperates the learned from a prehistoric guy.
What built these ideas that move forward our nation,
simple as a word could describe it: Education.

When times are hard and nation is struck,
by new hands that shadow and flick with our lives.
Whose priorities doesn't include the growth of the mass,
where the basic need for funding is cut from the class.

When bent organization stays all on the top,
looking down below, resources they harvest and suck
life from people specially the one thing they put their hopes on,
all people in all levels has the right to education.

While privatization and other means could make up for budget cut,
money matters and to those barely clinging, what have they got?
Drop the classes, stop enrollling, stop learning, stop growing.
Good luck to a nation whose future has stopped flowing.

However, there'sa solution to be done en masse,
with all of our heearts we march and we shout
with voices to shake the pyramid around,
flags waving high, fist reaching skies, our cries shall resound.

Oppression calls to arms the nation the people,
to pronounce the hands who shadow our reason.
It will crack all the malefic plans of corruption,
the collective enlightened won't be dimmed by subversion.
Shout for education the youth now all set
tommorow when we reach it, we must not regret.

Idk about this. Did a picture this week. I think it reads a lot more preachy environmentalist ms clipart than I really intended. Used the time I allotted myself. This is what it is. By the shortage of responses, I'm guessing other people found the topic challenging too. Y'all best to get something in lest we squander this wonderful institution.

yeah, this subject was a hard one, and that is my fault, sorry guys! i promise next week will be a better topic (also if you have any good suggestions do let me know). i like both contributions this week though, so i'm still considering this a success. good work.

I suggesst something material and not abstract.

To live in a way which makes it impossible for them to punish you. The great dead days. Scraps of thought and word which echo. The strangeness of the great dead days, without cause or support, selfish but for when they break down. When the words break down and the world comes in. When the voice breaks down and turns to noise. A stutter, a crack. Curve of lamplight on the road. The iron rail by the river where the tram runs by. A man, turning.
 
And all true causes
must spring
 
from these dead days.
 
The people in the supermarket! So loud! So present! The line winds round in dropped string of shamed faces. Sorry to intrude but. Sorry. Are you ahead? Sorry. Shamed to be present, black boots on the white tile. We wear bright waterproof coats in the checkout line. Wet boots leave wet bootprints in the checkout line. Avoid all eyes in the checkout line.
 
And pass home down the tram lines through Temple Street cross the Liffey and round the estates and pass home once again to store the food and play a record. Someone has written on the wall to home
ALL GONE BAD. . .
BODY HURTS . . .
NO FUTURE . . .
in red spraypaint on the wall to home.
 
Protests a bottle thrown. The guards look back. Feeling of: motion.
Memory of news col hack: reason 'adults' not involved she explained (expounded, elucidated) was that they were too wise to expect. Too wise yes. All very well but. Need to understand that. The big picture. No alternative. Sacrifices must be. Some bad film's "stance of no stance".
And the wet black boots in the checkout line.
 
When I walk to the supermarket I go down Kilmainham Lane, it's not shorter but it's quiet. There's a downward slope and I drift down by the wall. And through the gaps between houses I can see
the slow curl of a concrete stairwell
the ivy by the concrete wall
the railing by the concrete wall
a space between the houses
where the city seems to break and stutter and forms a garden of delights.
And I think of the graffiti
and the great dead days.
 
 
[drunkposting ][/drunkposting]

this song is about protest

http://www.leafo.net/hosted/ragnar/a%20beat-up%20ford%20escort%20full%20of%20curry.mp3