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    Poet to the Poor
    Poet to the Poor
    Poet to the Poor
    Ebook184 pages1 hour

    Poet to the Poor

    By John Kaniecki

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    About this ebook

    Poet to the Poor is a collection of poetry written for the bottom one percent. This work draws from historical figures and everyday people from John's life, creating a powerful poetic testimony.
    In revolutionary fashion John defies both the politics of the day and the modern style of poetry. The poems are written in a wide variety of styles, and rhyming is prominent. Passion and purpose abounds in these words. With over forty of the poems previously published, this work constitutes John's best, including the award winning poem "Tea with Joe Hill".
    If you want something to inspire you to change the world, this book is a must. Take a journey into the lives of the bottom one percent. The poor.

    About the Author: John Kaniecki is a member of the Revolutionary Poet's Brigade and Secretary for Rhyming Poet's International. John volunteers as a missionary in the inner city of Newark, New Jersey, for the Church of Christ at Chancellor Avenue. John is active in the antiwar movement. In particular John is a strong advocate of the rights of indigenous people. He has two previously published books. A poetry book entitled "Murmurings of a Mad Man" by eLectio Publishing and a science fiction story collection entitled "Words of the Future" published by Witty Bard Publishing.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDreaming Big Publications
    Release dateOct 7, 2015
    ISBN9781311793874
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      Book preview

      Poet to the Poor - John Kaniecki

      Tea with Joe Hill

      Joe Hill and I had tea

      He let his biscuits soak

      They say America is free

      Man, how they love to joke

      Ask Sacco and Vanzetti

      Ask Red Cloud and Crazy Horse

      And the way I see it

      Is things are getting worse

      I said Joe why ain't you dead?

      Righteousness is like Love my friend

      Laughed Joe as he shook his head

      Spirits never die and never end

      A thousand tyrants and all their force

      In truth could never compete

      With the Love that is the source

      Of one of my melodies sweet

      You see death and life they coexist

      Some never die and some never live

      So songs of revolution will always persist

      For unto themselves my songs give

      So open your eyes and organize

      Never give in to their lies and organize

      Do not hate and despise but organize

      Raise your voice in mighty cries and organize

      Joe slurped the last of his tea

      And bid me a final farewell

      Above all fight to be free

      You'll get heaven when you give them hell

      The Mistress Money

      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

      Banjo Man

      Banjo man

      Sing me a song

      Together we can

      Right a wrong

      Like the soil of the Earth

      Your Love blossoms birth

      To many fruitful trees

      Of those yearning to be free

      From oppression and tyranny

      A simple pilgrim

      Humble in heart

      Your wisdom

      Will never part

      An honest poet most sincere

      In word and deed without fear

      True to your calling narrow and straight

      Transfixed with Love forsaking hate

      Your merciful kindness I celebrate

      Banjo man

      In blessing blessed

      Banjo man

      Take your rest

      The Blues Man

      Popcorn snapping fingers

      An emancipated heart

      Sing for your victuals wage slave

      Separate but equal Jim Crow iron walls

      See yonder mansion, see yonder manger

      As united in birth welded in life

      Nailed to a cross

      Agony as the soldier penetrates his side

      Nobody's seen the troubles I've seen

      They call it the blues

      In the chord of C

      A Kid's Face

      Kelly Thomas had a kid's face

      Showed up at the wrong place

      Kelly Thomas had a kid's mind

      Society had left him behind

      Schizophrenia is a harsh disease

      But Kelly Thomas was at ease

      Until the big man in blue

      Said what he intended to do

      Police wanted him to move

      Police had something to prove

      It was plain for all to see

      Police brutality

      Kelly Thomas had a kid's face

      Angelic and pure

      Kelly Thomas had a kid's face

      But not any more

      They say that this is a civilization of law

      But America has a tragic flaw

      Cause dogs in blue with authority

      Have their own brutal reality

      Beating a man with no worry

      Crying as he's dying

      I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry

      Gasping in desperate despair

      That he can't get any air

      Finally crying for his dad

      They knew Kelly Thomas was crazy mad

      But they didn't care at all

      Then they lied about it all

      Well Kelly Thomas had his day in court

      And I am so sad to report

      The jury said there was no wrong done

      The jury said there was no wrong done

      It's easy when it ain't your son

      Kelly Thomas had a kid's face

      Angelic in its glow

      Kelly Thomas had a kid's face

      But now it ain't so

      An Open Letter to the FBI (For Leah)

      Don't call me an anarchist

      I Am Anarchy

      A thought, an idea, a philosophy

      I will persist

      Iron bars and unjust laws

      Could never hamper my cause

      Bind the Wind with a chain?

      You are futile and vain

      I defy your system of rampant greed

      I shall succeed

      As wrong loses to right

      As darkness surrenders to light

      I have read words from your sacred book

      I suggest you take a look

      Love your enemy

      I Am Anarchy

      And you are of the father of lies

      The one Jesus did despise

      The Truth shall make you free

      I Am Anarchy

      Peace Action

      Will my voice be heard

      Among the maddening noise

      Of wicked rulers absurd

      Whose greed callously destroys

      The fragile calm of peace?

      Will my cry go out

      When missiles and bombs fall

      And generals scream and shout

      Where prayers in terror say all

      From civilians seeking release?

      Will my words by read

      In a society controlled by few

      Lying in everything said

      Denying what is true

      Where evil multiplies to increase?

      Will my thoughts be known

      By those who look away

      Seeking just to be left alone

      Hoping it will be okay

      And that the evil will simply cease?

      Still I'll speak, still I'll cry

      Still I'll write, still I'll contemplate

      Until I go on to heaven high

      Or until Love has conquered hate

      Chaplain Harry's Regret

      Harry Emerson Fosdick as a young man was an officer in the United States Army during World War I. In his capacity as chaplain he would pray with the soldiers who would attack the German machine gun nest. The majority of the soldiers would never return alive. In later life the preacher regretted this part of his past.

      What I'd done I'd rather not say

      We would gather

      In the morn to start the day

      How could a word to the Creator be ill?

      I prayed for blessings to kill

      I prayed for blessings to kill!

      I prayed for blessings to kill

      I would look the boys in their eyes

      And fill their head's with lies

      And say, Boys do your best

      The machine gun nest they would attack

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