Best Third Class Poems
They hailed her as the empress of the waves
Supreme upon the ocean’s vast domain,
Yet those who watched her launch, and bid ‘Godspeed’,
Could never have foreseen her fleeting reign.
She left Southampton heading for New York;
The sky above was somewhat overcast.
Such hopes and dreams were riding on her bow,
But this first voyage proved to be her last.
The pinnacle of luxury and ease
Awaited wealthy passengers on board,
Whilst crystal chandeliers to music swayed,
A toast to life was raised and champagne poured.
On lower decks the entertainment lacked
Yet children made the most of little space.
Locked heavy gates were purposed to divide
And keep the third-class steerage in their place.
But when disaster struck the glacial path
And frozen waters threatened souls of men,
Proud opulence and rank would count as naught;
Humanity was equal once again.
25/03/19
Titanic - Fare Thee Well Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Tom Woody
'2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 27' : sponsored by Mark Toney
A Noteworthy Ship Poetry Contest : sponsored by Robert James Liguori
She couldn't contain her rhapsody demeanor much more
hugging her husband and gushing with excitement as he closed the door
the third class cabin was modest but she thought it would do
finally spending time together in this steerage cabin room
After dining together and playing cards with some other passengers
they retired to their cabin and did some reading till their eyes tired
then they spooned together in the darkness of the room
and made passionate love being they were on their honeymoon
Sound asleep till they we're abruptly awaken by a violent jarring
finding out from people running about it was from an icebergs scarring
throwing on their overcoats they we're thrown two lifejackets
and fought their way up to the top deck amidst all the panic
Their weary eyes saw the last lifeboat being lowered down to the ocean
many brave men staying behind waving trying not to show emotion
the newlyweds hugged each other while their faces wept
about to go down with the ship into the fathomless depths
They held hands while trying with all their might to hold on and grip
as the ship rose up perpendicular making them and others slip
the ship now offered nothing but quietus to the passengers on board
as they both plummeted in slow motion down to the ocean floor
Some survivors in the Titanic lifeboats watched with pitiful awe
while others who lost loved ones lost control and bawled
the ones who lost many possessions tried not to show too much enmity
while the newlyweds love story would last for all eternity.
3-18-18
Rushing to the third class
When I was a young student
Undertaking train journeys
Often looking for a window seat.
Amid the track's rhythm
Full of hope for the future
I saw countryside and cities
Leaving behind from the coach window.
The hawkers' calls echoed
Inside the compartment,
A counter point to the beggars' songs,
Their handicap a stark plea.
A clatter of the wheels,
Accompanied the train as it ran,
A sweet soundtrack while running
Through the fields and towns.
Years have passed today
I am a retired person .
Sometimes boarding
A second class compartment,
The third class is gone.
The clatters,horns,whistles,
Hawkers' voices,the beggars' songs-
Even today have not changed.
So I am and my pocket became thin
like when I was a student .
Alas, the world has changed
As the humans take control.
They, for their own likes and dislikes,
Have defined you, just as they please.
And now, you witness the creation of great walls…
Separating mankind.
By the comparison… of colour, of language, of the way of life.
The beautiful, the clean, the classy, the rich…
High class, low class, third class, middle class…
Splitting the world: once split by geographical circumstances.
But remember, your definition lies within you:
In your honesty, purity, tenderness and virtue.
They are to be measured, evaluated, and to be improved…
So to win the heart of man as a rightful citizen.
Remember; do not define yourself by those futile factors –
For with them, only the stupidity of mankind shall rise.
12/20/2018
Come visit us under pink tinged twilight skies..
among boughs borne under a song laden tree.
In fair view of land, meadows green coiling rise,
one hundred twenty counted souls, and me.
The older children play, running in sun washed petticoats,
hair pulled back in pigtails & ribbons, an untied shoelace floats.
Their errant hoops gone tumbling over a dew covered hill,
wonder if sun refused to shine, and not mourning them still.
How resplendent a vessel, White Star's ship of dreams,
carried their passion as coal fed fired boiler steams.
Only to sink 'neath the waves, irony in iron age..
On maiden voyage Ides of April, warned her last writ page.
To the new world go mother, father, sisters and brothers,
prayers spent all would reach safety of harbor's bustling dock.
America's shores promised in the letters of others...
went as sheep to the shearer in Reaper's growing flock.
To third class cabin dimlit, down three flights of stairs,
their mortal passage payed so high a forlorned cost.
Waiting their turn for grace, their last supper's prayers,
scrape of ice., gaping ocean roared, in darkness lost.
God bore them one and all 'way from the tortured deep,
to cold windswept mount where saints and survivors weep.
"Nothing in my hands I bring, simply to Thy cross I cling"
“Post Pep Comics”
In this time,
there are no children -
we refer to them as the 'undead'.
The young watch on
while their gods war on, it’s all televised,
committing abominable atrocities, war crimes.
Like ancient souls held in the palms
of the war machine they watch on
like zombies, vacant things
scrolling, weighing their relevance
against those dressed in designer ozempic scales, while worlds away
the third-class child attends their lessons in starvation,
surviving death and bullets
trafficked and war torn, raped and
psychologically taken,
click bait;
bleeding into the small tight margins
of Western comics where the Eagle always wins.
Archie and Jughead dispense their puerile rules,
rating us like commodities, stocks that rise and fall;
it’s all entertainment
after all.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
12/28/18
I just received a gift from my {step}mother.
Only three days late this year.
It's a Santa Claus soap dispenser... with a twirl and a twist.
I used to own it, well over twenty years ago.
It has yellow soap still clogging the spigot...
*****, that you've treated old Saint Nick like a {step},
How true to your form and fitting that is.
{Step} Santa was more of a message than a gift.
After all, I've been a half-assed {step}son at best.
But {step}mother, you must admit, I was always your third-class citizen.
From the brackish affection, impish rags you stapled to my rear,
Minor infractions, met with a strap called; I'll reduce you to tears.
You were the metal-toothed snapper in the pond of my youth.
Mother, if you deny this, you're just another abuser of truth!
For the most part, I've freeze-dried your slipperiness,
I think {step} is glacier cold, but a most accurate prefix.
life is a train.
it has many classes
like HAPPY,SAD,ANGRY,PATIENCE,etc.
HAPPY is the FIRST class.
(i.e) our childhood.
SAD is the SECOND class.
(i.e) when something happens against our wish.
ANGRYis the THIRD class.
(i.e) our adulthood.
PATIENCE is the FOURTH class.
(i.e) our old age.
anyhow all want to come across there life
the above four CLASSES.
that is LIFE.
LOVELY.....
The Schutzstaffel
Pluck the stars, pluck the stars
and stack them on a train,
rip them from their sleepy beds
and march them through the rain.
Pluck the stars, pluck the stars
and stow them in third class
gather them from heaven
and toss them in some gas.
Pluck the stars, pluck the stars
pluck every one in sight
feed them to the furnace flame
let smoke plumes fill the night.
Pluck the stars, pluck the stars
'til naught but ash remains
we’ll change the sky forever
Earth will never be the same.
10/14/16
Written for contest: My Take On The Holocast
Hosted by: The Seeker
The promise of a brand new world and freedom at my feet.
A chance to breathe the city air and walk its concrete street.
My ticket was to turn my dreams into reality.
Now my fortunes float inside a dark and icy sea.
My dreams of finding happiness and wealth in a new place.
Illusions in my waking hours had caused my heart to race.
Stories of adventures told by others filled my head.
How could I know the impending tragedy and dread?
The thrill I felt upon the sight of iron and of steel.
Painted and adorned, it was so beautiful and real.
Although my third-class ticket for the bottom of the ship.
I didn’t care as long as I was there to make the trip.
Now my limbs are numb and I can barely see the stars.
The sound of music fading from the sadness of guitars.
The desperate voices crying out in terror and emotion.
Are slowly disappearing in this vast and lonely ocean.
Written for Dreamweaver's contest 'My heart will go on and on'
WHALING SHIP CAPTAIN’S LOVER
(Part 2 of 3)
Now Jorgie was a fierce one
Widowed ‘fore she wed
The object of her passion
A Sea man lost and dead
Jorgie had a small lad
Swaddled piece of sun
And her lovers parents
Coveted this tiny life begun
They didn’t care that he was born
Before the two were wed
They claimed that he was theirs now
A whaling lad- True bred.
The parents of the lover
had an only child
On his death they lost their hope
Twas like a dream defiled.
Jorgie begged her father
"Keep us out of sight!"
But her father made a traitors deal--
Oft Gold dissolves what’s right.
She quickly packed her bag
And off the two did fly
She sold gold jewelry and fine clothes
And kissed her land good bye
Upon a third class ship
She bought a third class bed
The sickness hit her in a storm
She puked until she bled…
Spring Winds they blew black fierce,
the poor men all were cursed
The scurvy struck them all
There was no last or first
The ship was tossed --the wind blew bad
A wretched ugly sight
Despite the stink ,despite her fear
She battled with her fright.
Didn’t know the language
Didn’t know the style
But Jorgie was determined
To prosper with her child
When she reached the New World
She found cross country trains
And as she crossed the mighty land
She wracked her weary brain.
To organize a new life
And work the whole day long
She came up with a daring plan
She hoped she wasn’t wrong.
She jumped the train at Minot
She had a cousin there
She’d pay his wife to watch the babe
‘til she could raise him fair.
The cousin’s wife had lost her babes
She welcomed the small joy
Jorgie smiled and kissed him tho
Her heart ached for the boy.
She ventured West to logging camps
Set up her fire and pans
Cooked for Nordic loggers
The boldest of bold men.
========to be continued (too long for the site...sorry...)
Note: Jorgie : (pronounced Yor’ gee) was a nickname
Her name: Sena Jorgine Larsen
THE REVOLUTION WILL BE TELEVISED
All the news you can use is no longer completely controlled
by CNN, ABC, CBS OR NBC,
The new GATEKEEPERS because of our cell phone, web cams
and these new toys have become you and I.
Cops killing Black Folks, put on social media and the news
spread all over for the world to see
That the land of milk and honey does not follow its own
laws, and that Black folks continue to die
So the rich and famous will live off the sweat of our brow.
I am tired of being a third class citizen in a land my people
helped to build, design and form,
Tired of walking on eggshells, being leery of people that my
taxes pay to protect and serve.
Slavery still exists, subservience in the mind of our people
is reaching the level of a class five storm
And we want deserve and demand our “HUMAN RIGHTS”
and we also want to preserve
The dignity that comes with being born in THE GOOD OLE
US OF A.
Reid J Lewis 11/30/2014
for the third class life is surrounded by, not a single affirmative element but utter negativity, it may be a condemned one, yet is still worthwhile living the life because in the total negativity one can disavow everything just like an absolute authority
for the third-rater is always treated by those around one with contempt, the life may be miserable, yet is enjoyable because the anger i swallowed in every moment of my life and kept in the depth of my heart with tears can be spewed out at any time, in anywhere, just like a most powerful tyrant
to impress others, may be impossible, i flapped the wings that actually i didn’t possess; the beauty of life was then however, it doesn’t matter if i was a performer of first class theatre or of third. even with those inexistent wings, i was able to fly boastfully in the spotlight dazzling colorful air though for a little while
although i searched for a way to wonderland and went after a good and ripened time for harvest, the soul rent with grief and mortified, alas, i was always wound-up to standing in the damned same starting point because no matter
how hard i searched, the way to wonderland was nowhere on earth it never
existed for me, no matter how eagerly i went after it, the ripened good time was never there for me to harvest; nonetheless, even with deeply wounded heart, i was able to find the moment of peace at the point where i started off was, may be my numbed sensitivity, caused from the debt too great for me to pay off, caused from the destitution never be filled to flee from it
“why don’t you laugh at this ludicrous fool’s tears?” the fool being ousted from even this filthy third class theatre which was filled with rowdy audiences! “why don’t you cry for this helpless buffoon’s laughter?” mimicking Caesar with antic,
‘et tu, Brute!’*
even in this crucial moment
of losing my one and only vocation the buffoon ever had
*William Shakespeare. Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 1. ‘You too, Brutus!’
ps. is it at The End that giants have no fear of shrinking,
do giants mostly sit and rest on their giant chairs,
then hunt like a dancing gypsy elephant.
Governments promoting good paying jobs, (not Calif.,Texas, etc.)
boosts the economy,
governments promoting low paying volunteer jobs,
attacks a developed economy,
add to that,
your smelly, filthy big feet,
and you end up with a less amount of small town hospitals open,
due to big foot infestations,
quit destroying our hospitals,
quit attacking our economy with your big foot army,
wait a minute,
where did our infrastructure go,
oh I see,
when you say infrastructure spending,
you mean big city infrastructure spending,
big foot infrastructure,
from the big foot bank,
well then,
start loading " The Threes " on the back of the truck,
like a Mexican taxi,
then take them to the big city for " treatment ",
and don't forget the attitude adjustment,
you don't want to have to do any informative talking,
what kind of maniac sets the stage on new worlds.
in a first class train
third class passenger travels
due respect's not tuned