Short Working Class Poems
Short Working Class Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Working Class by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Working Class by length and keyword.
D G Rossetti's lover Elizabeth Sidall
an unlearned working class gal
Artist Lizzie in love with life,you see
model & wife, died too young , of tb
Built with rusted steel
Steel mined by the workers’ hands
Faceless above crowds
An angel not from the blue
But built with man’s blood and hope
Tanka
Working class people
Do not trust socialist intellectuals
Don´t get lured by them
They are upper middle class people
Who want to run your revolution.
Social Animal Not Cultured Horn Limerick
Trump is social animal but not cultured
And women's lives he had adultered
With smile phony as can be
Always despicable was he
Working class people went around and detoured.
Jim Horn
long dark night
cold silence
ice dreams
and tomorrow
warm hands
of people
just people who care
who dare
to believe
not religion
not corporations
not politicians
just people
working class people
warmth
within this
long dark night.
- jude
It's all in your head.
It's all in your mind.
One day, you'll be dead.
One day, you'll be hard to find.
We say, "we wish we could fly."
We say, "Give us some time."
They'll work you till you die,
They'll work you till you commit a crime.
Freedom is only in your head.
Freedom is only in your mind
Form:
The unknown and the famous
the Entrepreneur.
The working class the homeless
the rich and the poor.
The weird the misfits
the wise and the fools.
All nations all genders
I've embraced one and all.
Every faith all religions
different cultures and beliefs.
Soho square in London
Is my haven of peace.
Footsteps crunch the winter’s snow
Cold daylight has yet to dawn
Go they towards where busses go
With hopes of getting on
Huddled there in heavy garb
Snow’s ghosts stare ghastly masks
Casting sneers at who they are
Workers of the working class
Trudging towards another day
In winter’s dark torment
Again and again that way
Their working life is spent
In the cold
they do their work
The work is of utmost importance
Buildings, churches, synagogues and parks
all exsist due to the sweat and blood of the workers
They must continue to do their work
So the city will be safe and strong
Fantasy has its place
But sometimes we should write
of the stark truth
Even if it ruffles a few feathers
A flower
On the wayside, I saw a beautiful flower
it was deep purple, among working-class weed
and I thought it suffered greatly.
I picked the flower put it in a vase only to see it die of loneliness.
Next day I went back to where I had picked
the purple flower and the weed said: why
did you do this to us we may make fun of the flower
But we like beauty too
Life is a thread
When my aunt
Told me when
Mother
Was pregnant
With me
I was not a welcomed
Addition
Mother had been
Told skipping
Could bring on
A spontaneous
Abortion
She was rather sedate
Soon gave it up
I was born
There are things
We should
Not be told
I never forgot
But she was
Working class
And poor
Life or no life
The line is
As precarious
As a skipping rope
Minimum wage
The olive trees in the landscape
near the village,
Have working-class trunks
and no illusion
Of becoming middle-class trees.
They refuse to grow
in a plant- nursery and be tampered with
by botanists.
They do not envy tall palm trees.
Good luck to those who see the world
through an elevated height.
Good soil and water the plebian olive tree wants
it has deep roots and will not fall
in a storm.
He wakes very morning
to trudge through his day
a labor of love
or just bills to pay?
it seems that forever
he's been burdened with debt
and retirement a time to reflect
or regret?
She awakes every morning
to labor all day
kids are in day care
there's really no choice
no other way
the bank accounts empty
and pay day seems so far away
I think that this government
has lost the plot
think of the people
who ain't got a lot.
Jingoistic Men
Oh they are so smug
Because they have enough money
In the bank
They call the strong women “sluts”
They pretend to be the savior of working class
They forget that they are vacuous
And have dollar signs in place of their hearts
They argue that political correctness is gone mad
By this they mean why ladies are seeking equal pay.
Let us teach our daughters to stand up
Against these men of fragile egos and no brains
Self Depreciating
Flagellate
Popularity
Feigning craving approval
A path to Institutionlised acceptance
Rising to the next level
Free of the title working class
The fabric cloth cut from
A sell out a Charlatan
For the Man to prey upon
What is a boy without a soul
A rich man
Who when fails
Is hung out to dry
On blacksmith's nail's
Hoping his old friends
Will forgive and forget
Given the choice
He pretended he outgrew
My Class
I'm working class
shall always be one
it is the culture
I was born with
the honesty
the kindness
the inclusiveness
Therefore
it pains me when
some people
when doing well
financially
speak of my class
with contempt
a life they have
struggled to escape
a way of being
a culture
that shaped them
denying
our heritage
I feel a pity for them
especially
when they think
their life
is a success
Erratically you
It was by chance I came to Portugal.
I was a failure in Norway and a bigger loser in Britain.
I could not absorb a culture that makes the working-class
dumb workers and ignorant soldiers.
It was a day in May when I came here, didn´t want to live
by the coast, which was like living in Liverpool with sunlight.
I bought a ruin/stable got local workers to help me restoring the place.
One day I looked up and said: “I´m home.”
I walk these many streets
I walk this path of stone
I hunger for a life
That I can call my own
I'm a slave to my job
I'm a slave to this town
I'm a slave to the system
That strives to keep me down
I owe money for my house
I owe money for my car
I owe money to the bank
I'm left with pennies in my jar
If your life's the same as mine
I know just how you feel
We have one thing in common
We're just a cog in this wheel
Reading the enemy
Chaos, a whirlwind of dreams and laughter
I read a conservative paper full of hysterical lies.
Trying to defend the rich and well to do.
Pathetic, their uproar became comical.
Goats like tobacco they chew and chew and
Ask for more, the swallow too quickly.
It was good to read this paper showing them
Contempt against the working-class
It is through the enemies’ writing we can find out
What a horrible lot the wealthy class are
They gathered as a freezing group
To plead with the sharp-shooting troop
Not to even around them snoop.
Their murderous wings not flutter but droop
For being, all affable chicks in a coop:
A working class from The South Loop
Travelling with a fun-loving troupe
And an athlete draped in his whoop…
A tears-unlocking “Please, Don’t shoot us!”
By the just-discharged from their bus
Willing to all cough out from their purse
Rather than be sent to sleep or a nurse.
The Shine
This year I will shine and hold my tongue
When my neighbour, an unbearable snob goes on about
The lazy working-class.
Since I write and he doesn’t read he assumes we are
In the same clique and invite me to the golf-club and
Invited to drinks and asked to give my view of the current
Situation,
I will not tell them they are tax cheats and fat bastards,
The problems in life are them and not the poor.
I will, for once, be a success if only I can hold my tongue.
I felt I gave so much
the sweat a badge of giving
chapped hands a merit of honour
But it was just never enough
furrowed brows and high expectation
ripped into my soul
My history steeped
a working class mentality
am I mean't to give so much?
I pulled away so far
now lost in years of nothing
wishing for so much more
Trying to break free
trying to be who I need to be
and fighting through the shame...
Of an unemployed underachiever
Who just wanted so much more!
Turner's artistic gift is sought to a working-class dream sequence.
His visual poetry beats the factory revolt's time and place.
In a stunning display of moonshine, which erupts through the sky.
At the right, Keelmen, flat-bottom keels hauling coal along the Quay
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: February 3rd, 2022
http://www.nga.gov/content/ngaweb/Collection/art-object-pag…
Enter the 'A STRAND (1066)' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand