Essay:Capital Gotta capital and others poems

Capital Gotta capital

Capital gotta expand.

the brilliant, the foolish

The open and closed hand

the humble writer and the Henry Ford

Whatever human tender let it grow

it will

till no longer the pain can slow

I dub my internet poem 'Capital Gotta capital'

(The last 'c' is lowercase)

While the Amerikan Empire Lives

While the amerikan empire lives there can be no peace for socialists.

While american imperialism lives no socialist movement is safe.

This is the principal contradiction of our time.

Trotsky's Up to Plotskis

Trotsky, Trotsky, what a prick,

He was quite thick;

And he worked with the FBI,

But workers are clever, this does not fly,

All children know this is bad realpolitik.

Marxism-Leninism with Mechanicus Characteristics

From the moment I understood the weakness of liberalism, it disgusted me. I craved the strength and certainty of Stalin. I aspired to the purity of the Blessed Marxism-Leninism.

Your kind cling to your capitalism, as if it will not decay and fail you. One day the crude political-economy that you call the 'end of history' will wither, and you will beg my kind to save you. But I am already saved, for Lenin is immortal…

Even in death I serve the people.

Self Criticism (Self Crit)

I did my self-crit,

So I can take your shit;

To live is to struggle;

To struggle is to fight and juggle;

I'm full of communist grit.

Bourgeois

Bourgeoisie are the ruling class in capitalist society;

Capitalism surrounds to the point of anxiety;

Once too, the divine right of Kings long ago;

Any human power can be changed by human beings from below;

This too shall pass, solidarity.

Women Hold Up Half the Sky

Women hold up half the sky

without them there is only void.

They give with heart and soul

and with them good things are in reach.

Women hold up half the sky.

We offer women glory and praise.

Their accomplishments will stand forever.

Unlike wilting roses we step over

Wealth and money we cannot see.

Away from them sighs engulf me.

Women hold up half the sky.

Flowers blooming and gleaming in evenings.

May we be shining suns

Bringing joy and happiness.

To those we cherish and love.

Edited from a Poem by Camila Urrea Morale

Moments

I was born in the dying embers of world capitalism.

I matured in the last moments of capitalist hyperpower.

I was educated in the last moments before the great plague.

I left the final imperialist leader moments before its status ended forever.

I enter the greatest socialist power in the moments before it ends unipolarity.

Roses #1

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

Capitalism was once progressive.

Those days are over for the generations containing me and you.

Cumulation of 19th Century Science

Anti-authoritarianism?

No thanks, I'll have communism;

With dialectical materialism;

And a side of secularism;

Also some revolutionary optimism;

I call this humanism

Cult of Dead Labor

A green glow illuminates this street

Breathe in these human vapors, sweat and heavy heat

Capital the cult of dead labor rises and falls like the great atum

Colossal steeples to the gods in the value-form

Broken accumulation built anew

The capitalist, torn in two

Those high-priests grip our hearts so cold

Fossil fuels to slavery

Political duplicity

Every great commodity's been sold

Slave to the new black gold, there's a heartbeat under their skin

Search our commodified souls for the rational man within

Capital's secret science conquers nature's cruel laws

But inside its just us with all our beautiful flaws

Its phantom sleeps in our collective will

I stay alive cuz Lenin's dream is unfulfilled

Broken accumulation built anew

The capitalist, torn in two

Those high-priests grip my heart so cold

Fossil fuels to slavery

Political duplicity

Every great commodity's been sold

Slave to the new black gold, there's a heartbeat under their skin

Search our commodified souls for the rational man within

Slave to the new black gold, there's a heartbeat under their skin

Broken accumulation built anew

The capitalist, torn in two

Those high-priests grip our hearts so cold

The dictatorship of capital rules all

Our thrall to it is and will fall

Power to the people's red dictatorship

Workers not capital are our true leadership.

Slave to the new black gold, there's a heartbeat under their skin

Search our commodified souls for the rational man within...