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| Reviewed by Keith Rowley |
7/25/2012 |
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And yet, at the height of his anxiety, King Henry V wished for no more than this and indeed envied the life of the simple laborer who... "
like a lackey, from the rise to set
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,
And follows so the ever-running year,
With profitable labour, to his grave:"
It's all perspective I guess and I love raising alternatives. Thanks for a thoughtful work. |
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| Reviewed by C. McGovern-Bowen |
5/2/2012 |
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know that feeling of "sleep the surrender of the (bone) tired..."
carolyn |
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| Reviewed by Peter Schlosser (Reader) |
4/27/2011 |
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| i once read a book called "confessions of an economic hit-man" by john perkins. he talks all about this kind of stuff, exploitation of the third world by trans-national corporations and the appalling living conditions these poor bastards have to endure. before long, we will have the same thing here. powerful writing!! |
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| Reviewed by Joyce Bell |
6/29/2010 |
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| LABOUR...SOME RECEIVE THEIR 'REWARDS' ON THIS SIDE, WHILE OTHERS...TOIL ON AND WAIT, WITH DIGNITY...FOR THE OTHER SIDE. AS ALWAYS JOHN, AN EXCELLENT 'DELVING' INTO STALK REALITY. ENJOYED VERY MUCH. THANKS FOR SHARING, BLESSINGS AND LOVE, JOYCE*HIS INSPIRATIONS |
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| Reviewed by Elizabeth Russo |
5/17/2010 |
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| There is satisfaction in a hard day's work, but for those who toil in places of inhuman treatment, filth, and only pennies for their broken backs, life is most difficult and a lie-down at the end of that torture is well-earned. Not only is your pen colorful, John, painting vivid pictures, but your heart and soul spill sensitively onto the page. So fine! ~Elizabeth |
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| Reviewed by Sheila Roy |
4/26/2009 |
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Another great write, John. Love and Hugs,
Sheila |
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| Reviewed by Juliet Waldron |
4/23/2009 |
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| I wish more Americans could see how hard the rest of the world works and where & how they and their families live. Heartbreaking. |
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| Reviewed by Angela Farrell (Reader) |
4/20/2009 |
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| Reviewed by L. Figgins |
4/18/2009 |
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| And corporations make millions off their labor. This write is powerful in it's imagery and intent... |
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| Reviewed by jude forese |
4/17/2009 |
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when the rewards of labor conclude, the eventual surrender is a difficult task ...
excellent syntax and juxtaposition of its images ... |
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| Reviewed by Kate Burnside |
4/16/2009 |
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| as always, John, some superbly strong and unusual images to evoke the play of your narrative commentary. You choose just the right details to enact your screenplay fully. A very acute portrayal of the luxury of time and ease; the uneasy and short-lived peace afforded by honest toil. Robust and colourful writing here. TY Kate xx |
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| Reviewed by Chantilly Lace (Reader) |
4/16/2009 |
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| Oh my,very powerful writing ... ..enjoyed very much sweet John..stay safe and well..Hugsss |
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| Reviewed by Vasu Ramanujam |
4/15/2009 |
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| How true! You said it like it is. Vasu. |
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| Reviewed by David Hightower |
4/15/2009 |
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John - Love the irony of the title. Labour has little dignity when it is
simply for survival with no hope as you so eloquently expressed in:
and under tin roofs recording
every outburst of cloud nod
inevitability to cheap beer
and whores, orange crate chairs,
dirt floors, and on mats rolled out
sleep the surrender of the tired.
- David |
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| Reviewed by Regis Auffray |
4/14/2009 |
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I can relate. I have labored "hard" from childhood. I now relish in retirement. Thank you, John. Love and peace,
Regis |
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| Reviewed by Gianetta Ellis |
4/14/2009 |
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| Your words and tone are effective; I'm left feeling the black - moving through its dreamless corridors. I feel the heaviness emanating from between these words. I particularly love the first three lines, which might've taken one in an entirely different direction. I find your title very interesting, especially the use of the word "dignity." |
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| Reviewed by Harry Osborne |
4/14/2009 |
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in my 22 years working overseas I saw time and time again the terrible conditions poor imported labour - that's what they were called - had to put up with, 20 sometimes 30 to a room, one sink, one toilet, one rusty cold shower, boxes for furniture, a thin mattress on a bare floor or more often a sheet, no privacy, no personal space and an overwhelming atmosphere of homesickness and tiredness, tired, tired, tired of low status, tired of being docked wages for the smallest mistake, exhausted after a 14-hour day, no time for dreams or love affairs.
God bless you for this and bless your talent for saying it so well
harry |
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| Reviewed by Bernice Angoh |
4/14/2009 |
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| Powerful and tru write, John you never disappoint, I read your every word carefully |
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| Reviewed by Carolyn Red Bear (The Bear Paw) |
4/14/2009 |
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Hi John, a strong-penned deliverance for the surrendered tired. We miss a lot if toil is all we do.... thank you for sharing this...
In Spirit,
Bear |
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| Reviewed by J'nia Fowler |
4/14/2009 |
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Talk about dismal, the dismal existence of so many people in this world. You are a modern day Dickens here John. Globalization has seen many a soul lost in sweat, grime, and starvation for both sustenance and faith.How can we continue to watch and not at least cry for them?
A powerful and clear penning of what it is to be human in an inhuman world. J'nia |
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| Reviewed by Rose Rideout |
4/14/2009 |
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Another wonderful write you share with us John. Thank you.
Newfie Hugs, Rose |
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| Reviewed by La Belle Rouge Poetess Of The Heart |
4/14/2009 |
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| John I believe it is true as Thoreau said, "Most men live lives of quiet desperation" A fine poem that screams of the reality of those trying to dig themselves out of a bottomless hole. |
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| Reviewed by Dawn Anderson |
4/13/2009 |
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| John, this is so well constructed and speaks volumes! |
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| Reviewed by Jon Willey |
4/13/2009 |
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| images of victims lingering in self fulfilling prophecies painted for them by men of aggression -- denigration no man should receive a sentence for -- you've taken this to the level of gravel and guts John -- a masterful interpretation and the attendant observations required to make those pronouncements -- I very much enjoy the real life descriptors,"cheap beer and whores", that enhance and give your work its core value of, believability John -- in my opinion, critical to such a work -- peace and love my friend -- Jon Michael |
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| Reviewed by Karen Palumbo |
4/13/2009 |
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How well you get your point across as so many suffer and so many more are being added to the list....
Be always safe,
Karen |
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| Reviewed by Lloyd Lofthouse |
4/13/2009 |
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| I think of all those billions that work hard without much in return and often go hungry while the wealthy play and treat the working class as if they are there to serve them like mindless machines. No wonder there are revolutions like the French, Russian and Chinese where the working class rises up and smashes the millionaire playboys. To avoid such slaughter, the wealthy should share enough of their wealth in hourly wages so those that work have enough to eat and shelter with roofs that don't leak. I see a strong message here that to dream is a luxury that should be cherished and take nothing for granted, which far to many touched by the madness of Midas do—those among us that believe they deserve more and more and more no matter who suffers. I read that there are more slaves today than in history. Someone is getting rich off coffee, chocolate and sex thanks to those suffering slaves. Powerful poem to set me off like this. Thanks. We need more reminders 'like dignity of labour'. |
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| Reviewed by Gene Williamson |
4/13/2009 |
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Perhaps those who toil and don't dream of the mourning
of a garden find a kind of poetry in the rhythm and sound
of the breaking of stone. John, you deliver beautifully on
a great title. Of course, I suppose, tiredness is not
conducive to absorbing a poetic line. |
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| Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner |
4/13/2009 |
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An honest day's labor in these lines reaching out for compassion and understanding - well done, John.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. |
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| Reviewed by JASMIN HORST SEILER |
4/13/2009 |
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| The prolitarian is speaking with poetic words, of most of the worlds poor, stitching silk balls for the rich, but they don't cry either over a dead blackbird, they might even most likely be the cause of it, but you are right it took me fifty some years before I had time to even think about poetry, it might well take the hungry and poor if at all, a hundred. Well put together and expressed in most approbiate verbiage, Blessings John! Jasmin Horst |
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