social commentary

There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.

Roe v. Wade Truth
I told her; she wouldn't listen. She had been an RN… Women couldn't control these things. They were natural. Men refuse to acknowledge that.
By Alex Blackstone4 years ago in Poets
My place
The world is unruly, unjust and unbearably tortuous to all that journey in search of their place. Their place in the world.
By Luanda Fuenzalida4 years ago in Poets
After Pride
The morning after pride, I wake up with mixed emotions. Will the mainstream love of my community continue with year-round devotion?
By CJ Grant4 years ago in Poets
Summer Sestina
Dancing with my mother in the living room are steps different to the ones I’d danced earlier that same day. Holding her close I sway to an exhausted beat. We live two different summers and embrace different colours but not as tight as she embraces me at dusk, cradling me so I can relive winter instead.
By Titania Sterl4 years ago in Poets
is this my world?
or is it another’s? a god’s world of blinding light that does not include me . behave, i’m told will make you brave, i’m told
By Kimmy4 years ago in Poets
It's Only Temporary
Confetti stuck in my hair, Feeling like I’m finally free, As if something was in the air, Allowing myself to be me.
By Gabrielle Ianniello4 years ago in Poets
what happens after...
what happens after… . after I get used to soft sounds but the world gets loud again, louder . when the only sounds I want to hear are
By Erin Lucas4 years ago in Poets
The Waiting
I wish someone had told me I think they could have, surely the knew They must have figured out that it’s all one big lie...
By Ruth Rambles4 years ago in Poets
She Who Sits At The Parade
She who sits at the parade Surrounded by those who stand tall The immovable masses that block out the light That make her shrink
By Burgandi Rakoska4 years ago in Poets
Playground
Everyday, it seems to be a vicious cycle of Acculturation classrooms, Assimilation lessons, And conformity schoolwork.
By Novell D. Jordan4 years ago in Poets
The Vessel
This vessel does not fit. It has wrinkles and the seams do not lay flat. This vessel is nothing but iron bars. The connection I have to it is inseverable if I wish to be but must be sliced apart if I am to be truly seen.
By Michelle Miller4 years ago in Poets
Betwixt and Between
I am not alive, but my heart is beating. My place is in my mother’s womb, curled up next to my brother. I am there with him, safe, our limbs tangled like vines
By Mara Suttmann-Lea4 years ago in Poets