There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
The mind of a poet, A writer, Is a chaotic place, a place few dare to enter, without protection, to hear the words, to hear the whisper against the ear, a place of dementia to the untrained ear.
By Jason Giecek4 years ago in Poets
Once upon a time In a time long, long, ago When we lived by an accepted system Of, as far as we knew were correct and sure,
By Novel Allen4 years ago in Poets
Living is Temporary I think about that a lot Especially when the voice talks “No one likes queers” “No one likes snowflakes”
By G. Sinfold4 years ago in Poets
Another subtle nuance A parting gesture An elegance And a perfunctory moment of awkward dysfunction that becomes goodbye
By Melissa Eaves4 years ago in Poets
by Lennox Ó'Súilleabháin Pride started as a riot It was a party the other day Tens of thousands in the sweltering streets of Toronto
By Lennox O'Suilleabhain4 years ago in Poets
If I could transcend todays hate with just one poem I would write it, sing it, and send it soaring, like Mary Poppins, through the atmosphere
By Bradshaw Collinson4 years ago in Poets
Lastly comes the stiff bristle brooms to sweep up the happy debris scattered confetti, deflated balloon skins, and corn popped,
By Vivian R McInerny4 years ago in Poets
I am old now so, I think a lot. I am the one the world forgot. I sit in my dark room. Waiting for my impossible groom.
By Jeff Johnson4 years ago in Poets
Enough is enough Being Black is rough You think of us as tough and stuff We feel too and just as much as you (if not more)
By Susan Wilkins4 years ago in Poets
There is unity in the community Or at least there should be There is immunity in the community Immunity from violence and hate
The Moon shines no light on my 27th year on the 27th day It’s the day after the 26th and no longer a parade In the city that never sleeps my eyes burn as I cry
By Gabriel4 years ago in Poets
Mint grows on the banks of the Sacramento River. Constricted by the tightening fingers of a devilish man, a woman says goodbye to her child again.
By Blake Smith4 years ago in Poets
