There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
Kill the black bloods! March march March! Hut 2-3-4 March march March! Today was the day The day I was created for
By Rubia Sohail Sallam4 years ago in Poets
Stories start the same from the first page of the chapter, building toward a conflict and introducing a villain and hero. Interesting stories leave little for laughter,
By Jason Ray Morton 4 years ago in Poets
To speak— To say something meaningful With a meaningless vocabulary, To say something of creation In a manufactured world,
By Sarah G.4 years ago in Poets
Lend me your ear So that I may listen to your piano play. I shall stretch my fingers across the keys While you produce a scale of your choosing.
By River Cronan 4 years ago in Poets
Working that 9-5 shift five days a week. Putting your nose to the grind to make that money. Driving to the same place day in and day out.
By Michael Armstrong4 years ago in Poets
An equal exchange is a mind for a heart Or a soul for a soul, but for only a part?- Why would anyone make such a deal
By Emily Dickerson4 years ago in Poets
When we have lost weight "Oh my god! Why are you thin?" "Don't you ever eat anything?" "Don't go outside, the wind would blow you away!"
By Dharrsheena Raja Segarran4 years ago in Poets
I have finally come to the years-in-the-making understanding that some of us are meant for nothing more than to be the wind 'neath the worlds' wings.
By Lizzy Rose4 years ago in Poets
We're all on the same boat. It is sinking while holding such precious cargo. I ponder the definition of patriotic when the media puts a spell
By Lesley Kaplan4 years ago in Poets
A cage of love is still a cage Though love will peck and gnaw your rage Your children soar on feathered wings Your husband is a jailor king
By Mhairi Campbell 4 years ago in Poets
I place the table near the street, and cover it up with clean white sheets. Then we both sit and ponder at who we’ll meet.
By Jeffrey Sparks4 years ago in Poets
He is of the cosmic bowl, We are floating the dark orifice They have yet to notice our toil And discover our mortal distress
By Octovo Libra 4 years ago in Poets
