There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
I feel love sinking into my skin. Like emulsifying butter. The science of your existence. The spiritual ritual that makes my life.
By Michelle4 years ago in Poets
So you move to an area that is ghetto and known for having several different gangs; Even if in the vicinity where they are known to frequent and hang.
By Jason Shipley4 years ago in Poets
-You can't seriously believe I chose this -As a child leaving the house I was constantly dissed -By those who couldn't see I was just being me
By Cocoa Chadae4 years ago in Poets
Cheers to a fun experiment I started last year, but I am still committed to completing this year! #25daysofpoetrychallenge.
By SB. 4 years ago in Poets
You are strong When I need you. Perhaps placed here To open a jar or two, To help where I fall short, And the world praises you for that.
By Tamera Hayes4 years ago in Poets
To be rich with millions of pieces of paper, is this what we die for? To see green growing in vaulted chambers? To look upon a neighbor and say,
By Maria Shimizu Christensen4 years ago in Poets
you were the reason I love dogs just as much as I do, today. you. no other dog; you. you did that. of course I had other special dogs
By 'Lissa Stufflestreet4 years ago in Poets
I’ll keep a watchful eye like a raven in a clock tower won’t live an awful lie slaving days over lost power spent loose youth as a helicopter hellion
By Michael Redgen4 years ago in Poets
Mundanity mars emotion Mourning masked as a mania moldering Freed forever from feeling Pharma's fix frames life different
By Tales from a Madman4 years ago in Poets
Relationships Or "two ships passing in the night" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote this right? Sparks flew and that was the end.
By Denise E Lindquist4 years ago in Poets
To be a Black Man To live in a world where they hate a confident black man is like driving a car with a slipped transmission
By Burt Boileau4 years ago in Poets
It is an eerie world where the gaslight's lit, Behind their backs, Where the children sit. In the flickering light their shadows shift.
By jocelyn Townsend 4 years ago in Poets
