There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
The Art of Peace by Gaille Hunter Silence draped in streams of amber and mauve glistens harmoniously through distant echoes
By Gaille Hunter4 years ago in Poets
Walking with my human in my favourite park at night, When something rather strange occurred and gave me quite a fright, The sky was filled with colours and bright sparkles raining down,
By Courtney Harris4 years ago in Poets
WE are Earth, And Our Garden, Does not seem well. Eden cries out, That it is not hidden, Nor lost. Eden wants to be seen,
By Adrian P. ‘Yobi the Bear’ Blumberg4 years ago in Poets
Halloween For some of us Halloween is our favorite holiday We plan ahead Picking out something we want to portray
By John Fletcher4 years ago in Poets
Drinking vessel proffered; grime-clogged nails Styrofoam rigid, white, static Stark against the dinginess of the stairwell
By Rosy Gee4 years ago in Poets
Well, CNN got it all wrong (they could not even get the year you sprung forth right). It was necessary to watch
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Poets
*** You say I let you down, and that I’m no good for you. You say you’re disappointed that I never come through. I try to show you the truth that lies right in front of you.
By Lena Beana4 years ago in Poets
Today is a new day, or is it yesterdays leftover My emotions scramble into one I pray for change yet all my cries do is bounce off the tumbling walls of my mind
By Noah Douglas4 years ago in Poets
a million times I have thought about getting married but I don't think it will ever happen to me- a million times I have thought about him
By Melissa Ingoldsby4 years ago in Poets
So, you cared for the people in the hospital Brought them medicines, comforted them with needles And at home, your role has been reversed
By Moon Desert4 years ago in Poets
While I don't write an awful lot of poetry or consider myself a poet, sometimes I get in a mood to express myself in a different way.
By Justiss Goode4 years ago in Poets
silently we fall asleep to our own rhythms, each one more persistent than the last, and we're aching in our skins tonight
By Jillian Spiridon4 years ago in Poets
