There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
This is a small story along the pearl river mouth That started with a fast smooth hop in the vast deep south. We're in China, former colonial cities, big dreams.
By Francis L4 years ago in Poets
Pt.1 I’ve been walking around this Earth for enough centuries to know my way around the block. When it comes to genitals -
By Anastasita Qualia4 years ago in Poets
The mother wound Got me crying rainbows - Take Me Home to exercise Presence and I will love myself to death. Till death do us part
Home Is the feeling You get when you meet Someone’s eyes. It’s a rush of Laughter At the inside joke You’ve heard A million times.
By Natalie Noelle4 years ago in Poets
Home is not a house, an apartment or any other sort of abode. These are just spaces we occupy, make memories in, they are where we grow old.
By ZaftigGeek4 years ago in Poets
Home may be a place Home might be a person Home may be a feeling Good or bad or worsened. Home may be acceptance Home might be chaotic
By Derek Kemp4 years ago in Poets
Have we really fallen so low To make fun of the person with a disability When we don’t even know What they have to face daily
By Bahora Saitova 4 years ago in Poets
The American Dream is a unicorn shimmering and shining and just as make-believe. A mirage in the desert wavering in the heat
By Katie L. Oswald (BookDragon)4 years ago in Poets
I sometimes forget to address how Hazy home feels Because I've been away Chasing corrections and candy chews. Listening for the click clack of
By Morgan McCoy4 years ago in Poets
Home to me is four walls of dysfunction. Elephants filled in each room at family functions. Skeletons in the closet, secrets left unspoken.
By Arcana Archives 4 years ago in Poets
Give me your hand. Give me a moment So I can help you understand Why I am who I am Born and raised in Brooklyn And it's the Brooklyn in me
By Dalevon Julian4 years ago in Poets
The feel of dirt in between my toes as the Nebraska sun warmed my skin is part of my childhood home — the smell of ripe tomatoes
By Linda Christiancy4 years ago in Poets
