There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
CIVILITY Contradictory beliefs are part of our daily lives If we all believed and thought the same, there would be no spice
By Stu E5 years ago in Poets
I wish we could be friends We’d get along great But I got some issues to fix I think you got the same If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours
By Levey Rodrigues5 years ago in Poets
If you want a new phone, then just get one, but stop playing this cruel game of continuing to keep my service turned on while you look
By N. Thomas5 years ago in Poets
Next time you are running errands in town, Do yourself a favour and take a look around, Take note of all the people you see,
By Joyce Kay5 years ago in Poets
Walks Through The Valley Of Beauty!! #So Intense. Follow The Leader, Clean & Claire!! Wisdom Not Greying, "She Hype Eh!!"
By Sean Noble5 years ago in Poets
Memories and flashbacks are scattered on the floor As images of the present barricade the door. I stare at the ceiling into stars of the future kind
By Patrick O'Connor5 years ago in Poets
Lock it up Any chronic stupidity Any accrued ignorance Any endless foolishness Lock them up Any invisible gods Any human condition
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Poets
Jealous pious “Not being specific”, but envy’s horrific. Continued accusations, without founding objection. The oddest enquiries, regards clandestine building allies, dead endangering. Continuing blaming…..zzzzzzzz
By Paul Beckett5 years ago in Poets
From the moment you are the size of an avocado Your entire life is already planned out for you If you have “male” genitalia
By Kara Thomas5 years ago in Poets
Today, June 19th, I decided to watch, "High on the Hog:How African American Cuisine Transformed America," on Netflix. The following thought was birthed from this amazing and truth revealing documentary, hosted by Stephen Satterfield.
By Cynthia Fields5 years ago in Poets
A walk through the Quarter. These sidewalks are busted. How did that drunk lady navigate that crack? Did they really just sweep the beads down the drain?
By AmyRims5 years ago in Poets
I am withered down, spat on, and curled up in the street I pray each night for food, home and place to sleep Angels watching if you would lay a helping hand
By Barbara Falo5 years ago in Poets
