There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
I imagined being the church custodian after the parade of kneeling bodies passed through the aisles waving dropping candies from their squeezed pockets
By Chelsie Blair Nunn5 years ago in Poets
We are filthy. We have stubborn blood soaked into our palms’ readings we are filthy. We have our wounds stung by the tangerine’s juice and sealed shut
By Lori Palmer-Tulley5 years ago in Poets
On a journey to discover the grace of inner truth, consider the days when stormy grays clouded the sky to flood the pools
By Kat Sung (they/them)5 years ago in Poets
Brown dots by the thousands. Controversial amongst the crowds and, Different thoughts surround them. With beauty comes contrasting opinions,
By Stacy Orosz5 years ago in Poets
Black is elusive and heavy Something that speaks volumes without being seen A rich warmth and harsh cold all in one Hiding most imperfections is black
By Kimberly Deluca5 years ago in Poets
Looking through the mirror at myself, I see a blob of olive green and round, golden glasses near the top, resting pertly under an unkempt
By Gabe Fouad5 years ago in Poets
I wish I was a plant By Lauren Ward for 'Colour is Pride: True Colours' Waitress, 22, student: the cusp of being a sad adult.
By Lauren I.5 years ago in Poets
I’ve heard it’s not a color, but a shade. I’ve heard I’m top notch, but didn’t make the grade. I’ve heard I should work harder, to get fully paid.
By Dayna Clark5 years ago in Poets
Oh my, a sparrow sings softly bathing in sunbeam. Oh my, a deer sips water from a rain kissed stream. Oh my, a cottontail rabbit nibbles on nourishing shoots of greens.
autism spectrum disorder. Disorder is such an ugly word to follow Spectrum; Spectrum; a word suggesting such a colorful array,
By Vivienne Castillo5 years ago in Poets
Allies of darkness, we dance with the light, Pounding each cry with the certainty of life. Within our souls, we find the way
By Willow Rakiah Creager 5 years ago in Poets
For a lifetime I’ve used these hands, these muscles, these bones. My body a tool, to be used. An extension of my consciousness.
By Katie 5 years ago in Poets
