social commentary

There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.

The Pills!
Think fast, think fast, no faster than that, how many were left, just do the damn math. In an instant her plea from weeks before, came into my mind like a slamming door.
By Samantha F. Robertson5 years ago in Poets
SKIPPING SCHOOL
“Let’s ride to Boulevard East.” Go, Go, Go! “Let’s take the long way.” Go, Turn, Go! “Yo, but there’s mad 5-0 that way.”
By Omar Gonzalez5 years ago in Poets
Dichotomy of Desire and Despisal
We all, especially them The artists and romantics Try to capture the wonder Entrap the awe, hope, innocence Of childhood, once known
By Brontide5 years ago in Poets
If I Ran the World - Pt. 1
Sleep wouldn't be required but could be enjoyed. Education would be a right for all with no money required. Coffee would be endless.
By KadEmily5 years ago in Poets
A Title is a title is a title is a Donut.
we are all just titles, you and me. the difference being that I can name myself whatever I want. On Monday:
By caylie hausman5 years ago in Poets
Scary New World
At first, a New World Order sure sounds nice. But, are they going to try and kill us? Depopulation Plan? Agenda 21?
By Rowan Finley 5 years ago in Poets
Disease
I'd like to dedicate this piece to anyone and everyone affected by this pandemic. As invoked in the poem, I'd like to empower you to read John Donne's Death, Be Not Proud sonnet. As a beautifully defiant piece, I found a lot of inspiration in it's rebuke of death personified. We are stronger. Stay safe everyone:
By Matt Martin-Hall5 years ago in Poets
Corona
We saw her coming We hear the roaring of her voice But still she took us unaware Because we took her for granted We can't escape but bear her wrath now
By matthew edeh5 years ago in Poets
RAGE
Rage I am full of rage in a world where I was lost, Felt alone among adults who did not care about me? Pain flustered into numbness
By J Ryan5 years ago in Poets
Auto-Erotics; in Red, White, and Blue
Americana is a saggy tit whore that leaves pockmarks in the sheets and sludge underneath the handles in the bathroom.     The staff either don't or can't clean it.
By Matt Martin-Hall5 years ago in Poets
Andrew Jackson and the Civil War
Were I to dwell a day  in the den of my enemies.    What would we say  of the corpses they fucked  and threw in the corner?
By Matt Martin-Hall5 years ago in Poets
The End of Colossus
Oh, the corpses that float  In the shadow of  the New Colossus.    A gift that should  have been taken back  by the French
By Matt Martin-Hall5 years ago in Poets