social commentary
There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
Stop a Bullet with a Poem. Top Story - January 2019.
Stop A Bullet with A Poem If I could stop a bullet with a poem I would. If I could save one life with a poem I would. I’d throw each word like a disk or a shield aiming straight at bullets from 45s and 22s that has black, white, and brown families singing the blues, singing the blues.
By Christopher Sims7 years ago in Poets
Dinner
Spending several days in dead ends, the mind bends in odd spaces and unfamiliar places. As real and resilient as the adaptation she faces. As key as legends on the maps that were made to find a way so that the repetition of loss would not replay. As forward as the front lines at the core of each war which if one wants to progress they should not ignore. First, ascend in versatility with the defense to defend. Then heal and negotiate to mend with camouflage and empathy to blend, wrapped up in cognizance to compliment. This what it takes to make it. Takes a lifetime to be real and two seconds to fake it. The trail's just so worn out and outdated. More would love these lessons if the methods weren't so hated. It's hard to look at; it's blinding. They're buying Gucci jackets looking for the silver lining. Like a confused kid seeking while they're hiding. That one broken tape that keeps rewinding but it's your favorite so you keep trying to play it; no minding. The commitment to it is oddly binding. But I guess that's just the deal. Some people are hunched over nibbling on scraps for a meal with better off kids from dysfunctional families who steal. Running up and down the sidewalks so concrete; its real. Around the corner, they open it up and break the seal. Just hidden from view. If you heard about you probably already knew. Saying that's my cue it's a touchy subject for me I don't know how I'll do. Keep in mind satisfaction is not guaranteed. We have to earn our keep to keep what we earn. We're all a work in progress, meant not to regret, but learn. Be you on you're on your own, or in the fleet. Whether you're crawling through the mud, or running on your feet. Shivering in the cold, or sweating in the heat. Til the better weather with the bushes and the lawn trimmed, neat. Through trials and tribulations til we all eat.
By A. Calderon7 years ago in Poets
