There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
You wear blue you carry a gun and a badge only goes to show how little struggle you've had you uphold our laws decide what's right and what's wrong
By Ailyna Redbird8 years ago in Poets
It started here, on this number line, and it’s marked by numerals,in circles and squares. And it ends here. In fact, however. . .it never began, and it never ends.
By David Power8 years ago in Poets
Was it worth it love? Those crystals you found Was it worth it my love? When you hid the note you found Was it worth it my love?
By Stephanie Keesee8 years ago in Poets
Mysterious and Commanding Demanding my Attention With Every Color, You are Engulfed By With Every Crisp Line, You are Traced By
By Victoria Gudbranson8 years ago in Poets
I crawl across the cold floor My fragility is showing You ask “what are you doing? Come on babe where ya going?” Wasn't that just you
I don’t know you And I won’t honor you If by chance, your stance Was in opposition to the olive branch; In connection to a state of mind
By Bob Dudley8 years ago in Poets
I feel a deep sense of sonder thinking about all that you could be As I sit here and I ponder On what is happening to me
By Eternity Mickens8 years ago in Poets
You tell us we don’t need paradesYou tell us we don’t need prideYou tell us we’re all equal nowYou tell us we’ve won the fight
By Liz Shannon8 years ago in Poets
I understand the media is best when at their worst Up from John P. Zenger down to William Randolph Hearst. The ratings climb, the story's good- whatever it may be.
By Paul Forshtay8 years ago in Poets
Down down - gasp The fall is long, falling slow. The darkness creeps like dusk, like shadows lengthening slow, slow - exhale
By Kathryn Brown8 years ago in Poets
IT'S COLD, DARK, AND GLOOMY OUT I NEED TO TAKE A BATH TO DROWN MY DOUBT I FEEL COMFORTABLE, RELAXED IN MY SPACE I FEEL WARM AND SAFE, BUT I'M TRYING TO REPLACE
By Jessica Smart8 years ago in Poets
Have you always felt this way? Have you always felt the sway of the ages, the drifting and drafting of loose-leaf pages, in limbs ever-creaking from far-flung breeze?
By Joel Crow8 years ago in Poets
