There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
This is a moment, If even that. A fragment, of mind lapsing. It's inspiration, If even that. An epiphany, That has collapsed.
By Michael Gallegos8 years ago in Poets
What have we become? If you only look around and notice the misery, Brave souls dying by the seconds, Protesters silenced by disfavors,
By Malika Young8 years ago in Poets
What defines you? Is it a nice suit? Is it what you do or your music on iTunes? Is your foundation based on the foundation on your face?
By Benjamin Haydn Davies8 years ago in Poets
Welcome to the Family, we will set around the fire. I will tell you a story, I am here to inspire. The Guitar strums, this acid will help you Succumb.
By Shellbell kuhn8 years ago in Poets
I'm sick! From cruelty to innocent souls, From outrage and ego, which only ruins. I'm tired of watching them kill, And without paying to go!
By Arzun Nasufova8 years ago in Poets
Life is precious Every baby born a miracle Every death a tragedy Then why do we treat it with carelessness We spit on its ideas
By Keira Elmer8 years ago in Poets
New jackals Romp and tear the global flesh Peer down the sight line An agenda mowing over the innocent While multitudes chatter and become trivialized secondaries
By Broke Poet8 years ago in Poets
A dialogue poem I wrote in junior year of college. Warning: Language Domestic Bliss A husband and wife sit at the dinner table,
By Candice Johnson8 years ago in Poets
G a y Three letter word; So fitting and broad. Dogmatic in its arches— Sitting in the distance of the man; who wears his hat;
we are white we are broken we are blind we are ignorant willfully ignorant we are murderers we are terrorists we are not *all* bad
By Victoria Benson-Lohr8 years ago in Poets
Humans are burdened with compunction At each and every other junction For, with their marvellous brains Come equally marvellous Chains
By Siying Ho8 years ago in Poets
That flinch you see when you raise your voice, you’re not imagining it, it is a scar of the past, a fingerprint pressed into the soft wax heart of a child,
By Amanda Frazier8 years ago in Poets
