There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
The world slides by along the freeways. The city petering away with every tyre spin. The suburbs stretching out till they become warehouses,
Little Black Book
There once was a girl named Corie-Anne, They called her Corie for short. She didn’t really have many friends, She was the awkward kind of sort.
A Crown for Lockdown: Part One
Introduction A crown of sonnets is a sequence of 14 sonnets, all based around a single unifying theme and also all connected, through the repetition of the last line of a sonnet as the first line of the subsequent sonnet. So, line 14 of sonnet one becomes the first line of sonnet two, and line 14 of sonnet two becomes the first line of sonnet three, and so on. The final line of the final sonnet must also be the first line of the first sonnet, completing the ring, or crown.
I want to feel the breeze blowing passed the bustling streets and the trees where the leaves shake like natural chimes,
Where are we going, Part II
The sound of traffic whirs by me in this middle of nowhere. Everyone seems to be headed somewhere to some destination,
Why must Our Heroes be peaceful?
Why must our heroes be peaceful? Every year in school for a week or so, we were taught about the great inventors and business people. We heard of great leaders, activists and our many, many, many entertainers. All of whom were presented as peacemakers or peace keepers. There are a few notable showcases for contrast, absolutely, but by and large it is always the *nice* ones we prefer to focus on.
Surrounded by Freedom
Surrounded by freedom means that in a room full of my peers I'm most likely the only one that doesn't look like my peers It means that in order for me to be heard I must modulate and permutate;
Patriotism is the new Racism
My white brothers and sisters, I'm so tired of this shit. This is a really big planet - and there's more than just white people in it.
Fragile poem of humans being Jogs me from my bed, Drowsy, hoarded loneliness And existential dread. Ironic that we prize so much Our efforts to connect, When shadows of a sidelong view Are all we can expect.
A Tempest on the horizon. Heading our way. Invisible to the blind, unheard by the deaf, hidden by others.
Dear Black men, You are special , you were created to be all that you dream of being. It is not your fault that the odds were stacked against you . It is not your fault that you can't see beyond your struggle for long enough to see and be able to chase your dreams. For as long as I have a voice I will use it . Someone has got to tell your story .
A darkness falls over yonder. A heart beats no longer. Trees sway, and the earth shakes as I lay awake. Funny how my mind thinks of recollections long gone.