social commentary

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

The Dessert
The dawn leaked magenta across the white floor, Where gravity folded and time was no more. A basin of rubies suspended in air,
By Forest Green11 days ago in Poets
The Dessert
A velvet midnight spun on silver wire, We baked the crescent moon in amber fire. The crust—a shattered dream of toasted wheat—
By Forest Green11 days ago in Poets
The Dessert
Upon a crust of silvered cloud, Where painted skies are dawn-endowed, A fragile saucer lifts the sun— A golden dream just half-begun.
By Forest Green11 days ago in Poets
Coffee With Demons
The knives are watching, waiting for their blood, With hungry hands they search for lingering flesh. Each dagger finds a home and stains the floor;
By Scott A. Vancil11 days ago in Poets
Façades
Masks and costumes, Old Traditions. Candies and parties And superstitions. Witches and warlocks, Conjuring Magicians Ghosts of old pasts,
By Jebus! 11 days ago in Poets
Fast
When feelings become mush When everything moves too fast When you dont know whats happening When it feels like you’re drowning
By Jamie Quintuna11 days ago in Poets
Masquerade
Every party is a costume party. I don an invisible mask that hides The real person I am beneath, That you cannot abide. 🎭
By Jesse Lee11 days ago in Poets
Respect the Living Women
I find it really odd that a patriarchal country worships Durga, the Hindu deity, the symbol of female empowerment. Have been doing it since centuries,
By Seema Patel12 days ago in Poets
Reality?
We've all read the books seen the movies. 1984, A brand new world. The Lorax, for Christ's sake. We all know what is happening.
By Felix McCann12 days ago in Poets
I'm Dead
I'm dead. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you FUCK YOU!!!! My phone fizzles out in my hand and my only thought is death. Without this tiny device, smaller than my hand, my life means nothing. Everything I've ever created is on my phone, my very soul and all my friends are linked to this mess of metal. I will never meet the only people I could ever trust with my secrets, if I don't have my phone.
By J "Griffin" Rooms13 days ago in Poets
Difficult Immigrant Poetry
Been rubbin’ a bad charm with holy fingers. * Now, what do I mean by that? * I begin with this question, I have ideas worth a mention.
By Kendall Defoe 13 days ago in Poets
Can You Hear Our Ancestors Call?
Can You Hear Our Ancestors Call? Can you hear our ancestors call, When midnight shadows climb the wall? Their voices drift through mist and rain,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 13 days ago in Poets