There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
You're on a diet, should you be eating that? Relax, honey, don't stress. It's just cake, not a baseball bat! Here's what I suggest:
By Rain Dayze7 months ago in Poets
Pain Farmers - By Ross e f Lombardi. . Well... I'm over 50. There goes my marriage. That didn't work. Just stonewalling,
By Ross E Fortune Lombardi7 months ago in Poets
what about me? ME? do you even think of me? i do not want to be invisible again. i have feelings, too. i am human, too.
By Ruby Red7 months ago in Poets
A history of bloodshed. - Ash falling with the granite over Ukrainian cities. - Weapons of mass destruction birthed by modernity.
By Reece Beckett7 months ago in Poets
I dreamed I took my grandchildren back to a world that I once knew I wanted them to see all the changes that have occurred since 1972.
By Shirley Belk7 months ago in Poets
A lone, weary soldier on patrol Hears distant gunfire. Nothing new, no eminent danger. Still alert, he scans the horizon.
By Julie Lacksonen7 months ago in Poets
The corpse of what you killed in me Has barely cooled, Not fully stiffened, Still drenched In the acid of your saliva. But you move fast,
By C. Spears7 months ago in Poets
Disconnect Look inside Make time to reflect From the world you should not hide Learn not my children to worship the stream
By Jason Morton7 months ago in Poets
Waiting... . . . . Waiting on responses stuck in corporate purgatory, trying to be proactive chasing, typing, still stuck...
By Alexander Stoddart7 months ago in Poets
Where Smoke Became the Sky, 1800’s The city did not sleep at all, it turned both night and day, With wheels that ground against the stone, and would not fade away.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 7 months ago in Poets
Hands That Could Not Rest, 1700’s The morning did not break with colour, it pressed in dull and low, Through narrow gaps in shuttered wood, where little light could go.
Violet Phases, Silent Spell A thin curved whisper, in a violet sky, It leans like a secret, it refuses to die. Night breathes low, in a hush so deep,
