social commentary
There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
- Top Story - September 2023
Talk is Cheap, Silence is Golden
Talk is cheap Silence is golden Think before you spray But never hold back Just always be careful But don't hold it in
Paul StewartPublished 7 months ago in Poets Ape No More
Go on Tell me again how a man becomes gentle, by magic, when he pulls out his wallet and pays for... anything with your name on it.
ageingpoptartPublished 7 months ago in PoetsThe Gap at Sycamore Gap
When I heard that the tree was no more at Sycamore Gap, I felt a sadness at its demise. We had just been warned of Storm Agnes which was approaching the UK with its windy savagery, churning up grey skies and heralding the beginning of colder, darker days. I thought that it was Agnes who had felled the tree but this was not the case. She had other havoc to wreak.
Rachel DeemingPublished 7 months ago in PoetsThe Guard of the Land
He runs for the hills when he’s in the mood for a hunt, Buckskins and mantle hide him from the prey’s view, He’s living in his element as his testosterone rises,
Colleen MillsteedPublished 7 months ago in PoetsParalyzed
Head pounding Pens scratching Sheets flipping And I sit there, paralyzed. Clock ticking Time passing Eyes moving And I sit there,
William Choi-KimPublished 7 months ago in PoetsMcNulty
not sure how to put this things are fucky and askew i need to know in simple terms …what the fuck did i do? was it something that i said?
Texas Winter Worries
Snow Apocolypse Many Thoughts and a Prayer Nope we’re not prepared Why does my Grandma have a Hammer!?? Trees will become ice
The Hollow Man's Gifts
Holding the sky until the world fell first so the future can weep at daisies; He stands adamant - No disbelief at the cloudy weight or the disappearing surface, And strong he stills to stone no struggle to be heard, but they knew as we did The marvel of this pure pillar. An invisible noose for a pawn, translucent and unaware of touch Only honest will. Not him but the rest, Struggle through the midnight march and toil in the angel land with the promise choir, - All thoughtless prayer, - But our saviour stony and perpetual, For no immoral wish infects this soil, as future understands. With no plan to question or youth to challenge, this is as constant as his inner ache. Growth in viny decoration sustains hope that comes with life - In stony reverence our saviour still. And gone our saviour still as we ascend, crawl to icy skies And he our saviour still, wears those shackles ours. No moon with a thousand eyes or a sun with a thousand ears can dare or summon But he with no guilty mind sings our melody. This gravel fills; Weak at our knees with lungs of war, we echo And there - Where is our need to cry for he our saviour still, with his stony embrace, And we only breathe life into a warm aura. If only this luck with tender descent would remain free of the ages But here our life still reigns supreme, with stars and seasons hiding their paths Though we immutable, in this we pray. With this paper crane and he, we ride and to future he delivers Who but he, our saviour still, could sew these watery prayers in secure promise. We believe not in the convulsing form of the higher placed But the solid hollow frame to which we bind, Bear the ocean in the night to steer us to the life of angels, with no tide to swallow But our bright and stormy home. In visions of mountain entry he melts the light and carries us, our fear, And we grow - and with that life and hope Our saviour still.
Titania SterlPublished 7 months ago in PoetsOne
One America in theory it’s true The facts are there many things We are taught to separate me from you From the north to the south far and wide
Gregory AndersonPublished 7 months ago in PoetsBullshit
blowing smoke baseless flattery outright lies ‘It’s my favorite!’ ‘Have you lost weight?’ baloney - ‘It will be different this time’
Judey KalchikPublished 7 months ago in PoetsGraneledone boreopacifica
The first eggs of spring melt hope Into a burden - Coins trodden into The sword edge of the Bed. Buried thick beneath.
Celia in UnderlandPublished 7 months ago in Poetspoems
LIFLIFE IS NOT EQUAL What about the baby then? Her little deformed back And that was all due to her mother's small amount of crack addiction.