There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
First, Tanvir’s father, his skin as blue as the sky, sits on the serpent. He holds a conch shell in his right hand, And in his left, he holds a discus.
By Wen Xiaosheng10 months ago in Poets
The Tomato Song The Tomato Song Once I went walking with my brother Tim. Somebody threw a tomato at him. Now tomatoes are soft and they can’t break one’s skin,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 10 months ago in Poets
Before you "pet that dawg" There are some things you need To take note of or To ask if unsure Because before you stick your hand out
By Emma K. Weir10 months ago in Poets
They will not set aside the power it gives Seek out their help, but move with careful steps Your openness carries a strength as well
By Polite Adjacent10 months ago in Poets
Please be informed! It is my responsibility to determine my fate It is never up to you to choose my mate I will give my affection to whomever I choose
By Brittney Moore10 months ago in Poets
WE SEE THROUGH..... those masks you wear to disguise that you use to cover your lies those weapons clear and concise under the acronym, I.C.E.
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden10 months ago in Poets
I. Here is a rhyme for this troubled time, when a scourge operates a scraping bot and steals people's stories, a lot! II.
By Dean Traylor10 months ago in Poets
The Locksmith’s Mirror It came from a house that shouldn’t be there no number, no road just turned up in the van, boxed like meat
I will give a caring role entirely I will only care in a two faced way that leaves a hole entirely I will be very polite to you at every moment
By Seashell Harpspring 10 months ago in Poets
Attention! Attention! Pay close attention! Silence your dissention Dispel needless tension Conform with convention There's no need to mention
By Judey Kalchik 10 months ago in Poets
Times grow darker as we navigate the interregnum between the Old World and the World to Come. * What you are seeing is an empire dying.
By David Muñoz10 months ago in Poets
My father is a liar. When you meet him at the sore, sweet manners he will deplore. The charm painted on thick. I warn you of his ire.
By Laura Lann10 months ago in Poets
