social commentary
There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
TWO MAGNIFICENT MEN IN A FLYING MACHINE
TWO MAGNIFICENT MEN IN A FLYING MACHINE Two magnificent men in a flying machine, Came passing right over my head, One of them Tony, The other was Fred, They landed in a field not far away, And shouted, anybody want a ride today.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 30 days ago in Poets
Speaking as a Father
A father of boys I understand defending your children and having their back. Right Up Until They Rape Someone It doesn't matter the gender How much or little she was wearing Or her condition. Those are just details people pick apart To avoid confronting how fucked we are As an enlightened society. The point is They raped someone Knew they were raping someone Had fun raping someone. So I do, as a parent, understand wanting to have your children's back. Right up until you realise your son, your piece of shit flesh-and-blood offspring, is a rapist. A coward With a penis. Boys will be...don't you even dare finish that fucking sentence. They have such a bright future... No. They did. Until they put their savagery above human decency and, you know, not assaulting an inebriated woman. Until they thought it was all shits and giggles To jiggle their bits inside another human being Who was vulnerable. Don't dare say they lacked self-control. They did. But it's worse. They lacked the bare minimum. I hope the lies and stories and accusations and dark shadow of guilt follow them and eat at them. But I doubt it will. To women who have experienced the exact same thing as Jane Doe: I am sorry isn't good enough. Somewhere, somehow, we let you down. Maybe not us personally, But men abused you and we, your fellow humans, Let you down. So I am sorry. Please never stop forcing us to confront The awful truth That it happened on our watch. If you're not actively against the brutality, Are you for it? If you refuse to say fuck all, is that because your opinion is fuck all? Please remember she is a woman like your mum you won't hear shit said about. Please remember she is a woman like your daughter you'd never want to be raped. She is a woman like all those women you adore and care about. The ones next to you, in front of you, who probably, unfortunately, know to a greater or lesser degree what it's like. Look at them. Hold them. Comfort them. Remember: She is them. They are her. If that helps. But remember she shouldn't have to be your daughter, mum, sister or best friend for you to give something remotely like a shit. It's not actually difficult. It shouldn't feel like some kind of revolutionary stance To stand with the victim and to want better. That's the fucking minimum. The absolute fucking minimum. I don't give a shit who you are. I hope the publicity, The outrage And the response, The vilification Of your existence, The ramifications Of your insistence That getting your fucking jollies With a woman who didn't ask for it Was somehow acceptable— I hope all of it echoes the trauma Of your victim. You cowards.
By Paul Stewart30 days ago in Poets
Group Hug
In the heart's quiet chamber, pain plays, Where whispers of longing and laughter blend, A tapestry woven in hues of gray, Each thread a story, where beginnings end. Hands outstretched like branches in our glow, We gather the fragments of souls intertwined; In this sacred circle where warm breezes blow, The weight of existence feels tenderly kind. Oh, the solace found in a shared embrace! An echoing heartbeat amidst silent fears; In vulnerability lies our common grace— Through the arms of another dissolve bitter tears. As time ebbs and flows like waves on the shore, Each hug a reminder we’re never alone; For in every clasp there is love to restore— Together we rise; together we've grown. So let us convene under stars that ignite, In moments united when darkness takes flight; For though life's vast journey may twist and unwind, It’s here in connection that meaning we find.
By Forest Greenabout a month ago in Poets
I Heart New York City
In the city's cradle where dreams intertwine, Skyscrapers rise like titans against the sky, Their glassy reflections catch whispers of time, As taxis weave tales with each honking sigh. Neon lights flicker—a siren's embrace, The pulse of the streets beats steady and strong; From Brooklyn Bridge arches to Times Square's face, Every corner a story, a lyric in song. Pigeons dance on sidewalks as children chase hope, With ice cream cones dripping in summer's warm glow; Street vendors beckon with spicy kaleidoscope— Of life’s flavors mingling in sweet ebb and flow. A saxophonist croons on a bustling street, His notes lift like smoke from a soft winter fire; Each melody woven where strangers might meet, Binding hearts in their rhythm—a shared desire. Through storms that may batter this concrete domain, And winters that chill like an old lover's lie, The spirit endures through struggle and strain— New York wears her scars like stars in the sky. So here’s to the chaos that we call our home, To laughter and tears beneath skyscraper’s gaze; For in every heartbeat—from Broadway to loam— I find my own soul where this city ablaze.
By Forest Greenabout a month ago in Poets
