There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
On the Capital’s Mall, tourists are dwarfed by giants— bronze and marble fathers, larger than life, ordained by the heavens,
By Stacey Mataxis Whitlow (SMW)about a year ago in Poets
Silent complicity in convenient lies normally is more cowardly than kind. There are occasions when it’s best to lie, But far fewer than we let ourselves believe.
By William Alfredabout a year ago in Poets
Out of the prism of life springs forth the light of humanity we bathe in the celestial truth that we all came from one source
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Poets
When the Ink is Mine I set my voice upon the page where ink remembers every age the paper waited still for me to shape the words that needed free
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Passion is overwhelming, passion is fleeting, how quickly does a passion become our identity. - Yet as fleeting as the Winter Sun,
By Alexander Stoddartabout a year ago in Poets
You only miss something when it has gone You don’t hear the clock, until it stops and the room feels too still You don’t notice the way
Kindness is... Brave. Because even when it's small, it can part dark storm clouds. Kindness is... A shooting star Because it's a thing to make a wish on when you spot it.
By Ruby Redabout a year ago in Poets
Introduction I was not sure how to approach this. It's International Left Handers Day, and I suppose the 13th is a perfect day for it, given how both have been treated (lefthandedness and the number 13)
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Poets
Eyeless authority, spewing lies of grand design. Refusing resignation… promoting crystalline connections, And high power perfection.
By Caitlyn Wenzelabout a year ago in Poets
The Pond with Deadly Secrets The pond that holds deadly secrets sits silent in the night its surface black like spilled ink
Who will melt the metal, turn their swords to napkin rings, so we can dine at tables where hope is the only thing served?
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
He drank his beer with childrens straws like it was nothing strange at all foam clung to the bend he tipped it slow watching the world over the rim
