There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
She was busy counting wolves conversing with crows soft and white as a widow's linen. They scoffed at her, called her delicate,
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
Trees grow in odd shapes, The ground isn't always straight, Fences can be rough and worn, Your shoes won't always last in a storm,
By Carol Ann Townendabout a year ago in Poets
My mind wears a collar, but the leash drags behind. They tried to train my spine— teach it obedience like a second language.
By Lolly Vieiraabout a year ago in Poets
I turned off the news. I had a conversation with Sweetie Bird. This is what we wrote, created, & produced. Honestly, my bird is a connoisseur of music.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
A falsehood follows the truth, and the truth follows a lie What’s the point of blending dark and light colors Lie is lie, truth is truth
By TheNaethabout a year ago in Poets
Alcoholic Mischief Alcoholic mischief maker It poured itself into my glass, potent magic, strong, accursed, my head was banging, I needed a nurse.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
The soft touch of the rose naturally comes out with the scent of such fresh perfume in all colors of bouquets, chasing self-approval
By Antea Lumina Kala Matylda about a year ago in Poets
Tired with the carga of vida, if you’re feeling triste, needing ayuda, Take a healing pausa, In maravillosa naturaleza. Sit under the shade of árbol,
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
Whispers of the Mountain Beneath tall trees where mountains rise, A lake reflects the painted skies. A boy kneels low in flowers fair,
By Mukhtiar Ahmadabout a year ago in Poets
They started by giving us telepathy through digital scenes We could read the whole world through our damn facebook screens
By Sam Spinelliabout a year ago in Poets
He inherited the tightly folded linens, starched corners, brittle creases, bleached until they could no longer recall every harsh argument around the table
I can see across the sea, On clear days across the waves, An island of folk, As fierce to friend and foe, Who go about life bitter,
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Poets
