social commentary
There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
Plenty. Top Story - September 2026.
It's a delicacy to come home to a government-made meal Of debt collectors and voicemails from the friendly lady Who keeps offering, offering, offering to cut my arm off In exchange for a penny, pebbles, and a rusted Coke can. Tastes so fucking good to sink my teeth into the propaganda. 'Designed with you in mind,' is truer than I used to think. Pop a pill to keep the spam away because the message is more Important than the messenger and the discomfort combined. They want me here, plastered to the pleather couch, trapped. And I want to be here, swiping through uncanny faces, Looking for something real enough to light a spark of life Inside the hallways of my brain (what's left of it at least). It doesn't scratch the itch. That's not surprising though, is it, since they planted their Invisible seeds in my pores and have watered my skin for Years waiting for the moment that I grow a little too itchy And claw myself apart, bleed out in their front yards. Or maybe I could buy something to turn the itch into a pain, Then pick a little something up to dull the agony and then All I'll have to deal with is regular old heartache and insomnia. Plenty of pretty little pills for those things though; plenty, plenty. Is pain easier to deal with than this unscratchable itch? Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, but sitting here in the glow of blue TV screens and blue phones and blue fucking fridge screens Isn't doing what they swore and promised it would.
By Silver Daux2 months ago in Poets
Working 9 to 5
Nine to five--you say But I work twelve hours a day You don't really care Author's Note: I'm on day three of the fifty-day song/lyric-inspired haiku challenge. Today's poem is inspired by "9 to 5" from the late, great Dolly Parton, which you can listen to below.
By Stephanie Hoogstad2 months ago in Poets
sister sunlight
achingly rusted bones bend out of bed the weight of a full skull sits heavy in my head loaded minds roll all the dice while I slip my body of flesh onto the floor eyes closed I feel it pour sunlight streams through spotted window panes roasting my marrow like a marshmallow over open flames sister sunlight sparkles her radiant rays every morning she slides a folded paper note into my pocket promising that today is a new day while sleeping minds get cleansed in moonlight the searing sun prepares her masterpiece through molten mantles she shines only on the other side my fragile metatarsals will never make their way to her yet from miles away she moves me moves my world stops every morning to have a spot of tea with my mind sipping gently cooing praises for my waking demanding that I understand with all my heart and soul that darkness does not last forever and neither will I but I am here now with her alive
By Lolly Vieira2 months ago in Poets
