social commentary

There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.

Lost in Time: What This Old Red Postbox Has Seen Over the Years!
📮 The Red Postbox Speaks: A Timeless Guardian of Letters 📮 🔴📜 The Silent Witness Through the Years🔴 I stand here, proud and bold,
By PRABAL TR PRO2 years ago in Poets
The Devil Called John Brown. Top Story - March 2025.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is written from the perspective of a Southerner character. I don't condone their viewpoint. Yes, I do feel like I have to clarify this; this is the Internet and irony is dead, apparently. Enjoy.
By Conor Matthews2 years ago in Poets
Controversy
Why ask… when you know the words I have to say only shock, confuse and bring you such dismay? ~~~ Disrespect? What is it to have lived it?
By K.B. Silver 2 years ago in Poets
Neglect
Never Emotionally Grounded. Letting Emotions Control Time. Narcissists Effortlessly Giving Lies, Expecting Courtesy;
By Slgtlyscatt3red2 years ago in Poets
Tales of Torment: Cursed Arts
What, and who, is around me... share passions and joys and interests, which I do not‐ I have lost mine... Feelings of hope and peace, which I do not‐
By JM2 years ago in Poets
Let Me Explain (Life With ADHD)
How can I describe... what life is like, with a mind in constant search of some kind of stimulation... while at the very same time,
By JM2 years ago in Poets
SLOTH
sloth head, pulse and throb eyes, heavy and red glazed over from the screen this mind death chews and gnaws at me this poison seeping in
By angela hepworth2 years ago in Poets
Inheritance of Old Wounds
Inheritance of Old Wounds I hold them in my hands— the fragments of my parents, splintered love and jagged words, hymns of hunger, songs of toil.
By Katie L. Kashan2 years ago in Poets
There's Nothing Normal About This
Life handed me a lipstick, Then handed me a pig. My mother gaslights me Calling me a lazy bitch. / "If you just believed in God again,
By CT Idlehouse2 years ago in Poets
Coffee
Cold, black elixir trickling down my throat Some days it is warm as its cream fills my gut Its energy powers my life Without it
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
If People Were Bread
if people were made of bread, we'd be soggy in the middle blood and life matter sodden the glutanimated structure within us all.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
Shoulders
At the age of nine, Measuring at a mere 4 foot five, They had me measure my thighs with the length of my arms, Who knew a pair of shorts could hold so much harm,
By Rilee Arey2 years ago in Poets