There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
Hatred, in its truest form, is putrid, nauseating, detestable; normal. It cares not for feelings or livelihood. It exists in
By Cassidy Davis8 years ago in Poets
For political correctness' sake let’s call them ‘underprivileged kids from broken homes’; for correctness' sake, let’s call them
By User1238 years ago in Poets
I waited, reading the veteran's account from long ago, about not being there, as the dust from construction blew along 55th St., by The St. Regis, covering the bourgeois in their own poison.
By David Power8 years ago in Poets
I'm still working, at jobs I’ve avoided, my whole life. I've howled at windows, and bayed at hens, in the indifferent moonlight.
IN A GROUP OF EVEN NUMBERS, I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO SPROUTS IN THE GARDEN OF FRUITS AS A CARROT GIVEN TO THE MAN THAT SEES EVERYTHING,
By TL Holliday8 years ago in Poets
Each step is thunder and the jaw of my word is lighting. I stroke the poison on the basis of my writing. The ink blew thick, shattered my dreams with a brick; poking my ambitions laid upon my breast with a stick.
By Love Impressive8 years ago in Poets
You wear blue you carry a gun and a badge only goes to show how little struggle you've had you uphold our laws decide what's right and what's wrong
By Ailyna Redbird8 years ago in Poets
It started here, on this number line, and it’s marked by numerals,in circles and squares. And it ends here. In fact, however. . .it never began, and it never ends.
Was it worth it love? Those crystals you found Was it worth it my love? When you hid the note you found Was it worth it my love?
By Stephanie Keesee8 years ago in Poets
Mysterious and Commanding Demanding my Attention With Every Color, You are Engulfed By With Every Crisp Line, You are Traced By
By Victoria Gudbranson8 years ago in Poets
I crawl across the cold floor My fragility is showing You ask “what are you doing? Come on babe where ya going?” Wasn't that just you
I don’t know you And I won’t honor you If by chance, your stance Was in opposition to the olive branch; In connection to a state of mind
By Bob Dudley8 years ago in Poets
