There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
Something is not right with people !? Who are they speaking to. who do they speak to everyday of the week that tells them information !?
By 365poetry28 days ago in Poets
Sometimes when I wake up on a Monday morning, the arm of the world has gone past me overnight, pitching through the darkness with overwhelming speed,
By Natalie Wilkinson28 days ago in Poets
Light as a feather. Light as a feather. Stiff as a board. Stiff as a board. Light as a board. Stiff as a feather.
By Tina D. Lopez28 days ago in Poets
I going to write about it Then stopped Sometimes what goes down before Can’t be topped I like to think of international Women’s Day
By Raymond G. Taylor28 days ago in Poets
Green lights. Girls on bikes. Chortling exhausts. Rushing horns. Daylight slows. Night glow *** _____________________________
By Simon George28 days ago in Poets
Sir Winston slept thrice Tucked beneath foggy London Others? With his charges ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Matthew J. Fromm29 days ago in Poets
I hope to never call a POLICE officer - I have compassion !? I hope I never have to call a POLICE !? I hope I never have to call a POLICE !?
By 365poetry29 days ago in Poets
The police said I need MY medication - a mentally ill person, who have NO family ! The police said I need to spend time with those who seemed to NOT have anything !?
After about a few times talking to myself - I thought why don't I just stop and ask people some question !? I could have learnt the greatest thing known to MAN - but let me try and make you understand !?
While action speaks more than words - what does it say about me !? A woman who has NO future in any country !? A woman who spent her money on clothes and shoes - the world has nothing else to offer !?
the problem with pain is we can only truly know our own in our attempts to understand others we compare it to historical data
By K.B. Silver 29 days ago in Poets
How could I give One hundred and thirty percent? It doesn’t even present as sense Yet, I pulled up buckets Until the well gave nothing but
