social commentary
There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
A Brief Look Upon Humanity
Leaves crumpled into shattered pieces, each pile no more than a stride away. The crisp wind forced the outsider back, hoping to subdue them. However, even with all its influence, the wind could not slow the darkness. It crept closer and closer to the heart of the forest. Branches reached out to cut the fir. Roots desperately struggled to make an impact. The snapping of twigs filled the desolate woods, for no other sound dared to compete. Creatures big and small cowered, terrified. Its utter blackness could be seen for miles. All knew to quickly evacuate as soon as they so much as glimpsed a simple reflection, or heard the eerie cry that followed its presence. Even after the forest emptied of the sickness, stillness settled in for the rest of the day. Everything it touched was left drenched in foreign oils. The creature's putrid stench remained until the rain reached down to soothe and purify the Earth. Some came to call it the Final Sin. Death soon became all, for the bipedal beast had little mercy to spare.
By Marissa Hernesman8 years ago in Poets
No Space
NOTE: For added artistic impact, I wrote this poem with no spaces between words, but capitalized each word for easier reading. Below the initial poem will be a version with spaces added should the original be too disorienting to read.NO SPACENoRoomForErrorButWe’reAllSurroundedByTheTerrorInTheKingdomNoOneIsFairerNotEvenTheRingBearerWhoOnlyHoldsTheRingWhilePeopleGlareAndStareAndMakeDeclaresEatingTheirEclairsInTheirRoyalChairsButThey’reNotRealThronesCauseTheyCan’tReallyBareTheInsaneAmountOfPressureThatIsThereAndIt’sEvenTheirsGoodGodHowCanASimpleConceptGetSoComplicatedAndItPredatesAnythingEmancipatedMakingUsJadedNotSlatedForThisToBeRaidedButIt’sBeratedIfThereWereSuchARatingItWouldBe”B”RatedAndIt’sStatedAndStatedAndStatedAndSTATEDItGoesAroundFasterThanAnF5TornadoAllWorkAndNoPlayMakesJackADullBoyAllWorkAndNoPlayMakesJackADullBoyAllWorkAndNoPlayMakesJackADullBoyAllTwerkin’AllDayBitchMakeJackATallBoyHindsightLaughsAtForesightAndIt’sJustLikeHowCan’tYouSeeThePlightThatMakesUrbanAndSuburbanBlightSoBrightEnoughToBothShineAndCloudWhat’sRightMakingThingsTightButNotSlangTightButTriteAndTriedAndATrueFightSoGoFlyAKiteMakeSureIt’sGotGraceInThisCrazyHumanRaceThatUsainBoltCouldn’tWinWithRocketShoesAndTheWindAtHisBackGoingDownhillOnAForwardMovingTrackButThat’sTheCaseThatWeGottaFaceMaybeWeCanTraceBackToWhereItInterlacedButIt’sSoTightSinceWe’reGivenNoSpace
By E.J. Tangonan8 years ago in Poets
On The Edge
"I am an adolescent! No one understands, no one knows my great, sorrowful pain!" Adults are a joke. They wonder and somehow also believe that there is nothing to "get" about a teenagers life. They say "I was you once!" So wistfully and somehow forget what it was like to be whomever they are speaking to. Maybe they just became too cold and calloused. If that's the case then I'd rather never become an adult. I'll trade wisdom and maturity for the ability to sympathize and empathize with those who I "once was." For now I stand where the Lisbon sisters once stood. On the edge. Key in the ignition. Oven on. Noose tied. Pills in hand. I'd leave for things done to me, things no one cared to do, and the genuine fear of what I could become if history repeats. "I'd leave." As if it's as simple as slamming a door and never looking back. It's more like having several large mansion doors dropped on you from several stories high, and simultaneously forcing open doors that were holding back terrors of catastrophic proportions for anyone who might have cared for you in the slightest. It's as simple as opening a bottle in the moment, but the aftermath is as simple as quantum physics. The aftermath of either road is what constantly has me teetering towards either side of this conundrum. Die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. Decide for yourself the how and when, or leave it up to fate. Either way it hurts people who love you. It becomes a choice of "Do I want to hurt them? Or will it be the random, fate-riddled end that I meet that causes them such great pain?"
By Faith Moreno8 years ago in Poets
