Social Justice Poetry

A New Day

Dear Poets and Readers,

I am no longer accepting submissions for publication on this site in order to focus on my own writing and publishing endeavors. The site will remain online for people to read. I appreciate all the wonderful poets who have submitted their thoughtful poems as well as the visitors to the site over the years. My poetry journey continues at Unconventional Being. I’ll also be publishing people’s poems in anthologies at Opportunity Publishing.

Cheers,

Guy


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Evolution | A Social Justice Poem by Daniel Klawitter

When young,
you are tickled
with giggle sticks.
Poked and pinched
by playful primate fingers
and lavished with kisses
from fur-covered lips.

Later —
bludgeoned half to death
by the monkeys
in the Public Zoo,
you are taunted
by patriarchal baboons
who despise you
because you’re free.

And they simply
will not tolerate
a rebellious chimpanzee
who recites poetry.

Then —
tempted by a talisman
held in the hand of a man
in an impeccable suit,
you are shocked to discover
that he’s just a gorilla
gorging himself on fruit.

The stench of his excrement
is overpowering
and you realize
that the time has come
for fight or flight.

To hell with Darwin you decide…
this isn’t about
the strongest surviving.
This is about the weak
standing upright.

(Originally published in The Smoking Poet)
Visit Daniel at http://about.me/dklawitter.


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Deliberation | A Social Justice Poem by Guy Farmer

Waiting at the bus stop,
Breath visible under
Orange street light.
Step on, find a seat,
Watch the city pass by,
Imagining what goes on
Behind each window,
An occasional figure
Headed somewhere.
Punch in, work until
Wrists, arms, shoulders,
Back, legs protest.
Ride home, paycheck
Nestled in pocket,
Familiar deliberation,
Which bill to pay.


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A Familiar Truth | A Social Justice Poem by Gil Hoy

For so long as the NRA
controls Congress

With its pumping

Mutant
Pecuniary
Poison
Lifeblood

Corrupting souls
Buying silence

Innocents will
continue to die

From high-powered
Weapons of War

Bought in America
like a bag of groceries
from a grocery store

While Wayne LaPierre
Scribbles his want list
for Republican

Bought and sold
baby-kissers counting
their bankroll gore.

If Congress had lead balls
in its hearts, brains
pelves

If images of dead
school children grew
so palpable, so intimate

That their fever
opened a passageway

To eternity and back
Would the madness
Stop then?

Would lone wolves
Still sing their rancid
Noteless songs

A Witch’s Brew of shrill
staccato tempo

Tentwentythirtyfortyfifty
Pigeons intheblinkofaneye

That numbed ears
don’t see anymore

That tastes forgotten
and too familiar
anyway.


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The Affair | A Social Justice Poem by Shelly Blankman

You’re in bed with the NRA,
shades drawn, door locked,
no one can hear, no one can see,
but we all know it’s lust that drives you.

Dollar signs glow like gold as you gaze
in their eyes, entangled in covers, flushed
in their web of deceit, blinded with promises
of cash with your tricks.

Your web spreads past the walls of your
tryst, where schoolkids are killed
while you’re getting paid and dams of tears
burst while you seal the deal.
Blasts of gunfire by the mentally ill
still ring out like some sick New Year’s
welcome as you toast your new flame
with wine the color of blood.


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