Social Justice Poetry

abuse of power poems

Politics as Usual | A Social Justice Poem by J.K. Durick

Politics, too often, exists, survives in the valley of
its making, full of sound and fury signifying nothing
or little, which is fine if all the world needed was to
keep dangerous people busy with their own business,
they pose and party, form groups and apply pressure,
make speeches for the cameras in their mostly empty
chambers, vote and gloat, form committees, adjust
their thinking to keep their power, their place assured,

but, there’s always a but, when it comes to who runs
the show, there are problems all around us, ones that
get mentioned, but play out quietly in the background
in all the clamor and cluster of politics, think of all
the diseases that need to be cured, or poverty, or cities
falling apart on the evening news, the environment
and unemployment – when politics become about itself,
politicians on talk shows, politicians on junkets, on and
on, the art of the possible becomes impossible to take.

Whitehouse Wizards | A Social Justice Poem by Langley Shazor

Magicians weave spellbinding tales
Captivating onlookers
Shifting perspectives
Mesmerizing our eyes while holding our breath
This sleight of hand
Grants us permission to assume we have it solved
All the while
Moving us in the opposite direction
These sorcerers keep us confused
With mythically mystical abilities
We are held prisoner under their trance
Confined to a reality they create
Our lifeless avatars
Sway with the wave of a palm
The truth is never revealed
Such proper illusionists

It’s Clear | A Social Justice Poem by Lynn White

On a clear night
I should see the moon full silver
in a sky shot by moonbeams,
Not greyed by a smoky mist
and dust clouds rising from the ruins.

I should see a black, black sky,
Not bright from the orange glow
from the fires of hell on earth
Which send sparks high enough
to compete with the stars,
the pinpoint moonbeam spangles,
Not beamed by lasers.

I should hear the silence
in the depth of the black night,
not the explosive cacophony
bought by the masters of war
and the silent screams
buried in the rubble.

I should hear people talking in the street
and the music and laughter of the night.
I should see them walking home
to feel firm flesh loving and soft
unsplintered and unblemished by shrapnel,
unbroken by the metal-clad monsters
masquerading as humanity and
wrapping themselves in the uniforms
of thousand year old myths
dressed up as history.

These should be my rights,
But they aren’t.

I have no rights,
Nor do you.

Only what they give us,
the men of the flags,


Visit Lynn at

She Knew What It Was Like | A Social Justice Poem by Guy Farmer

She knew what it
Was like growing up
Without food on the table
Because the weather didn’t
Cooperate that season,
Her parents staring
Forlornly into the distance.
She spent many days
Wandering down dusty lanes
Thinking of the time when
She would leave that
Place and start anew
Somewhere where the
Buildings reached for
The clouds, where anything
Was possible, where she
Could run the show.
She made it to the
Halls of power and she
Never missed an opportunity
To destroy families like hers.