Social Justice Poetry

consumerism poems

Insatiable | A Social Justice Poem by Tara Lynn Hawk

We spend and hoard
Ourselves into blind oblivion
Take a pill for any minor discomfort
Seek the product that will make us new
Beautiful, acceptable
Loved
Disregard our mortality
Aspiring permanence
Take more than we need
Realizing too late
Our legacy in
The young

Visit Tara Lynn at https://www.taralynnhawk.com/.

—–
Tara’s poetry chapbook, “The Dead”, available on Smashwords, https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/736913.

A Study in Greed | A Social Justice Poem by Donal Mahoney

For years Willie has saved his money,
investing it in stocks and bonds,
waiting to sit in his recliner
each quarter with a martini
reviewing his profits.
They often warrant
another martini.

But when the market drops
Willie loses money
and has to tell his wife
they’ll get it back again
when the market goes up.

But a tornado recently
curled into his life and
Willie had to sell most
of his stocks and bonds
to repair the havoc.

He’s very disturbed
about the debacle now
but more so when his wife
sipping a cup of tea
says imagine what it’s like
to have no money and a
tragedy like ours occurs.

Nibbling on a macaroon
she tells Willie thousands
of people all over the world
live with no money every day,
some of them in huts
with no running water.
Then she asks Willie if they
have enough money
to buy that new car.

Visit http://eyeonlifemag.com/the-poetry-locksmith/donal-mahoney-poet.html.

Mall God, USA | A Social Justice Poem by G. Louis Heath

Terrible boredom holds sway at the mall.
The prophets have yet to arrive with their
new-fangled merchandise to dollop honey

and truth into minds dulled by the latest
movie screened in the far end of the mall.
It is in that far end of the mall that youth

get lost in images drenched in pulsing
carnage and throbbing sensuality. It is
where their parents lost their inner sight,

displaced by a digital, alt universe. The
outer view is dark and daunting, one of
sanguinary alarm. The sirens are screaming.

Dead litter the concourse and boutiques, and
blood pools in widening ponds to reflect the
40% discounts ads of the coming Friday. The

prophets needed to arrive. But they came late,
and they, too, now lay dead in the mall, just
more bodies sacrificed to the god of the mall.