Social Justice Poetry

political opportunism poems

Transgender: On Trump’s Seven Forbidden Words… | A Social Justice Poem by Eliza Mimski

I am a transgender fetus.
I am vulnerable.
My vulnerability is evidence-based.
There is no entitlement here.
I am a diversity fetus.
I have no entitlement.
My transgender is science-based.

Transgender transgender transgender transgender
Vulnerable vulnerable vulnerable vulnerable
Evidence-based, science-based
Evidence-based, science-based

You are not allowed to talk about me.
Do not speak of my vulnerability.
I am entitled to nothing.
Vulnerable diversity.

I am an evidence-based fetus.
Diversity is science-based.
I am a vulnerable transgender.
Evidence-based fetus.

This Is How It Happens | A Social Justice Poem by Guy Farmer

This is how it happens:
People who are hurting
Are manipulated
To feel irrational fear
By entities that have
Something to gain from
Keeping them in pain;
Scapegoats are created
To harness all the negative
Energy. A constant, urgent,
Martial drumbeat sounds above
An underlying current of
Existential danger.
On the other side,
Numbed by corporate dollars,
Those who could provide clarity,
Sanity, reason, true comfort,
Forget what courage is,
Ignoring whom they represent,
Neglecting to provide a
Counterbalance.
With no visible alternative,
A large segment of the populace
Gravitates to those who
Promise safety, purity, strength,
A return to order.

Bromance | A Social Justice Poem by Eliza Mimski

Attracted by sameness and difference
They love each other
He a big 6’3 with orange American skin and a hefty brown wallet
His first name a cartoon character, his last rhyming with funny things
His counterpart a short slight Russian whose name puckers your lips,
Blond, 5’7, a forehead full of KGB

The first a hothead, a fun guy braggadocio
A charismatic liar you either love or hate
The second one severe
A judo black-belt poverty child in love with prisons

Both bullies as children
Bullies as adults
Both experts in the art of manipulation
Both hate the news, hate journalists, despise protests
One a businessman, the other a lawyer

In their respective cities,
They contemplate each other.
The first inside a New York tower,
gold furniture fit for a king
The second inside St. Petersburg
The Venice of the North.

As little boys, they suffered
The Russian so poor it is written that
he chased rats with sticks
The American sent to military school
to fix the unfixable

Across the continents they embrace
Their political arms entwined
Both supported by anxious citizens who look past their flaws,
Hoping for economic security.

Visit Eliza at https://twitter.com/warkitty110.