By Olga Livshin
December. In Odesa,
power stations, shelled.
Your father’s friend
shivers in his apartment
crammed with …
power stations, shelled.
Your father’s friend
shivers in his apartment
crammed with …
Explore Poems: Social Commentaries
Showing 1-20 of 6,198 poems
- By Edward SalemGod said (and already you can tell
I’m making this up),
If you lift a rock, I am there.
If you lift a finger… - By Angelina SáenzNo
I don’t dance horses
I am not a mariachi
I am not a baile folklorico dancer
I am not the half-time show… - By ire’ne lara silvawe are taught the beauty of the rose
the serenity of the soft and the still
the austerity of silver stars… - By Angelina SáenzI am a feminist who loves my sport
and the machismo in charrería often gets to me
To be clear
I am not … - By ire’ne lara silvathey called me for wanting to wear the traje de charro for wanting to ride astride for wanting no limits…
- By ire’ne lara silvawe didn’t have time for ribbons or petticoats or
high-necked dresses no time for sidesaddles or
single… - By Kinsale DrakeIn the years of scorched earth,
Kit Carson’s pale-knife face
bayonetting the sky, his blood thirst,
… - By Rowie Shondeen ShebalaWell she actually said
if you were an Ewok I would rescue you and name you Sunshine
build you a tiny… - By Crisosto Apachean american accessory in many hands
bee ’eldǫǫh [hollow barrel—a gun]
da ‘dindi [clouds explode… - By Cheyenne Dakota WilliamsAt the diner three little indians sit horizontallyto each other at the bar seats.Two from Shiprock who…
- By Shaina A. NezKéyah ‘ashdladiingo bił háhoodzooígíí Bidahnaat’a’í shił nilįįgo biniinaa bich’į ‘ádíshní Háálá ‘á…
- By Henry Wadsworth LongfellowUnder a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large… - By Alice Notley"A car" "awash with blood" "Blood at our feet" "& I
& others" "have small springs" "of blood from our… - By Malcolm TariqIn church
we said Satan, get thee behind
and I always laughed. A demon child
with a twisted mouth, - By Malcolm TariqYou may find her behind
Rowan Oak, a shadow
of fortress where then now
you find no real entry place. - By Camille T. DungyAsk me if I speak for the snail and I will tell you
I speak for the snail.
speak of underneathedness
and the welcome of mosses,
of life that springs up,
little lives that pull back and wait for a moment. - By Cameron BarnettThis is how the story begins: a touch, a bump, a hot mouth,
jostled skin in an elevator, escalation, …
