These Political Social poems are examples of Social poems about Political. These are the best examples of Political Social poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Set upon the new world stage within the burning fires of hell. Silently posed factions of the elite, suppress the true inherit of Mother Earth. The meek children bending over for millennium, taken spankings of bare bottoms, pelted slavery.
Upon entry to rule, the open stage of smoked mirrors began to reflect back upon the podium of lies. Taught by scholars from university books of political science. Fearful of leadership matching mirrored images, of false pretense, babbling rhetoric. The stirring masses of discontented, individualistic, thought of as dead - enders, trouble makers, and rebel rousers, rallied aimlessly.
With super hero, Captain Do Gooder, bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Weary lost hope combatants mustered courage, and accepted destiny. To this point, someone shouted against the wind of change. Felt by all who sensed the importance.
"To death do us part of the purpose to which we, the united, stand for justice".
The chant began, as Captain Do Gooder was dragged away, and cuffed, once bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street.
Damn the torpedoes. Damn the torpedoes.
Captain Do Gooder, fallen, bruised ego matching skinned knees, lays helpless. Who will save them now.
Second glances from high rise penthouses. Serving champagne and caviar. Brought iron clenched hands once hidden, to draw the stage curtain down.
With Captain Do Gooder nowhere to be found. The voice that came from pain of pupil. Born within broken dreams of promised lands. Realized nothing was coming cheap on this occupation.
The dusty streets found Captain Do Gooder aimlessly stepping against the winds of change, down Wall Street. The well-intentioned, arrested and broken spirited, lost hope of recycling any salvage rights taken from them by Metro.
Was this the end of the well thought out, pushed down occupation.
Was this the beginning, of the underground faction. Where was senior generation X hiding. Only Captain Do Gooder and the well-intentioned, world stage occupiers, hold the key to that Pandora's box of hope.
The peoples across the oceans were already springing far ahead in their own, more brutal campaign. For they had no cushion on which they were raised to kneel against. Tyranny ran over them. A lesson yet not felt, or learnt, or taught, in the new world. No chance of city mayors issuing eviction notices. Bullets, tanks and bombs were of the order. Brought down the line, traced back to the ones our United Nations to this day, refuse to acknowledge.
While leaders there home internet shop, and pump out the lies. Everyone dies.
In the heart of the continent of center, where unto which as mankind sprang forth, for its first and ever conquest.
The lights kept dim, to obscure the violent cleansing. A facade to disguise once moreover, the brutal tyranny for which the greed of the elite, control the dimmer switch. Diamonds and oil fuel the fire of war and oppression, on this stage of greed and guilt. Too far away, and too many distractions upon center stage for one to see or care. Thought and looked upon by most as racially motivated. The origins of all mankind, to be left, far too far, behind. The true forsaken people. Why is man unkind.
So..........will Captain Do Gooder raise the bar to which drinks for the house, and all around, will quench the thirst felt by ninety nine percent of the people............mother knows best.
Yet, still, self-inflicted roadblocks of appointed destiny, drop kicked long days past. Faint light shining far ahead, within the tunnel of hell, brought up to land. Firm above the depths to which it sprang. The truth of world order.
Wait......what do we see......do our closed eyes deceive our cries........................................
We see Captain Do Gooder catching second wind.
She breathes deep now and all can hear her war cry, no longer whimpering softly. As in past tense situations, given way to dazed and confused wall street *****es.
She builds momentum, as our brothers and sisters lay dying and bleeding. On the streets of some not so distant for telling, of what's to be, will never not be coming full steam ahead and plowing through the hidden agenda. One step beyond the line drawn in the sand of time, we thought would never be crossed. Give way thoughtless future tellers, and takers. Still holding firm with paper cuts, deep into the hands who printed and prepared such slave papers, kept by the elite bankers.
Captain Do Gooder returns renewed and refreshed. Our true Mother.
Captain Do Gooder feels strong, as bruised knees and scraped hands heal.
Brush of destiny sweepstakes, allots winnings of earth shaking, volcano erupting, tsunami tidal waves, with bonus draws of worldwide chaos. Future draws are to be held with worldwide winners. Grand prize, dead oceans rising.
The next generation have no fear digest writes the next chapter.
Hold the press down firmly wall street backbiting backbenchers. Drawn into the crossfire, on her mark, place the x on the next general who dares not fall into civil disobedience.
Captain Do Gooder has grown teeth, and she is biting down hard against the line to pipe riches, spoiled from her lands. Stolen from the first pilgrimage, fifteen thousand years old, lost empire.
How dare you steal from, and pollute the minds of her children. Yet old enough to drink and drug and die in war. How dare all of us.
Meanwhile back at the ranch. Captain Do Gooder hugs tight that tree of life, to which sprang all this elbow rubbing and diversion. Wall street huddles in her corner, painted red to match the lengths to which an end will surely bring to it.
Painted red for all to see.
The end to friendly letter writing, give peace a chance, make love not war, generation taking a bow, and snow birding it, to false sense of security land. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand.
Authored by Chuck Keys
It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.
There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically
It wasn't here or there and it was.
With no distinction,
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.
It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.
In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.
The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."
Differences exist for differences,
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.
They are in meaningless session again
Not seeking to serve but to practice the deception
Not seeking to lead but to mislead
Taking black and white, creating gray
Don't wave that flag if you do not honor it
Oppression by omission. You have given
But rights to the dissidents and wrongs to the citizens
Hear me now
I cannot replace the spine you're missing
ONE NATION UNDER GOD
If you cannot accept you cannot lead
If you cannot lead you are the problem
Authorizing condemnation and treason
Banning prayer and patriotism
Once filled with victory and pride
Now mired in failure
Represent or resign, serve or secede
Make a stand for once or fall forever
We no longer will tolerate
One nation UNDER GOD.
A fool was crowned
And now we`re bound
To serve and please
On hands and knees,
To hate and smile
Each day and mile,
We feel defeat
And kiss his feet.
The foolish kings
Cut off our wings.
Their poisoned knife-
Our foolish life.
And faith`s refuse
Won`t save our muse,
When banned to fly,
She`ll fall and die.
Still time will flow-
Kings come and go.
But teams of mules,
That choose the fools
To be ahead
Alive and dead,
Won`t change a bit
The fate they meet.
They`ll choke on pride,
They`ll run and hide
And in their shells
That life was cruel
To have set the rule-
“Do as you`re told,
Silence is gold.”
We pay the price
To hide our vice:
The coward `s role-
To lie and crawl.
And hope someday
Things`ll come our way,
We`ll find the might
To rise and fight.
Infuriated by greed
so we Occupy city streets
tired of being lied to
divided by tyranny
of the Elites
sickened by offshore banks
ran by gangs
known as the Fed
while political infidelity
shakes the White House bed
What happened to the basic foundations
for which this nation was built?
maybe the people’s aggravations
will identify our leaders’ guilt
No justice lies within this
“heads they win; tails we lose”
so now we take a stand
against their scam
because we’re through with the abuse
I came upon a tribe one day
in a land not far away
where everyone gets what they need
from juices of an orange seed
Some who drank the juice had died
and so the tribe felt satisfied
that they had weeded out the weak
with the help of orange seed
Some fell asleep the whole day long
for orange juice was very strong
and never felt an ounce of pain
with not a care to cross the brain
But others would feel more awake
with every little drop they’d take
They’d run and dance and twitch and shake
and never need to take a break
Still others would get sick and green
like a flu they’d never seen
The only really certain cure
was “Never touch the juice no more”
For some, the drug would change their mood
to dumb and brutal, cruel and rude
But even those would find their use
in the tribe of orange juice
Of course, a few got very wise
had visions right before their eyes
Surely, God chose them to lead
with blessings from the orange seed
So anyone made dull and tired
were rounded up and all required
to work all day or face the noose
and never touch the orange juice
But those the seed would energize
were thereby made to supervise
the work so tedious and tough
while sipping on the orange stuff
And those for whom the seed caused harm,
were duly trained to run the farm
All day to sneeze and cough non-stop
yet trusted with the precious crop
And anyone turned cruel, it’s true
got plenty of the orange brew
you could guess what jobs they do
and who they really answer to
Not leaders who hallucinate
that everything is going great
nor all the rest who get their dose
(except the ones that need it most)
Not any man or myth or god
nor any beast of sea or sod
but just a noxious little weed
with a toxic little orange seed
There may be some as I suspect
for whom the seed has no effect
I doubt that they’re allowed to stay
they wouldn’t want to anyway
Time comes and goes
People pass by and fly
We have only memories left
But we remember the sad ones
And easily forget the happy ones
We live in regrets
Saying... what if?
We live in fear
Saying... what will?
We have lost our humanity
We live in the past
Forgetting the present
As if there is only the past tense
We live in memories
Forgetting the future
As if there is no future
We love to brag about our ancestors
But what have we done now?
We all are losing ourselves
We think we are fighting for a cause
But that cause is only our greed
We think we are building the future
But we are destroying the future
We are losing our humanity
And there is little left of it...
It is time to stop the war
And move along with peace
Nations send armies to others
Saying:"We've come to civilize you"
According to the dictionary
Civilize is defined as conqueror
Send not armies! Send food and medical supplies!
Why do you come in the name of peace?!
If you only bring with you destruction!
What is happening to Afghanistan?
Why do you send guns instead of pills!?!
Or is the Vito more important than lives?
I am not from Europe, I am not from America
and I am NOT from the Middle East...
I do not know such things...
I am from Earth, regard of my nation
Nations are only names, we are all one
We are connected; we live on the same planet!
Why does one want to kill his brother?
IS IT FUN? WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE TRY IT?
I do not want to lose my humanity
Knowing that little is left in this world
This world can yet be fixed...
And it starts with two words: Love and equality
And it starts with one road: kill the Vito
Cause if it was a man, I would've killed it for the best
You think Hitler is gone?! Well now there is a stronger one
Look at Jerusalem! Hitler wouldn't dare do such things!
Why do we keep looking at the past?!
Forgetting what now is happening!
If the same ones who were massacred by Hitler
Are the same ones doing worse to Arabs?!
Why do we spend billions on weapons?
Instead of spending them on science?
Or at least save other nations from starvation
Why are we better than the Africans?
We have the same God! Or is it because of their color?
I just wish to ask one question to every human being...
WHAT WILL YOU SAY WHEN YOU STAND BEFORE GOD?
A tribute to all nations and hope all be safe :)
Music is my high,
Soda is my drink.
Sugar is my ecstacy,
Laughter is my drunkeness.
Anime is my anti-drug,
Strobe lighting is my LSD.
Dreaming is my hallucinogen.
Imagination is as psychedelic as I can get.
Being with family is when I'm as relieved as I can get.
Happiness is as sober as I can get.
Masturbation is as stimulated as I can get.
Orgasming is when I am as relaxed as I can get.
Poetry is my coping,
Art is my creative outlet.
Writing is my addiction,
Reading is my inhalation.
Exercise is my steroid,
Food is my shrooms,
Cooking is my sniff.
Gaming is as tripped out as I can get.
Being with friends is when I'm as hyped as I can get.
Depression is as down as I can get.
Inner strength is as strong as I can be addicted.
Internet browsing is as stoned as I can get.
Dancing is my adrenaline,
Overtiredness is my hangover.
Cake mix is my acid,
Sparkling juice is my booze.
Soberity is my perspective,
Shopping is my drug-dealing.
Healthy as can be, drugs not for me.
This poem wants to make a change . . .
To be a strong yet silent raised fist in Mexico, 1968.
To stand at a window w/a shotgun writing the words
“By any means necessary”
To sit in at a lunch counter in Birmingham, Alabama
Until it is read
To start a breakfast program in Compton, California
In order to feed hungry minds
To stand up for its rights in Akron, Ohio and shout,
“Aint I a poem?”
To integrate an all white book store under protection of the National Guard
And when George Wallace says to it,
“You will not enter unless it’s over my cold, dead, body. . .”
This poem will gladly take him up on his offer
But now this poem feels that perhaps it is too militant,
Maybe it and Spike should just “Do the Right Thing” . . .
Take the hand of other poems deep in the South Georgia woods and lead them to freedom
Under cover of night-light
Take its brothers and sisters out of the man’s world and
Into Aaron’s “Boondocks”
Play its own music, live in Jamaica and
Grow Nappy Locs
Start a union with A. Phillip down at the docks
Be read by Martin while being pelted with rocks
Find out what would happen
“If Beale Street Could Talk”. . .
This poem will get accused of “Ego Trippin” but
will not take it personally, declaring,
“And Still I Rise”
It will invite other poems to a free concert headlined by
Marvin, Stevie, Chuck D, and Black Thought
It will do what it should, not what others think it ought
This poem will be munificent . . .
Will give because so much has been given to it
Will do because so much has been done for it
Will be able to sit down because so many others have
But this poem can not sit still for long
Because this poem has been disenfranchised . . .
This poem was told there is no longer a need
For affirmative action
only to have it replaced with definitive inaction
This poem cast a vote in Florida,
only to be told that it did not count
This poem observed its commander in thief, fly over rising waters in the Lower Ninth Ward
just to keep his feet from getting wet
This poem watched its country expand our “melting pot” to include all types of ingredients,
Then scrape the black off the bottom of the pan . . .
and send it back to Haiti on a raft
This poem has been pulled over for being DWI
(drafted with intelligence)
This poem was profiled at Hartsfield Airport,
And made to take off it’s . . . blues.
This poem never planted any genus of Bush,
It’s not concerned with whom you marry,
Nor does it desire to trade the blood of young soldiers for oil, but look what it got
This poem wants 2 b a revolutionary . . .
There was a time in America, when the Bible
was taught in the schools.
The ten commandments were displayed, as “God’s set of rules.”
There was a time in America, where the
cross could be displayed.
Even in public places, people came together and prayed.
There was a time in America,
there was no “church and state” separation.
As people all across this country asked God to help this nation.
There was a time in America, where
people knew right from wrong.
You could see it in the way they lived, and could here it in their song.
There was a time in America where one
was proud to be a Christian.
One could take stand for holiness,
without coming under “suspicion.”
There was a time in America, when
mom and dad were together…
Now, any kind of a commitment to marriage seems lost forever
There was a time in America, where many were proud of “tradition.”
There seems to be a lack of any kind of “spiritual nutrition.”
There was a time in America, where so many could proudly say;
“I’m going to read the bible and go to church on Sunday.”
This is the time for America, to wake
up and try to understand.
We need to seek God right now! All over this land!
This is the time for America, to listen and begin to hear…
The coming of our Lord is drawing ever so near!
NOW is the time to seek the Lord, while he may be found!
The word of God needs to be read in every city and town!
Won’t you too seek God and listen to his voice today?
Simply give him your heart and life… This could be YOUR day!
By Jim Pemberton