Crisis Poems - Poems about Crisis

I’m summoned to a baby shower The mum to be’s flustered and dour As her waters just broke In front of shocked folk Her baby arrived in an hour I cleaned up mum and baby Ted And lifted Ted above my head No diaper, I'm cursed He piddles, - nowt's worst No wonder my face turned bright red...

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sun's too hot to bear— he just wanted a tan but became a snack fast....

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Without my pen, the pain becomes my voice. The cruelty of others, the hardness of their hearts, Linger in this place of cult, Where public shaming is currency. I scream for help, face to face, Yet they cast me deeper into despair. Tears bleed red, patience drains, My heart trembles, a silent echo in the vast universe. My eyes never dry, my body...

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The Earth isn't dying—no, she's screaming, a sound you've stopped hearing. she cried when girls walked miles for rusted, tainted water, when ancient forests become forgotten, ash–filled pyres, no worn map ever dared to mark. In my homeland, we don't fear the tempest's furious might.  We fear the silence – The hollow echo of empty, cracked wells,  the desolate stretch of barren,...

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War is no one’s friend It smiles with fire, and devours to the end. It begins with banners, chants, and threats, But it ends in silence, graves, and tears. We know how it starts, loud, proud, precise. But who knows the cost? Who pays the price? Not just soldiers who fell in line But children, parents, souls divine. War wears no badge...

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A-s N-ations G-o I-nto E-conomic M-eltdown A-ll Y-ear, C-ountries A-re M-aking P-romises O-f S-ustenance ©bfa053025 Monocrostic (Birthday of Angie May H. Campos) ...

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J-ump O-ver V-ery I-nclement E-nvironment, A-nd N-egate N-ature's B-acklash, U-sing M-ountains A-nd L-akes A-round Y-ou ©bfa052025 Monocrostic (Birthday of Jovie Ann A. Bumalay) ...

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Long after midnight in late December woke one night in total fright as where I was did not remember but more importantly couldn't see the forest for the trees and did not recall myself at all or who exactly was this me but when I could it would feel so good as then I'd be out of the woods so instead of groping blind did quite the obvious...

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I accidentally burned my breakfast toast. I gave a thirty minute monologue on this heinous crime. To what’s left of the crust, I stared, then cursed, then laughed so hard the room shivered and in the echoes— Surprise! I found the voice I choked for being ‘inappropriate’— —Time to toast. I was startled by my cracked laughter, as the cat groomed herself indifferently witnessing my twenties spent...

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If roses were a book Would they still be read And if violets are blue Does that mean they're in depression sadden and blue I have no answers for I'm not in a dictionary or An encyclopedia nor computer with gigabytes All the rainbows every colors All the antidepressants doesn't bring me joy Because all in...

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Earth's fever rising, Melting ice, a silent tear, Future starts to drown. ©bfa042325 ...

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I stand between worlds, neither here nor there, Feet planted in Eritrea, yet Arabic fills the air. My father’s tongue, Tigre, I do not know, Nor the Tigrinya of my ancestors, lost in echoes low. My mother, born in Saudi’s golden sand, Half Eritrean, half Yemeni, yet she never took Arab’s hand. She speaks of home, but in which land? Eritrea’s shores...

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I SAT HERE IN CRISIS HEARING MY FETUS HEARTBEAT SEVERE EMOTIONAL MENTAL ILLNESS BREATHLESS PANTING SEVERE DEPRESSIVE DISORDER ANXIETY DISORDER PANIC DISORDER FINALLY STAYING FOCUSED ON MY HEART IRREGULAR HEART BEATS FUNNY BEING I WORE WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS FROM JUNK SICK COPS TODAY AND EVERYDAY I STILL HEAR MY...

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Beware the midlife crisis: It takes you by surprise after your 40th existential rise. There is no remedy to cure this dralody. All you can do is feel blue and pout day in and day out. They say that life begins at forty but they are wrong because not everyone starts looking for fun in the birthday song. while dancing and prancing on the road from...

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Written: February 26, 2025, for Antony Biaanco Contest ************************* City hum drifts through spurious ways, teeming in a wild, woody ward. The jasmine vine twists down...

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