By ire’ne lara silva
we are taught the beauty of the rose
the serenity of the soft and the still
the austerity of silver stars…
the serenity of the soft and the still
the austerity of silver stars…
Explore Poems: Social Commentaries
Showing 1-20 of 6,195 poems
- 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 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 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 Kinsale DrakeIn the years of scorched earth,
Kit Carson’s pale-knife face
bayonetting the sky, his blood thirst,
… - 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, … - By Meredith Strickerin the DMZ ravines north of the Kaesong wastes edging
south of the perfect ruler’s pink and prisoned paradisethere is a climate paying no attention to us where cranes
repopulate serpentine deltas - By Meredith StrickerEvery morning opening the newspaper, I am faced
with the thin line that divides disaster and deprivation
from a world of luminous wealth. Tuesday, January 29th,
for instance, bodies, many of them children, lie on the ground
They drowned in the canal trying to escape a weapons depot fire
and explosion in Lagos. Their heads are twisted in straw and dust
near the feet of on-lookers whose cries we cannot hear - By avery r. young
