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political poetry

by punkrawker4455

Published October 3, 2005

hey, i wrote this in career development and I'm posting it now, needing a poetry post. This is my first love and my lesser talent, so go easy on my please :)


falling apart around the world
watching the fabric unfurl
guns used without thought
while these wars are fought

across seas
is all anyone seas
can't see whats going on here
with all the kids living in fear

First grader sitting in his seat
Waiting for Iraq to admit defeat
His daddys been gone, he knows why
And his mom lays every night and crys

The little girl look for food
Doing things others consider lude
Just to get a couple dollars
Sleeping with the big wig white collars

The ghettos hold them as if they dont matter
pack em into the building
pass them up the ladder
let them think there life is fulfilling

Comments & reviews · 2
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punkrawker4455 Comment
punkrawker4455 commented Comment · Oct 3, 2005

Thats been one of the problems with my poetry and the stories im trying to write. Remember, that was written with haste in a class. I didnt check grammar or spelling. I have these large ideas and large pictures that I try to put forth, and when I try to narrow down it doesn't have any effect. It's really hard for me to focus in my writing sometimes. Like I said with my story I tried to write, it comes out muddled and confused. I wanted to compose one novel by my senior year, but here in my junior year its becoming less and less a possibility.

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timjim77
Review
timjim77 wrote a review Review · Oct 3, 2005

"is all anyone seas": Should be sees.

"First grader sitting in his seat
Waiting for Iraq to admit defeat
His daddys been gone, he knows why
And his mom lays every night and crys": Crys should be cries.Daddys should be daddy's. And this whole stanza is not well formed.


Don't really see the point to this poem. it tries to cover too much ground without really covering any. The language has to be strong before the point can.



The fellow who thinks he knows it all is especially annoying to those of us who do.
— Harold Coffin