privilege poems

Empathy Is Not Pete’s Forte | Donal Mahoney - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Empathy Is Not Pete’s Forte | Donal Mahoney

Pete’s never needed
anything from childhood on.
His parents had it all
and gave it to him so it’s hard
for him to understand why
people who have nothing
march with placards in the streets
or sneak into another country
to find enough to eat, a place to live,
and raise and educate a family.

Empathy is not Pete’s forte
and that can happen when
parents give you everything,
send you to the finest schools,
leave you money you can build
a business with, go broke
and still become a billionaire.
Finally you have everything
and life becomes so boring
you decide the time has come
to run for president. Such fun.

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On an Accumulation of Small Observations | Cate Gable - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

On an Accumulation of Small Observations | Cate Gable

For Neil

Culture, the water we swim in, and some version
of the future aggregated by clues—that brand name
on a shirt, straight white teeth, an iPhone versus flip—
keeps us in place, as the children lining up for school
in Kanazawa knew just where they stood,
who was above/below. Ijeoma Uluo, whose name
is melody, spoke about race as we wriggled in our seats.
Of course we want to do what’s right, what’s fair
yet our privilege separates. Being white
how do we feel each slight, each wound to Blacks
more murderous than the last? We’re wrong, we’re
rich, we’re deaf to deafness, blind to blindness,
trapped. Let the oceans inundate, let flies
suck at our lips, and I will know to take
your hand, fall down beside you in prayer.

Hunger | J.K. Durick - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Hunger | J.K. Durick

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling for those of us
who are overweight and pamper ourselves,
tuck into two or three full meals each day,
fridges full and pantries aplenty, we get by,
know the feeling from our days on a diet
when a little groan of hunger marks progress
or we know it when it comes on us just before
dinner or a snack, delayed longer than expected.

So, it’s no wonder when we don’t “get” the news
when they show us the hungry all around us,
families wandering into resettlement camps,
stick figures stumbling along, or the child with
a distended stomach lying in his mother’s lap
and the lost looks in their eyes as the watch
the camera watching them starve; their hunger
holds them, while most of us shift uncomfortably
in our chairs and wonder what’s for supper.

Breaking the Mold, Snipping the Wires | Holli Homan - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Breaking the Mold, Snipping the Wires | Holli Homan

As we sit atop the mountain of the privileges we hold,
Coasting through our lives by the colors of our skin,
We live the day to day by carefully fitting into molds,
Our identities are crafted by the powerful akin.

We question all we hear on its exact validity,
If it wasn’t wired similarly it must be simply wrong,
We based all that we knew on our ethnocentricity,
No wonder unlearning oppressive ways takes so very long.

Our defenses come alive when we question all we’ve ever known,
They must be wrong if they question our know-ability,
We’ve never experienced oppression in the entire life we’ve sewn,
On all accounts this process tempts our white fragility.

Yet we fit the preferred molds on so many different planes,
We never before questioned what was held to be true,
Our privileged intersectionality served to influence our gains,
Blinded assimilation is all we ever knew.

That is until we learned how assimilation came to be,
Through cultural and ethnic genocide on this very land,
Our ancestors attempted to force our native brethren to their knee,
Telling them if they aren’t White they aren’t considered Man.

We learn that through our privileged lives we needn’t our own minds,
We regurgitate the rhetoric that flows within our wiring,
Our comfort zones work to place our inner-molds into binds,
Because fighting normative culture can prove to be quite tiring.

So we became complacent in the mold we were given at birth,
Sexism, Racism, Classism, Ageism we saw as extremist myths,
Yet wherever we fit on those spectrums somehow influenced our worth,
They have the power to lower us down or serve as effective lifts.

We’re learning more and more about how our breeding served to be,
A factory-like mode to perpetuate systems of oppression,
Our social consciousness helps us to fine-tune our clarity,
And helps us combat normative culture – of ourselves we gain possession.

Our implicit bias to this day tends to lineate with dominant culture,
We associated non-Christians, Non-whites and the like with stereotypes and stigma.
The more we learn the more we start to clearly see the future,
Social consciousness helps to demystify privilege’s enigma.

The mask that used to bare our face begins to crack and fall,
We see the world through a lens of vivid cynicism,
We see social change moving at the pace of a crawl,
We start to fully understand the meaning of each “ism.”

Where clouds loom over plains that we used to naively see as sunny,
Our entire world flips upside down and we clearly see inequity,
Where power is given to those with substantial sums of money
Despite our social disposition we view Capitalism as a malady.

The settler colonialist structure in which our society is built,
Helps to build the systems of oppression that we see,
It’s unhelpful to be overcome with circumstantial guilt,
Because that only shifts the focal point back from you to me.

So how do we shift the perception that women are property of men?
How do we end the objectification and hyper-sexualization?
Standing with our feminists of color now – though we didn’t then,
We hope solidarity will shift the power and create an equal nation.

How do we end mass-incarceration – which serves as the new Jim Crow?
Where prisons serve to embody the themes of Capitalism and Militarism,
Enslavement still continues despite all the injustices we know,
Resembling practices and procedures found in states of fascism.

How do we work to combat injustices our brethren of color experience?
We must continue to work towards desegregation to create long-needed equity,
We must educate so we can break down the metaphoric fearful-fence
Who knows – racial equality could be our generation’s destiny!

The more questions that we ask the quicker our mask falls to the floor,
The mold we once fit into now is miles out of reach,
As social consciousness rises it’s our choice to walk through the door,
While it’s important that we learn it’s just as crucial that we teach.

As social justice warriors, anti-oppressive we try to be,
At the end of the day all we need to do is try.
So as we learn we start to take accountability,
Then the realization finally comes that “we” is really “I.”

The Arrogance of Money | Stan Morrison - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

The Arrogance of Money | Stan Morrison

dark blue fly-front cotton shorts
five belt loops and four pockets
generic look nothing special
designer label conspicuously placed
initially sold at mid-priced stores
ends up on some clearance table

this is a warning to “connoisseurs”
to you Babbitt vin ordinaries types
to you Harry Angstrom copycats
putting a bright label on the outside
selling at some wine spectator price
you still belong on the discount rack
old money is the only path to the real

White Fragility with #BlackLivesMatter | Daniel Klawitter - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

White Fragility with #BlackLivesMatter | Daniel Klawitter

Maybe reading into a slogan
Your own exclusion
Is a way to avoid
A real reckoning?
To deflect with semantics
The black & white
Sheets of statistics
And lived experience,
All the while saying:
“Me too! Me too!
All Lives Matter!”
Well, of course they do.
And some, apparently,
Matter much more
Than others.
There is a difference
Between affirmation,
Negation & erasure.
I can’t help but wonder:
If you were as aware
Of institutional racism
As you are with grammar
And linguistic aggravation,
Well, maybe… just maybe…
We wouldn’t need to be having
This conversation
Over and over again.

The Eureka Stockade | Neil Creighton - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

The Eureka Stockade | Neil Creighton

The Eureka Flag
(An Australian Dream)

In a wooden stockade the flag they raised —
the southern sky with a cross of silver stars —
declared an egalitarian dream, a new land
where inheritance would never decree
the measure of any individual’s worth
and that any child’s opportunity
should never be limited by wealth or birth.
It was never much more than a dream,
— for sadly there are always the dispossessed
and, for those men, the indigenous and women
were not amongst the reasons for their unrest —
but dreams are much more than mere seeming.
They set a standard for what we think best.
From the blood spilled for this dreaming
into the national consciousness came the idea
that this land would not be based on class
and under the cross of stars and southern sun
a new world of equality of opportunity
could be freely available for everyone.

That flag remains, its vibrance faded,
its corners ragged, torn and worn by time.
It is still the silver stars on deepest blue
but the dream for which it flew
is shredded beyond tatters.
Base and cunning men in their lust for power
have laid siege to the stockade,
with low guile infiltrated the ideals,
besmirched the fragment of justice and fairness
with crass and loathsome things of their invention.
Is “aspirational” now our highest aim?
Is our best a narrow, shallow commercialism,
a smug, mean-spirited complacency,
a relentless seeking for personal advantage,
a competitive pursuit of possessions,
the tiny idea of “relaxed and comfortable”
in a new, divided and insular hierarchy where
worth and opportunity is unequally proportioned
and power and privilege is the real mantra
behind a sad, diminished and empty “monetocracy”?

But Listen! Listen to this land! It speaks!
Its eucalyptus scent, colour, heat haze,
its great brilliant blue beauty of sky,
its stars’ glorious evening blaze,
its distant blue of low mountains,
its tangle and twist of scrub and tree,
its rollers crashing upon the coast,
are crying out for more than mediocrity.
O my country, Wake! Throw off these shackles!
Rebuild your stockade! Dream of great things!
Raise your flag! Let equality of opportunity
again soar high on justice’s wings!
Reclaim the dream! You have the power,
the vote for which the Eureka Flag flew.
It was institutionalised privilege
against which they fought and railed.
Demand equality of opportunity
for all children of this great south land.
Raise again their dream and their flag.
Let children grow together under this southern sun,
this evening blue crossed with silver stars.
Let equality of opportunity be for everyone.

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