Folk poetry has always belonged to the people—a collective voice rising from the fields, the taverns, the streets. It was never intended for the page, nor for academia. It grew from a need to speak when no one was listening, to tell stories about yearning, about suffering, about those small moments of joy that flutter briefly amidst the enduring ache of survival.
We forget that we are constantly consuming folk poetry. It is woven into the fabric of our lives—hidden in the songs we scream out of car windows at 65 mph after a party, or the tunes we hum as we drift off to sleep in our dark, shoebox apartments. Folk poetry saturates both our moments of exhilaration and our quietest hours, even when we are unaware of it.
We consume it because it belongs to us—because it carries the stories of our ancestors—those who survived, who loved, who protested, and who left their voices in songs that continue to echo across time. These voices don’t just shape the folk singers of the past; they permeate the modern musicians we listen to every day.
Ezra Hozier, with his haunting melodies and searing social critiques, is one of the most conscious inheritors of this tradition. When he sings “Seven new ways that you can eat your young,” he taps into the same thread of protest that folk poets have woven for centuries. His songs, like folk poetry, are both melodies of protest and tools of reflection, forcing us to confront the hard truths of the present with the weight of the past pressing down on us.
But Hozier isn’t alone. Modern artists like Miley Cyrus, Stevie Nicks, Joan Baez, and Indochine continue to carry the flame, each infusing their music with the raw emotion and urgency that folk poetry demands. They take the everyday and elevate it into something mythic, telling stories that resonate with our shared human experience.
Modern Ballads and Laments: Echoes of Folk Poetry
Ezra Hozier – “Eat Your Young”
"Seven new ways that you can eat your young," Hozier chants, and here the past collides with the present. The song is a lament, but it’s also satire—its weight drawn from Swift’s disgust for a society that reduces human lives to commodities. Hozier channels this centuries-old folk tradition of protest songs, where melodies were designed to carry devastating truths, forcing us to face the ugliness of unchecked greed.
2. Miley Cyrus – “Flowers”
"I can buy myself flowers, write my name in the sand." On the surface, Miley’s self-reliance anthem could seem like a pop hit, but it’s deeply rooted in the reclamation ballad of folk tradition. Ballads have always spoken of love, but here, Miley reclaims that love for herself. This isn’t a tale of love lost—it’s a story of love transformed, redefined. Like the women of folk poetry who sang for their own survival, Miley stands firmly in this lineage of voices.
3. Stevie Nicks – “Rooms on Fire”
"This is the way, the room’s on fire." Stevie Nicks doesn’t write songs; she writes in flame. "Rooms on Fire" is a ballad not just about passion, but about the fleeting, those moments of intensity that slip from our grasp. Folk poetry thrives in this space between the tangible and the elusive, and Nicks' lyrics carry the same urgency—the sense that life is burning, and all we can do is witness its beauty and terror. Like the ancient laments, Nicks mourns not only for what’s lost, but for what was never fully attained.
4. Joan Baez – “There But for Fortune”
"Show me a prison, show me a jail / Show me a prisoner whose face has grown pale." Baez’s simple, cutting lyrics are the epitome of the folk protest song. She speaks the unvarnished truth, giving voice to those society prefers to forget. Empathy flows through her words, a direct connection to the folk poets of old who told the stories of the voiceless. Baez, like her predecessors, holds up a mirror to a world that turns away from its own suffering.
5. Indochine – “L’Aventurier”
"L’aventurier contre tout guerrier." Indochine captures the spirit of rebellion, a theme that runs through centuries of folk poetry. Their music is a modern iteration of the epic ballad, celebrating the “Hero’s Journey”, the one who defies boundaries and seeks new worlds. Folk poetry has always honored the outsider, the wanderer who refuses to be tamed by society's norms, and Indochine carries that defiant tradition into the modern era.
Why We Can’t Let Go of Folk Poetry
Why do these songs touch us in ways we can’t fully explain? Because they are rooted in something deeper, something ancient. They carry the weight of our collective yearning—the part of us that longs for more: more love, more freedom, more life. Folk poetry is not some relic. It is the heartbeat of human existence, the way we tell stories to make sense of our longing, our suffering, our joy.
Every time we sing along, we partake in this tradition. We are consuming poetry, whether we know it or not. And in that act of consumption, we become poets ourselves. We carry with us the stories, the protests, the yearnings of our ancestors, even as we scream along to the lyrics of our beloved contemporaries. These are not merely songs—they are modern vessels, carrying the same stories that have always been told.
Folk poetry is alive, and it belongs to us. When we truly listen—really listen—we become part of that ancient voice spanning time.
Written by Rachel Harty
Writer Bio: Rachel Harty is a New York-based poet and essayist, whose work has appeared in Poetry Nation, The Madrid Review, The LA Wave, and other notable literary platforms. Her debut poetry collection, Coffee, a Sip of You and Me, delves into intimate coming-of-age moments, exploring themes of connection and solitude. It’s available on Amazon and in select independent bookstores and coffee shops across the U.S. and abroad.
To discuss poetry or for inquiries, visit her at www.RachelHarty.com.