Harvester
an absence of red in the war
is a white lie
thin as corn
the bodies of the poor
Angry poems
Angry poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Dictator
not good about letting others speak
I am sorry for the ice in my head
and heart full of decay
I am sorry for this gun
which makes the hole of power
Child workers
children employed
to supply our flags
dull eyes like organ keys
pressed down
that could not be fixed
to whistle
but otherwise quiet
and will do as bid
the river is a letter
from an unknown hand
Shipping news
all the news now
should go in the same ship with
our knavery and dissimulation
no great fleet
ships like unkissed bodies
nest together at night
take time to rust
Wall Street
a rose in a cell
that is truth to the office
where morning
is a done deal
Border patrol
hours without a witness
how the state and Customs
assess the foreign
how divide and excise
part by part
like the prerogative of the crow
to take any sandwich
with a cheap cry and fright
they kill a story
like a dissembling fanatic
laugh to hear pound
the greatest heart
Warmongers: six haiku
a half-moon
over the maps of several
poor countries
that sullen bastard will go at midnight
take the child and dance it
in his arms
guarded by his horse
the soldier is a flying army
in his head
going to be married
so the rape is hushed up
mouths receive the sacrament
whose bread
would pay for a war
blood on the back stairs
not capable of bearing children
Propagandist
I bled ink for this war
people saw me sing and dance
out of key out of night
the fruit of my endeavors
for all for God for the least
wrong king
Parasitic
a bad night for fleas
the weather cold as winter
all over my body
the poor go out only on Sundays
good-natured about the privileges of power
to itch and tick and eat
at any time
Following orders
the pen sat hiring ships to go to war
in a pretty hand
and is now very discrete
more than me
I am among other things a man
that history missed
my victory over doubt
was killed and taken
Groundsman
we come to the park
with a barber’s cruel hands
but the land’s new contractor is a mole
and it is out of light
Mare Frigoris
I have a secret hate
like a private sea
that taste of ships put out to rust
that anything other than desert
for a voyage to white hair and ill health
my head full of how to get rid
of my enemy
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
Or try: