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Encampment
door awakening
like a new mouth
a couple of pigeons come close
finding the box too bold
venturing to drink and eat by it
Poems on the topic: box
Poems on the topic “box” on Poets.by.
Lifestyles of the rich and famous
the fortunate lovers lay as empty
as a castle in a box
who he was she was
a pretty snare and hum
which wonder at nothing
Midnight rider
Twelve o’clock, and I go hunting
with a tin box to carry
spice to the dead,
which trouble me;
get nothing and see little—
like a history of twelve at night.
Plagiarist
I slept in a paper box,
forgot where I put my hands.
People work to make a light
into my cellar.
I am sorry for lying
to my picture in the glass,
for writing to please friends
and not the rules of art.
I found carpenter’s tools,
which spoke to me.
Fetish
Carried in a black box,
my sugar woman
brought me perspective,
and I saw
people as guns—
and I was the best
that any had.
I got out of my chest
the orders to stop
all dangerous persons
going or coming.
How I slept
and was not sick
I know not.
Guilt trip
am I a villain not to see
a brother
lodged in a box
these pleasures
are not sweet to me now
for which I am sorry
Pop-up monarchy
king in a box
to surprise us
as once he did
bolt wheels to a horse
went away and left us
our little iron lie
Magic Tricks
your gloved hands tugged at my waistband while
the magic hat swept me forwards,
and with that your trick began.
you placed me in a handmade box
of splinters and jagged nails;
trapped me inside with the click of a thousand locks
and finally disappeared.
but you're a master of deception,
an illusionist with no faults,
because just behind that curtain
you watched.
my hands bled.
my words blurred into a scream.
the crowd cheered
as you emerged with another copy of me.
and at the end of your waistcoat,
The Pea
every picture and note and smashed bottle cap
was thrown into a box hidden beneath my bed
behind shoes and blankets and laundry
so that i'd never have to look at it again
but i can feel it through my mattress
trying to seep back in my soul
so i think i'll shove some more crap under there
those sheets i meant to throw away
a rotting apple core
a notebook or two
and more and more and moreandmoreandmore
Sonnets from a Lock Box I
How nonchalantly I spend with little thrift
His proud sparse earnings which were the frugal pay
Of a man’s stout will and honorable day.
What insolent spending of that sturdy gift!
When I reflect on him he seems like one
Who on a bleak hill set a lonely pine.
He saw the North Star in its branches shine.
His honest valors are by me undone.
Why I should own his box I cannot see.
For his scant legacy I am unfit.
Yet since he’s in the yard I have his key,
And somehow I am master over it.
I am like one who decks the Holy Tree
With tinsel shapes; then casts it in the pit.
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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