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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
Poemas sobre el tema: flag
Poemas sobre el tema «flag» en Poets.by.
Disillusion
how to let them contend
how to clear myself
from any expectation of people
their promise left me raw
to free the flag in my hand
I carried it everywhere
Retiring admiral
Her little black dog
is our navy.
I end this year
less one lie,
the seas striking
their flags to us—
cast up all winter
on public talk.
Burroughs
alone in far Tangier
who will have me
a bird in a theater of flags
at night I send a token hand
among the poor
Flag of Hate
hissing as
it burns
Fire breaks the hydrocarbon chains in polyester with a thousand fingers at once. We gaze at the flag’s charred outline on the road as if it were a map to some disaster area: a nuclear test site, a strip mine, the tar sands of Alberta.
fake stars
learning what it means
to shine
A Flag, Black
‘Come’, said the black (why black?) flag,
Hanging limp from the pole, head bow’d,
‘Yes, this is the house of the departed’.
‘Behind me, lies my master inside the house’.
‘I’, thought the black flag,
‘The herald, the proclaimer,
The silent trumpeter of death,
Turning eyes opaque in sorrow’.
On either side of the pathway
Chairs, red, lined up
Waiting politely for the old,
Awaiting their turn.
‘Why couldn’t I been red? My master
Now swathed in red silk, the flowers
In bright red and yellow,
While I, in sombre black’.
* * *
(as you go into Seir or Ives)
once worlds were
small as battleships
or nine dozen ballfields
enough to be perfect
but a number of things
now go wrong
mysterious expectation
with the worlds merged
no god-like power
that we can conceive
we see in front ahead
and why not be there
while math is quite the bag
of a half nonillion tricks
so Goya went mad in the end something like
Ellen Hanging Clothes
The maid is out in the clear April light
Our store of linen hanging up to dry;
On clump of box, on the small grass there lie
Bits of thin lace, and broidery blossom-white.
And something makes tall Ellen — gesture, look —
Or else but that most ancient, simple thing,
Hanging the clothes upon a day in spring,
A Greek girl cut out some old lovely book.
The wet white flaps ; a tune just come in mind,
The sound brims the still house. Our flags are out,
Blue by the box, blue by the kitchen stair;
Betwixt the two she trips across the wind,
Her warm hair blown all cloudy-wise about,
Slim as the flags, and every whit as fair.
Irradiations XXXIV
The flag let loose for a day of festivity;
Free desperate symbol of battle and desire,
Leaping, lunging, tossing up the halyards;
Below it a tumult of music,
Above it the streaming wastes of the sky,
Pinnacles of clouds, pyres of dawn,
Infinite effort, everlasting day.
The immense flag waving
Aloft in glory:
Over seas and hilltops
Transmitting its lightnings.