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Busker
This instrument
like a fat foot with no bone
tells me to fit myself for bed,
tells a beggar to meddle
or make wit.
Poems on the topic: instrument
Poems on the topic “instrument” on Poets.by.
Theorbo
A theorbo
is as good as
a captain of
a theater,
a woman in
men’s clothes,
the best legs,
an alehouse,
a hit,
a hand-
some urn.
Lessons
Hands ought
to play. Three times
this week we speak,
my instrument and I, neck
to strings.
Self-criticism
I am a society
of worn instruments,
a should-have-been,
a rogue fleet gone
into ink.
Classical Muse
the classical hides
within the vernacular
like a clutch of eggs
wood-winded
or unreedable
all flesh is brass
shivery
with bowed strings
and ceremonious mallets
an attenuated conductor
bobs in the dark mirror
of a piano
a piccolo shrieks
like a rabbit
caught by an owl
clarinets
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