L’esprit d’escalier
I batten like a mad king
on remembered words.
My text should be: “The memory
of the wicked shall rot.”
After I go, I make sport
in imitating the dead,
grown fat on moonlight.
Poems on the topic: king
Poems on the topic “king” on Poets.by.
Queen-sized
Ribs under other people’s hands,
we could not dress ourselves,
queen that we were.
The king? With him
we could hardly get any
sleep, he being a bad bed.
Populist
I put my hand among
many hands, indifferent
to the king. Who
did I respect?
The rain.
Dirt.
Statecraft
Give orders
to give orders.
A falcon on the hill or a gallows—
which is king?
Royal flush
a hand with a king—
after I vomit I look
for good cards
In practice
I practice loss,
lousy as a fool in
the king’s favor leaving
his things in
an open grave.
Strange to hear all
the murderers of a pint
part for home.
Sunset Boulevard
In the glass city there are
no glass windows,
the king is kin to his own nothing
and the queen is a whole table:
so the difference between
gold and evening.
Grown-up nursery rhyme
O mother, O wife,
in the country of Chance I am king
in a velvet cap.
I had a mine and sealed the thing
and save our money in trees,
which cost a song and keep
the children company.
What a king is
Among other things very fine, which thing is a king? The king is a king: a word and net. The king is a cover for the king, girt with words.
The king is a lord changed for an old hat. The king is a plain moth, a chance tenant. The king is a familiar street at night.
Courtier
I read in shorthand
the long sentences
like a troll on board
the King’s boat,
making a pretty deal
of public sin—
fitting in.
I gain a home.
They have me sing.
Menhir
We could not mend
the great stone.
I saw the king heal it
with simple water
and go to the burial of dirt.
The dying ocean
A most pleasant ark
is the sea, which
did not seem ill,
there or here, but
like a king that knew
nothing of the world.
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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