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In this short Life
In this short Life
That only lasts an hour
How much -- how little -- is
Within our power
Poems on the topic: power
Poems on the topic “power” on Poets.by.
Speaking truth to power
who follows the lies
expressed on all occasions now
the art of lying is over
guns hear nothing
whether in earnest or not
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
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
Death grip
the dead hands of conquest
are a field given over to ice
how I fall is my fault
under every commander
how I trust the power
in a common rhyme
how I take occasion
to know the world
Playing for keeps
working a kite
the burden of power in my hand
almost out but easily
brought to again
her body like a peak invites me
to teem rather than fall
news came last night
of a fever for land
a mad thing
the business of selling places
stones to keep for rarity
in the mouth
Statecraft
Give orders
to give orders.
A falcon on the hill or a gallows—
which is king?
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.
Public Relations
A letter from the general:
my duty is to kill; my power, to write;
my mission, to proclaim with great praise.
Under the story of the king is the king.
He calls me a very knowing man.
Rat Catcher to His Rats
You lady’s purses, you tack-toed
wallops of white silk, you grim grins,
I have you on my string as good
as legal tender for my room & board
at any inn, my dog & I
welcome there only so long
as you are not, my beauties—
& so we’re tied together in a way.
This broad-brimmed hat wards off
two kinds of yellow, sun & scorn.
How dare we subsist on the hard-
won crumbs of brutes!
But the trap is a good teacher.
Somewhere you must have
your own canny king, making free
with all the best morsels of dark
Puppeteer
they stripped me of everything
so now i can't help but pull the strings
of others
The Endgame
Pawns become queens;
Queens run all over the board
Bishops slash
Knights kick
Rooks ram …
What do I, the king do,
Helpless, bound,
At the mercy of the rest?
Alone in the crumbling castle,
I rue…
I never wanted to be the king…
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