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Antoinette
her own garden left her
to her red bed of velvet
the queen pretty as a horse
and full of time
the sight of a blade is sad
to the idle bread
Poems on the topic: queen
Poems on the topic “queen” on Poets.by.
Death of a queen
A candlestick coven
over her oven,
an ash and ham sandwich at table.
How much fault was laid
upon the doctor Death!
Going to sea,
the queen met her water.
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.
Raven
At the park, a loud beggar
like the queen of Bohemia—
raven at play.
Rosebush
Great company
is the rosebush,
hip to fine-dressed hip
like a queen, with
the strictness of the poor
who cannot buy a crown.
Mind the gap
My Zen is
about difference:
a way to make
it up.
I have hopes
to burn. I have
seen the Queen
of Bohemia.
Poem for Hustlers
a roman candle
the young queen:
Claree/screaming/spewing
bright colors everywhere
& falls like a pile of gray ashes
on 42nd street
Depression before Spring
The cock crows
But no queen rises.
The hair of my blonde
Is dazzling,
As the spittle of cows
Threading the wind.
Ho! Ho!
But ki-ki-ri-ki
Brings no rou-cou,
No rou-cou-cou.
But no queen comes
In slipper green.
Crowned
I WEAR a crown invisible and clear,
And go my lifted royal way apart
Since you have crowned me softly in your heart
With love that is half ardent, half austere;
And as a queen disguised might pass anear
The bitter crowd that barters in a mart,
Veiling her pride while tears of pity start,
I hide my glory thru a jealous fear.
My crown shall stay a sweet and secret thing
Kept pure with prayer at evensong and morn,
And when you come to take it from my head,
I shall not weep, nor will a word be said,
But I shall kneel before you, oh my king,
And bind my brow forever with a thorn.
Young Woman
So we have a face
Cupped by tender insolences,
Half repenting insolences
Teasing their own angers.
Then, a tense exuberance
Brushes them away
And burns a humbly erect
Queen upon her face.
This happens in the space
Between a frown and indecision.
Her face becomes forlornly wild,
And a beggarly impatience
Hovers into furtive shame.
All the supplely intricate flame
Vanishes, and leaves no mark.
Her eyes are violently dark
Me Alone
As I was going to town,
I saw a King and a Queen.
Such ringing of bells you never heard,
The clerks ran out of the stores;
You know how it was, Me alone.
I was standing as the others were,
“Oh! you little girl,” some one said,
“The King wants you,”
I became frightened
Wondering what he had to say,
Me alone.
Here’s what he wanted:
He wanted me to ride in his coach,
I felt myself so much riding in a King’s coach,
Me alone.
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