#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway