#AmericanWriters
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
When trouble comes your soul to tr… You love the friend who just “stan… Perhaps there’s nothing he can do’ The thing is strictly up to you; For there are troubles all your ow…
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—