#AmericanWriters
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with
Among of green stiff old
You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!
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...
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream