#Americans #Lesbian #PulitzerPrize #Women
Dance! Dance! The priest is yellow with sunflowe… He is yellow with corn-meal, He is yellow as the sun.
Cold, wet leaves Floating on moss-coloured water And the croaking of frogs— Cracked bell-notes in the twilight…
You glow in my heart Like the flames of uncontrolled ca… But when I go to warm my hands, My clumsiness overturns the light, and then I stumble
But why did I kill him? Why? Why… In the small, gilded room, near th… My ears rack and throb with his cr… And his eyes goggle under his hair… As my fingers sink into the fair
What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously… Into a pattern? Rather glass that… By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splen…
You —you — Your shadow is sunlight on a plate… Your footsteps, the seeding-place… Your hands moving, a chime of bell… The movement of your hands is the…
As I sit here in the quiet Summer… Suddenly, from the distant road, t… The grind and rush of an electric… And, from still farther off, An engine puffs sharply,
Streaks of green and yellow irides… Silver shiftings, Rings veering out of rings, Silver —gold — Grey-green opaqueness sliding down…
The neighbour sits in his window a… From my bed I can hear him, And the round notes flutter and ta… And hit against each other, Blurring to unexpected chords.
Some men there are who find in nat… Their inspiration, hers the sympat… Which spurs them on to any great e… To them the fields and woods are c… And they hold dear communion with…
How should I sing when buffeting… And stung with bitter surges, in w… I toss, a cockleshell? The dreadf… Marshals its undefeated dark and r… In brutal madness, reeling over gr…
Throughout the echoing chambers of… I hear your words in mournful cade… Like some slow passing-bell which… Of sundering darkness. Unrelentin… To batter down resistance, fall ag…
I have whetted my brain until it i… So keen that it nicks off the floa… So sharp that the air would turn i… Were it to be twisted in flight. Licking passions have bitten their…
When I have baked white cakes And grated green almonds to spread… When I have picked the green crow… And piled them, cone-pointed, in a… When I have smoothed the seam of…
Panels of claret and blue which sh… Under the moon like lees of wine. A coronet done in a golden scroll, And wheels which blunder and creak… Through the muddy ruts of a moorla…