Cornhuskers. 1918.
#AmericanWriters
All the policemen, saloonkeepers a… knew Bern Dailey; secretary ten y… Pickpockets, yeggs, three card men… from zone to zone, birds of wind a… scavengers.
There is a wolf in me . . . fangs… tongue for raw meat. . . and the h… this wolf because the wilderness g… will not let it go. There is a fox in me. . . a silver…
BOY heart of Johnny Jones—aching… Aching, and Buffalo Bill in town? Buffalo Bill and ponies, cowboys,… Some of us know All about it, Johnny Jones.
What is the name you called me?— And why did you go so soon? The crows lift their caws on the w… And the wind changed and was lonel… The warblers cry thier sleepy-song…
THE HIGH horses of the sea brok… On the walls that held and counted… The wind lasted. Two landbirds looked on and the no… Looked on and the wind poured cups…
THE child’s wonder At the old moon Comes back nightly. She points her finger To the far silent yellow thing
THEY offer you many things, I a few. Moonlight on the play of fountains… With water sparkling a drowsy mono… Bare-shouldered, smiling women and…
ELSIE FLIMMERWON, you got a… The houses go wild when you finish… It is long ago, Elsie Flimmerwon,… It is long ago, Elsie, and now th… Then you were a little thing in ch…
IF I had a million lives to live and a million deaths to die in a million humdrum worlds, I’d like to change my name and have a new house number to go…
THROW roses on the sea where the… The roses speak to the sea, And the sea to the dead. Throw roses, O lovers– Let the leaves wash on the salt in…
THE sea is never still. It pounds on the shore Restless as a young heart, Hunting. The sea speaks
The haggard woman with a hacking cough and a deathless love whispers of white flowers... in your poem you pour like a cup of coffee, Gabriel. The slim girl whose voice was lost in the w...
SOMEBODY loses whenever somebo… This was known to the Chaldeans l… And more: somebody wins whenever s… This too was in the savvy of the… They take it heaven’s hereafter is…
OUT of the fire Came a man sunken To less than cinders, A tea-cup of ashes or so. And I,
SLEEP is a maker of makers. Birds sleep. Feet cling to a perch. Look at the balance. Let the legs loosen, the backbone untwist, the head go heavy over, the whole works tumbles a done bi...