#Americans #PulitzerPrice #XIXCentury #XXCentury
CRIMSON is the slow smolder of… Gray is the ash that stiffens and… (A great man I know is dead and w… coffin a gone flame I sit here in… and smoke and watch my thoughts co…
IN the Shenandoah Valley, one rider gray and one rider blue, and the sun on the riders wondering. Piled in the Shenandoah, riders blue and riders gray, piled with shovels, one and ano...
I was born in the morning of the w… So I know how morning looks morning in the valley wanting, morning on a mountain wanting. Morning looks like people look,
DOWN between the walls of shadow Where the iron laws insist, The hunger voices mock. The worn wayfaring men With the hunched and humble should…
The mare Alix breaks the world’s trotting record one day. I see her heels flash down the dust of an Illinois race track on a summer afternoon. I see the timekeepers put their heads to...
THE TIME has gone by. The child is dead. The child was never even born. Why go on? Why so much as begin? How can we turn the clock back now
MOMUS is the name men give your… The brag of its tone, like a long… Finding a way mid mist on a shorel… Where gray rocks let the salt wate… Against horizons purple, silent.
The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time and does her hair the way she want… and fastens at last the last braid…
IN the cool of the night time The clocks pick off the points And the mainsprings loosen. They will need winding. One of these days…
I DON’T blame the kettle drums-t… And the snare drums-I know what t… And the harring booming bass drums… The howling spears of the Northwe… The lullabies of the Southwest ge…
TWO fishes swimming in the sea, Two birds flying in the air, Two chisels on an anvil-maybe. Beaten, hammered, laughing blue st… Sure I would rather be a chisel w…
I AM The Great White Way of the… When you ask what is my desire, I… “Girls fresh as country wild flowe… With young faces tired of the cows… Eager in their eyes as the dawn to…
Gather the stars if you wish it so… Gather the songs and keep them. Gather the faces of women. Gather for keeping years and years… And then . . .
YOUR white shoulders I remember And your shrug of laughter. Low laughter Shaken slow
telling where the wind comes from open a story. Pencils telling where the wind goes end a story.
