#AmericanWriters
THE BUFFALOES are gone. And those who saw the buffaloes ar… Those who saw the buffaloes by tho… Those who saw the buffaloes are go… And the buffaloes are gone.
COOL your heels on the rail of a… Let the engineer open her up for n… Take in the prairie right and left… A gray village flecks by and the h… A barnyard and fifteen Holstein c…
WHEN Abraham Lincoln was shoveled into the tombs, he forgot the copperheads and the assassin … in the dust, in the cool tombs. And Ulysses Grant lost all thought of con men and Wall S...
I SALUTED a nobody. I saw him in a looking-glass. He smiled—so did I. He crumpled the skin on his forehe… frowning—so did I.
LAST night a January wind was ri… over our house and whistling a wol… eaves. I sat in a leather rocker and read… the Browning poem, Childe Roland…
EMILY DICKINSON: You gave us the bumble bee who has… The everlasting traveler among the… And how God plays around a back y… STEVIE CRANE:
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
BROTHER, I am fire Surging under the ocean floor. I shall never meet you, brother— Not for years, anyhow; Maybe thousands of years, brother.
YOUR white shoulders I remember And your shrug of laughter. Low laughter Shaken slow
I REMEMBER here by the fire, In the flickering reds and saffron… They came in a ramshackle tub, Pilgrims in tall hats, Pilgrims of iron jaws, 5
FIRST I would like to write for you a poem to be shouted in the teeth of a strong wind. Next I would like to write one for you to sit on a hill and read down the river valley on a late ...
A MILLION young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads, And the million are now under soil and their rottening flesh will in the years feed roots of blood-red ro...
(For S. A.)TO write one book in… or five books in one year, to be the painter and the thing pa… ... where are we, bo? Wait-get his number.
SEVEN days all fog, all mist, an… I was a plaything, a rat’s neck in… Fog and fog and no stars, sun, moo… Then an afternoon in fjords, low-l… A night harbor, blue dusk mountain…
Under the open sun and the yellow gloaming embers. They speak to me. I can not tell you what they say. Yesterday and to-morrow cross and mix on the skyline The two are lost in a purple ...