#AmericanWriters
Praise the spells and bless the ch… I found April in my arms. April golden, April cloudy, Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy; April soft in flowered languor,
The summer like a rajah dies, And every widowed tree Kindles for Congregationalist eye… An alien suttee.
The people upstairs all practise b… Their living room is a bowling all… Their bedroom is full of conducted… Their radio is louder than yours, They celebrate week-ends all the w…
Candy Is dandy, But liquor Is quicker
A girl whose cheeks are covered wi… Has an advantage with me over one…
Who is the happy husband? Why, in… 'Tis he who’s useless in the time… Who, asked to unclasp a bracelet o… Contrives to be utterly futile, fu… Or when a zipper nips his loved on…
Husbands are things that wives have to get used to putting up with. And with whom they breakfast with and sup with. They interfere with the discipline of nurseries, They ...
Cuckoos lead Bohemian lives, They fail as husbands and as wives… Therefore they cynically disparage Everybody else’s marriage.
The truth I do not stretch or sho… When I state that the dog is full… I’ve also found, by actual test, A wet dog is the lovingest.
One thing that literature would be… Would be a more restricted employm… metaphor. Authors of all races, be they Gre… Can’t seem just to say that anythi…
Sure, deck your limbs in pants; Yours are the limbs, my sweeting. You look divine as you advance— Have you seen yourself retreating?
Consider the auk; Becoming extinct because he forgot… Consider man, who may well become… Because he forgot how to walk and…
The ostrich roams the great Sahar… Its mouth is wide, its neck is nar… It has such long and lofty legs, I’m glad it sits to lay its eggs.
The pig, if I am not mistaken; Supplies us sausage, ham, and baco… Let others say his heart is big— I call it stupid of the pig.
There is a knocking in the skull, An endless silent shout Of something beating on a wall, And crying, “Let me out!” That solitary prisoner