#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.
I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken
One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides