#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...
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
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...
It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely