#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
You know there is not much that I desire, a few chrysanthemum… half lying on the grass, yellow and brown and white, the talk of a few people, the trees,
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
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 . . .
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,