#AmericanWriters
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass
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.
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
The birches are mad with green poi… the wood’s edge is burning with th… burning, seething—No, no, no. The birches are opening their leav… by one. Their delicate leaves unfo…
My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…