#AmericanWriters
speak, sir, and be wise. Speak choosing your words, sir, li…
There is a wolf in me . . . fangs… tongue for raw meat. . . and the h… this wolf because the wilderness g… will not let it go. There is a fox in me. . . a silver…
Child of the Aztec gods, how long must we listen here, how long before we go? The dust is deep on the lintels. The dust is dark on the doors.
AFTER the last red sunset glimme… Black on the line of a low hill ri… Formed into moving shadows, I saw A plowboy and two horses lined aga… Plowing in the dusk the last furro…
HERE is a face that says half-past seven the same way whether a murder or a wedding goes on, whether a funeral or a picnic crowd passes. A tall one I know at the end of a hallway broo...
AMONG the red guns, In the hearts of soldiers Running free blood In the long, long campaign: Dreams go on.
Under the open sun and the yellow gloaming embers. They speak to me. I can not tell you what they say. Yesterday and to-morrow cross and mix on the skyline The two are lost in a purple ...
I CANNOT tell you now; When the wind’s drive and whirl Blow me along no longer, And the wind’s a whisper at last— Maybe I’ll tell you then—
DEATH is stronger than all the g… the governments are men and men di… death laughs: Now you see 'em, now… Death is stronger than all proud m… snips proud men on the nose, throw…
ALL day long in fog and wind, The waves have flung their beating… Against the palisades of adamant. My boy, he went to sea, long and l… Curls of brown were slipping under…
LITTLE one, you have been buzzi… Flittering in the newspapers and d… lawyers And amid the educated men of the c… getting an earful of speech from t…
THE BRIDGE says: Come across,… The big rock in the river says: L… The white water says: I go on; ar… A kneeling, scraggly pine says: I… A sliver of moon slides by on a hi…
TWO Swede families live downstairs and an Irish policeman upstairs, and an old soldier, Uncle Joe. Two Swede boys go upstairs and see Joe. His wife is dead, his only son is dead, and ...
PASSERS-BY, Out of your many faces Flash memories to me Now at the day end Away from the sidewalks
BLOSSOMS of babies Blinking their stories Come soft On the dusk and the babble; Little red gamblers,