#AmericanWriters
STYLE—go ahead talking about sty… You can tell where a man gets his… as you can tell where Pavlowa got… or Ty Cobb his batting eye. Go on talking.
When country fiddlers held a conve… Danville, the big money went to a… artist who played Turkey in the S… variations. They asked him the name of the pie…
NEITHER rose leaves gathered in… Cinders-these-hissing in a marl an…
YELLOW dust on a bumble bee’s wing, Grey lights in a woman’s asking eyes, Red ruins in the changing
IN Abraham Lincoln’s city, Where they remember his lawyer’s s… The place where they brought him Wrapped in battle flags, Wrapped in the smoke of memories
I cried over beautiful things know… The field of cornflower yellow is… the mother of the year, the taker… The northwest wind comes and the y… come in the first spit of snow on…
WHY shall I keep the old name? What is a name anywhere anyway? A name is a cheap thing all father… each child: A job is a job and I want to live…
THE MILK drops on your chin, H… Must not interfere with the cranbe… Nor the sky winter blue of your ey… Let your mammy keep hands off the… This is a high holy spatter of whi…
IN a jeweler’s shop I saw a man b… out thin sheets of gold. I heard a… laugh many years ago. Under a peach tree I saw petals s… .. torn strips of a bride’s dress.…
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…
I SHALL never forget you, Broad… Your golden and calling lights. I’ll remember you long, Tall-walled river of rush and play… Hearts that know you hate you
INTO the gulf and the pit of the dark night, the cold night, there is a man goes into the dark and the cold and when he comes back to his people he brings fire in his hands and they rem...
TAKE your fill of intimate remor… Over the dead child of a millionai… And the pity of Death refusing an… Which the millionaire might order… scratch off
ONCE when I saw a cripple Gasping slowly his last days with… Looking from hollow eyes, calling… Desperately gesturing with wasted… In the dark and dust of a house do…
THE ROSES slanted crimson sobs On the night sky hair of the women… And the long light-fingered men Spoke to the dark-haired women, ‘Nothing lovelier, nothing lovelie…