#AmericanWriters
Those who have touched it or been… Or brushed by something that the v… Or burning it, have stood where th… Has touched them-Know the meaning… The leaf is smooth. Its green is…
A seated statue of himself he seem… A bronze slowness becomes him. Pa… The page he contemplates he doesn’… The lesson, the long lesson, has b… His mind holds summer, as his skin…
Winter uses all the blues there ar… One shade of blue for water, one f… Another blue for shadows over snow… The clear or cloudy sky uses blue… Both different blues. And hills r…
Lingo of birds was easier than lin… they were elusive, though, the bir… He thought of Virgil, Virgil who… History he never forgave for letti… lapse into Italian, a renegade jab…
Bull by day And dozes by night. Would that the bulldozer Dozed all the time Would that the bulldozer
The first speaker said Fear fire. Fear furnaces Incinerators, the city dump The faint scratch of a match. The second speaker said
A wind’s word, the Hebrew Hallelu… I wonder they never gave it to a b… (Hal for short) boy with wind-wild… It means Praise God, as well it s… Is what God’s for. Why didn’t the…
The winter apples have been picked… Rain and wind have picked the mapl… The last of them now bank the hous… None are left upon the trees or on… Green and tall as ever it grew in…
This little house sows the degrees By which wood can return to trees. Weather has stained the shingles d… And indistinguishable from bark. Lichen that long ago adjourned
Searock his tower above the sea, Searock he built, not ivory. Searock as well his haunted art Who gave to plunging hawks his hea… He loved to stand upon his head
How lush, how loose, the uninhibit… If ever hearts (and these immodera… Are vegetable hearts) were worn on… The squash’s are. In green the sq… The flowers are cornucopias of sum…
Words of a poem should be glass But glass so simple-subtle its sha… Is nothing but the shape of what i… A glass spun for itself is empty, Brittle, at best Venetian trinket…
From where I stand the sheep stan… As stones against the stony hill. The stones are gray And so are they. And both are weatherworn and round…
Poised between going on and back,… Both ways taut like a tightrope-wa… Fingertips pointing the opposites, Now bouncing tiptoe like a dropped… Or a kid skipping rope, come on, c…
Amherst never had a witch O Coos or of Grafton But once upon a time There were three old women. One wore a small beard