#Activities #AmericanWriters #MoneyAndEconomics #SocialCommentaries
THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a w...
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
When trouble comes your soul to tr… You love the friend who just “stan… Perhaps there’s nothing he can do’ The thing is strictly up to you; For there are troubles all your ow…