#Activities #AmericanWriters #MoneyAndEconomics #SocialCommentaries
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
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…
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!