#AmericanWriters
We were in a garden at Mons. Young Buckley came in with his patrol from across the river. The first German I saw climbed up over the garden wall. We waited till he got one leg over and ...
He tried to spit out the truth; Dry—mouthed at first, He drooled and slobbered in the en… Truth dribbling his chin.
They whack whacked the white horse on the legs and he knee-ed himself up. The picador twisted the stirrups straight and pulled and hauled up into the saddle. The horse’s entrails hung d...
Jim Gilmore came to Hortons Bay from Canada. He bought the blacksmith shop from old man Horton. Jim was short and dark with big mustaches and big hands. He was a good horseshoer and did...
The train passed very quickly a long, red stone house with a garden and four thick palm-trees with tables under them in the shade. On the other side was the sea. Then there was a cuttin...
It was hot coming down into the valley even in the early morning. The sun melted the snow from the skis we were carrying and dried the wood. It was spring in the valley but the sun was ...
It was a frightfully hot day. We’d jammed an absolutely perfect barricade across the bridge. It was simply priceless. A big old wrought iron grating from the front of a house. Too heavy...
Nick sat against the wall of the church where they had dragged him to be clear of machine gun fire in the street. Both legs stuck out awkwardly. He had been hit in the spine. His face w...
The road of the pass was hard and smooth and not yet dusty in the early morning. Below were the hills with oak and chestnut trees, and far away below was the sea. On the other side were...
A porcupine skin, Stiff with bad tanning, It must have ended somewhere. Stuffed horned owl Pompous
The only man I ever loved Said good bye And went away He was killed in Picardy On a sunny day.
If my Valentine you won’t be, I’ll hang myself on your Christma…
At two o’clock in the morning two Hungarians got into a cigar store at Fifteenth Street and Grand Avenue. Drevitts and Boyle drove up from the Fifteenth Street police station in a Ford....
“Well,” Jack says, “I’m going to need a lot of luck with that boy.” “He couldn’t hit you with a handful of bird-shot.” “Bird-shot’d be all right,” Jack says. “I wouldn’t mind bird-shot ...
For we have thought the longer tho… And gone the shorter way. And we have danced to devils’ tune… Shivering home to pray; To serve one master in the night,