#AmericanWriters
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
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...
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
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.
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…