#AmericanWriters
This poem is intended as a description of a sort of Blashfield mural painting on the sky. To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle, yet in a slower, more orotund fashion. It is presum...
“Tell me, where do ghosts in love Find their bridal veils?” “If you and I were ghosts in love We’d climb the cliffs of Mystery, Above the sea of Wails.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sat gossiping with Robert. (She was really a raving beauty in… With Mary Pickford curls in cloud… She was trying to think of somethi…
The moon’s a gong, hung in the wil… Whose song the fays hold dear. Of course you do not hear it, chil… It takes a FAIRY ear. The full moon is a splendid gong
I. THEIR BASIC SAVAGER… Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel r… Barrel-house kings, with feet unst… Sagged and reeled and pounded on t… A deep rolling bass.
“Yes,” said the sister with the li… The busy little sister with the fu… “This is the climax, the grand fif… There rides the proud, at the fini… There goes the hearse, the mourner…
Once, in the city of Kalamazoo, The gods went walking, two and two… With the friendly phoenix, the sta… The speaking pony and singing lion… For in Kalamazoo in a cottage apa…
centered(To be read in your own va… Legree’s big house was white and g… His cotton-fields were the best to… He had strong horses and opulent c… And bloodhounds bold, with chains…
There dwelt a widow learned and de… Behind our hamlet on the eastern h… Three sons she had, who went to fi… They promised to return, but wande… The cities used them well, they wo…
Why do I see these empty boats, s… One haunted me the whole night lon… Returning always near the eaves, o… There it will wait me many weeks,… Each soul is haunted by a ship in…
Too soon you wearied of our tears. And then you danced with spangled… Leading Belshazzar’s chattering c… A-tinkling through the shadowy str… With mead they came, with chants o…
Would that the lying rulers of the… Were brought to block for tyrannie… Would that the sword of Cromwell… The sword of Joshua and Gideon, Hewed hip and thigh the hosts of…
The moon’s a steaming chalice, Of honey and venom-wine. A little of it sipped by night Makes the long hours divine. But oh, my reckless lovers,
The moon’s a brass-hooped water-ke… A wondrous water-feast. If I could climb the ridge and dr… And give drink to my beast; If I could drain that keg, the fl…
Tolstoi is plowing yet. When the… High in the sky shines a field as… There he toils for the Kingdom of… Ah, he is taller than clouds of th… Only the congress of planets is ov…