#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
Go to sleep—though of course you w… to tideless waves thundering slant… strong embankments, rattle and swi… dashed thirty feet high, caught by… scattered and strewn broadcast in…
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
School is over. It is too hot to walk at ease. At ease in light frocks they walk the stre… to while the time away. They have grown tall. They hold
Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,
First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
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