#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.
I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter
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.
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
Among of green stiff old
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!