#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
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
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
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
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight