(1923)
#AmericanWriters
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
Among of green stiff old
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
When trouble comes your soul to tr… You love the friend who just “stan… Perhaps there’s nothing he can do’ The thing is strictly up to you; For there are troubles all your ow…
It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth ——nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by force; the grass
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...
