#Activities #AmericanWriters #MoneyAndEconomics #SocialCommentaries
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
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
Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…