#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
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
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.
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of