#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion 'tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
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...
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight