#AmericanWriters
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
I’ve fond anticipation of a day O’erfilled with pure diversion pre… For I must read a lady poesy The while we glide by many a leafy… Hid deep in rushes, where at rando…
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…
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn