#AmericanWriters
Little cramped words scrawling all… Like draggled fly’s legs, What can you tell of the flaring m… Through the oak leaves? Or of my uncertain window and theb…
Thin-voiced, nasal pipes Drawing sound out and out Until it is a screeching thread, Sharp and cutting, sharp and cutti… It hurts.
The path runs straight between the… A moonlit path, hemmed in by beds… Where phlox and marigolds dispute… With tall, red dahlias and the bri… 'T is reckless prodigality which t…
Life! Austere arbiter of each man… By whom he learns that Nature’s s… Are as decrees immutable; O pause Your even forward march! Not yet… Teach me the needed lesson, when t…
At first a mere thread of a footpa… Sweeping triumphant across it, it… Whose blossoms were poised above l… While hidden by bloom in a hawthor… It widened a highway, majestic, st…
Did the door move, or was it alway… The gladioli on the table are pale… I smell pale mauve and blue, Blue soft like bruises—putrid—oozi… The air oozes blue—mauve—
Hold your apron wide That I may pour my gifts into it, So that scarcely shall your two ar… From falling to the ground. I would pour them upon you
Spread on the roadway, With open-blown jackets, Like black, soaring pinions, They swoop down the hillside, The Cyclists.
Swirl of crowded streets. Shock a… brick facade of an old church, aga… lurch and withdraw. Flare of sunsh… in the windows of chemists’ shops,… darting colours far into the crowd…
I know a country laced with roads, They join the hills and they span… They weave like a shuttle between… And slide discreetly through hidde… They are canopied like a Persian…
I have whetted my brain until it i… So keen that it nicks off the floa… So sharp that the air would turn i… Were it to be twisted in flight. Licking passions have bitten their…
This afternoon was the colour of w… The trees glittered with the tumbl… The sidewalks shone like alleys of… And the houses ran along them laug… Under a tree in the park,
I ask but one thing of you, only o… That always you will be my dream o… That never shall I wake to find u… All this I have believed and rest… Forever vanished, like a vision go…
Paul Jannes was working very late… For this watch must be done by eig… To-morrow or the Cardinal Would certainly be vexed. Of all His customers the old prelate
Good ev’nin’, Mis’ Priest. I jest stepped in to tell you Goo… Yes, it’s all over. All my things is packed An’ every last one o’ them boxes