#AmericanWriters
AFTER the last red sunset glimme… Black on the line of a low hill ri… Formed into moving shadows, I saw A plowboy and two horses lined aga… Plowing in the dusk the last furro…
Hope is a tattered flag and a drea… Hope is a heartspun word, the rain… The evening star inviolable over t… The shimmer of northern lights acr… The blue hills beyond the smoke of…
SUNDAY night and the park polic… is dark as a stack of black cats o… A big picnic boat comes home to C… farms of Saugatuck. Hundreds of electric bulbs break t…
THE TELESCOPE picks off star… on the clean steel sky and sends i… The telephone picks off my voice a… sends it cross country a thousand… The eyes in my head pick off pages…
THE BRASS medallion profile of… It is not jingling with loose chan… It is not stuck up in a show place… I carry it in a special secret poc… And it is under my pillow at night…
The strong men keep coming on. They go down shot, hanged, sick, b… They live on, fighting, singing, l… The strong men... they keep coming… The strong mothers pulling them fr…
WHY shall I keep the old name? What is a name anywhere anyway? A name is a cheap thing all father… each child: A job is a job and I want to live…
THE child’s wonder At the old moon Comes back nightly. She points her finger To the far silent yellow thing
IN the newspaper office—who are t… Who wears the mythic coat invisibl… Who pussyfoots from desk to desk with a speaking forefinger? Who gumshoes amid the copy paper
MANY birds and the beating of wi… Make a flinging reckless hum In the early morning at the rocks Above the blue pool Where the gray shadows swim lazy.
On up the sea slant, On up the horizon, The ship limps. The bone of her nose fog-gray, The heart of her sea-strong,
MY head knocks against the stars. My feet are on the hilltops. My finger-tips are in the valleys… universal life. Down in the sounding foam of prima…
THE WEST window is a panel of m… Five new lilacs nod to the wind an… The rain dry fence boards, the sta… (How long ago the knee drifts here…
THE working girls in the morning… long lines of them afoot amid the… and factories, thousands with litt… lunches wrapped in newspapers unde… Each morning as I move through th…
I WROTE a poem on the mist And a woman asked me what I meant… I had thought till then only of th… how pearl and gray of it mix and r… And change the drab shanties with…
