#AmericanWriters
In the pocket of the first, the earliest evening star.. . . There is a sheet of red ember glow on the river; it is dusk; and the muskrats one by one go on patrol routes west. Arou...
HATS, where do you belong? what is under you? On the rim of a skyscraper’s foreh… I looked down and saw: hats: fifty… Swarming with a noise of bees and…
MY people are gray, pigeon gray, dawn gray, storm gray… I call them beautiful, and I wonder where they are going.
I AM the people—the mob—the crowd… Do you know that all the great wor… done through me? I am the workingman, the inventor,… world’s food and clothes.
Millions of men go to war, acres of them are buried, guns and ships broken, cities burned, villages sent up in smoke, and children where cows are killed off amid hoarse barbecues vanish...
IN Abraham Lincoln’s city, Where they remember his lawyer’s s… The place where they brought him Wrapped in battle flags, Wrapped in the smoke of memories
JOY... weaving two violet petals for a coat lapel... painting on a slab of night sky a Christ face... slipping new brass keys into rusty iron locks and shouldering till at last the door...
BILBEA, I was in Babylon on Sa… I saw nothing of you anywhere. I was at the old place and the oth… Have you gone to another house? or… Why don’t you write?
THE owl-car clatters along, dogge… From building and battered paving-… The headlight scoffs at the mist, And fixes its yellow rays in the c… Against a pane I press my forehea…
I HAVE lived in many half-worlds… I leaned at a deck rail watching a… I leaned so... and you fluttered s… Child of water, child of air, fin…
NANCY HANKS dreams by the fir… Dreams, and the logs sputter, And the yellow tongues climb. Red lines lick their way in flicke… Oh, sputter, logs.
I ASKED a gypsy pal To imitate an old image And speak old wisdom. She drew in her chin, Made her neck and head
FIVE circus clowns dying this year, morning newspapers told their lives, how each one horizontal in a last gesture of hands arranged by an undertaker, shook thousands into convulsions o...
I AM the mist, the impalpable mis… Back of the thing you seek. My arms are long, Long as the reach of time and spac… Some toil and toil, believing,
It’s going to come out all right&m… The sun, the birds, the grass&mdas… They get along—and we’ll get… Some days will be rainy and you wi… And the letter you wait for won’t…