#AmericanWriters
THE sea is never still. It pounds on the shore Restless as a young heart, Hunting. The sea speaks
THE FLUTTER of blue pigeon’s… Under a river bridge Hunting a clean dry arch, A corner for a sleep– This flutters here in a woman’s ha…
TWENTY men stand watching the m… Stabbing the sides of the ditch Where clay gleams yellow, Driving the blades of their shovel… Deeper and deeper for the new gas…
THIN sheets of blue smoke among white slabs … near the shingle mill … winter morning. Falling of a dry leaf might be heard … circular steel tears through a log. Slope of woodland … ...
THE bronze General Grant riding… Park Shrivels in the sun by day when th… by in long processions going somew… for dinner and matinees and buying…
GUNS, Long, steel guns, Pointed from the war ships In the name of the war god. Straight, shining, polished guns,
THE monotone of the rain is beaut… And the sudden rise and slow relap… Of the long multitudinous rain. The sun on the hills is beautiful, Or a captured sunset sea-flung,
Wilson and Pilcer and Snack stood… Wilson said, ‘What is its name? I… it? Is it a he or a she? How old… it cost to feed? How much does it… one cost? If it dies, what will th…
THE HIGH horses of the sea brok… On the walls that held and counted… The wind lasted. Two landbirds looked on and the no… Looked on and the wind poured cups…
I SAW a mouth jeering. A smile o… A fist hit the mouth: knuckles of… The fist hit the mouth over and ov… And I saw the more the fist pound…
I shall be eaten by gray creepers in a bunkhouse where no runners of the sun come and no dogs live. And yet-of all 'and yets’ this is the bronze strongest– I shall keep one thing better...
BEES and a honeycomb in the drie… And I ask no better a winding she… (over the earth and under the sun.… Let the bees go honey-hunting with… Let there be wings and yellow dust…
THERE is a woman on Michigan Bo… She used to keep a houseful of gir… Now she is alone with a parrot and… The love of a soldier on furlough… The love of an emigrant workman wh…
The haggard woman with a hacking cough and a deathless love whispers of white flowers... in your poem you pour like a cup of coffee, Gabriel. The slim girl whose voice was lost in the w...
WHILE the hum and the hurry Of passing footfalls Beat in my ear like the restless s… Of a wind-blown sea, A soul came to me