#AmericanWriters
THREE violins are trying their h… The piece is MacDowell’s Wild Ro… And the time of the wild rose And the leaves of the wild rose And the dew-shot eyes of the wild…
THE LAWYERS, Bob, know too mu… They are chums of the books of old… They know it all, what a dead hand… A stiff dead hand and its knuckles… The bones of the fingers a thin wh…
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…
ONE man killed another. The sayi… The killer wept over the dead. Th… Why is the sun a red ball in the s… Why is the moon a tumbling chimney…
I cried over beautiful things know… The field of cornflower yellow is… the mother of the year, the taker… The northwest wind comes and the y… come in the first spit of snow on…
WHEN Abraham Lincoln was shoveled into the tombs, he forgot the copperheads and the assassin … in the dust, in the cool tombs. And Ulysses Grant lost all thought of con men and Wall S...
THIS is the song I rested with: The right shoulder of a strong man… The face of the rain that drizzled… The eyes of a child who slept whil… The petals of peony pink that flut…
I WAS born on the prairie and th… slogan. Here the water went down, the iceb… yellow sandy loam. Here between the sheds of the Roc…
AMONG the shadows where two stre… A woman lurks in the dark and wait… To move on when a policeman heaves… Smiling a broken smile from a face Painted over haggard bones and des…
I REMEMBER once I ran after y… shirt of you in the wind. Once many days ago I drank a glas… the picture of you shivered and sl… stuff.
THIS Mohammedan colonel from the Caucasus yells with his voice and wigwags with his arms. The interpreter translates, ‘I was a friend of Kornilov, he asks me what to do and I tell him.’...
CROSS the hands over the breast… Straighten the legs a little more—… And call for the wagon to come and… Her mother will cry some and so wi… brothers.
THESE are the tawny days: your f… The grapes take on purple: the sun… The bashful mornings hurl gray mis… Creep, silver on the field, the fr… Run on, yellow balls on the hills,…
I HAVE ransacked the encyclopedi… And slid my fingers among topics a… Looking for you. And the answer comes slow. There seems to be no answer.
NIGHT from a railroad car window Is a great, dark, soft thing Broken across with slashes of ligh…
