#Americans
EARLY May, after cold rain the… Irish setter pup finds a corner ne… Cuddling there he crosses forepaws… Sideways on this pillow, dozing in… Browns of hazel nut, mahogany, ros…
IT is something to face the sun and know you are free. To hold your head in the shafts of daylight slanting the earth And know your heart has kept a promise and the blood runs clean: To...
The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches
I DON’T know how he came, shambling, dark, and strong. He stood in the city and told men: My people are fools, my people are… Always he kept on asking: Where d…
TODAY I will let the old boat s… Where the sweep of the harbor tide… To the pulse of a far, deep-steady… And I will rest and dream and sit… Watching the world go by
FLAT lands on the end of town where real estate men are crying new subdivisions, The sunsets pour blood and fire over you hundreds and hundreds of nights, flat lands—blood and fire of...
Not exactly the spinning circles of singing golden spiders, Not exactly this have they got at nor the meaning of flowers—O flowers, flowers slung by a dancing girl—in the saddest play t...
All the policemen, saloonkeepers a… knew Bern Dailey; secretary ten y… Pickpockets, yeggs, three card men… from zone to zone, birds of wind a… scavengers.
On a mountain-side the real estate… Put up signs marking the city lots… A man whose father and mother were… Ran a goat farm half-way down the… He drove a covered wagon years ago…
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 CHILD Margaret begins to w… All the numbers come well-born, sh… Both 1 and 7 are straightforward,… The 6 and 9 salute as dancing sist… All the numbers are well-born, onl…
I ASKED a gypsy pal To imitate an old image And speak old wisdom. She drew in her chin, Made her neck and head
ALL day long in fog and wind, The waves have flung their beating… Against the palisades of adamant. My boy, he went to sea, long and l… Curls of brown were slipping under…
The voice of the last cricket across the first frost is one kind of good-by. It is so thin a splinter of singin…
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…