#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading