#AmericanWriters
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind
You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
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…
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees