#AmericanWriters
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
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…
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
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
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presenc… Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married;
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath