#AmericanWriters
An arid daylight shines along the… Dried to a grey monotony of tone, And stranded jelly-fish melt soft… The sun-baked pebbles, far beyond… Sparkles a wet, reviving sea. Her…
A great tall column spearing at th… With a little man on top. Goodnes… He looks a silly thing enough to s… What a strange fellow, like a sold… Tight-fitting coat with the tails…
My heart is like a cleft pomegrana… Bleeding crimson seeds And dripping them on the ground. My heart gapes because it is ripe… And its seeds are bursting from it…
Between us leapt a gold and scarle… Into the hollow of the cupped, arc… Of Heaven it rose. Its flickering… And vanished in the sunshine. How… We guessed not, nor what thing cou…
Sea Shell, Sea Shell, Sing me a song, O Please! A song of ships, and sailor men, And parrots, and tropical trees, Of islands lost in the Spanish Ma…
Before the Altar, bowed, he stand… With empty hands; Upon it perfumed offerings burn Wreathing with smoke the sacrifici… Not one of all these has he given,
White, glittering sunlight fills t… Spotted and sprigged with shadows.… Of bartering booths spread out the… Of globed and golden fruit, the mo… Smells sweet with ripeness, on the…
The fountain bent and straightened… In the night wind, Blowing like a flower. It gleamed and glittered, A tall white lily,
The throats of the little red trum… And the clangour of brass beats ag… They bray and blare at the burning… Red! Red! Coarse notes of red, Trumpeted at the blue sky.
As I sit here in the quiet Summer… Suddenly, from the distant road, t… The grind and rush of an electric… And, from still farther off, An engine puffs sharply,
Have at you, you Devils! My back’s to this tree, For you’re nothing so nice That the hind-side of me Would escape your assault.
Pale, with the blue of high zenith… In smooth, running patterns, a sof… Warm from a woman’s soft shoulders… Where is she, the woman who wore i… A languor, fire-shotted, runs thro…
My corn is green with red tassels, I am praying to the lightning to r… I am praying to the thunder which… Corn is sweet where lightning has… I pray to the six-coloured clouds.
On winter nights beside the nurser… We read the fairy tale, while glow… Builded its pictures. There befor… We saw the vaulted hall of traceri… Uprear itself, the distant ceiling…
Thin-voiced, nasal pipes Drawing sound out and out Until it is a screeching thread, Sharp and cutting, sharp and cutti… It hurts.