#AmericanWriters
JOY... weaving two violet petals for a coat lapel... painting on a slab of night sky a Christ face... slipping new brass keys into rusty iron locks and shouldering till at last the door...
BEES and a honeycomb in the drie… And I ask no better a winding she… (over the earth and under the sun.… Let the bees go honey-hunting with… Let there be wings and yellow dust…
THERE’S Chamfort. He’s a sampl… Locked himself in his library with… Shot off his nose and shot out his… And this Chamfort knew how to wri… And thousands read his books on ho…
THEY offer you many things, I a few. Moonlight on the play of fountains… With water sparkling a drowsy mono… Bare-shouldered, smiling women and…
When country fiddlers held a conve… Danville, the big money went to a… artist who played Turkey in the S… variations. They asked him the name of the pie…
WRITE your wishes on the door and come in. Stand outside in the pools of the harvest moon.
Many ways to say good night. Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth… spell it with red wheels and yello… They fizz in the air, touch the wa… Rockets make a trajectory of gold-…
Have I broken the smaller taberna… And in the destruction of these se… I know nothing today, what I have… They were beautiful in a way, thes… They were beautiful—why did the hy…
This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness. Back of the clamps on a fireproof door they hold the papers of the Dead in a house here And when two living men fall ou...
DESOLATE and lone All night long on the lake Where fog trails and mist creeps, The whistle of a boat Calls and cries unendingly,
Six streets come together here. They feed people and wagons into t… In and out all day horses with tho… Men with shovels, women with baske… Six ends of streets and no sleep f…
NOTHING else in this song-only… Nothing else here-only your drinki… The pier runs into the lake straig… I stand on the pier and sing how… It is not your eyes, your face, I…
Now the stone house on the lake fr… workmen are beginning the fence. The palings are made of iron bars… can stab the life out of any man w… As a fence, it is a masterpiece, a…
The voice of the last cricket across the first frost is one kind of good-by. It is so thin a splinter of singin…
I AM glad God saw Death And gave Death a job taking care… of living: When all the wheels in a clock are… the connections loose