#AmericanWriters
I REMEMBER here by the fire, In the flickering reds and saffron… They came in a ramshackle tub, Pilgrims in tall hats, Pilgrims of iron jaws, 5
I SPOT the hills With yellow balls in autumn. I light the prairie cornfields Orange and tawny gold clusters And I am called pumpkins.
COME to me only with playthings… A picture of a singing woman with… Standing at a fence of hollyhocks,… Or an old man I remember sitting… Of days that never happened anywhe…
I REMEMBER once I ran after y… shirt of you in the wind. Once many days ago I drank a glas… the picture of you shivered and sl… stuff.
BETWEEN two hills The old town stands. The houses loom And the roofs and trees And the dusk and the dark,
The lean hands of wagon men put out pointing fingers here, picked this crossway, put it on a… set up their sawbucks, fixed their… found a hitching place for the pon…
Red barns and red heiffers spot th… grass circles around Omaha—the far… haul tanks of cream and wagon-load… cheese. Shale hogbacks across the river at…
WHY shall I keep the old name? What is a name anywhere anyway? A name is a cheap thing all father… each child: A job is a job and I want to live…
DRAGOONS, I tell you the white… turn rust and go soon. Already mid September a line of b… over them. One sunset after another tracks th…
ONCE when I saw a cripple Gasping slowly his last days with… Looking from hollow eyes, calling… Desperately gesturing with wasted… In the dark and dust of a house do…
FACES of two eternities keep loo… One is Omar Khayam and the red st… wherein men forget yesterday and t… and remember only the voices and s… the stories, newspapers and fights…
The mare Alix breaks the world’s trotting record one day. I see her heels flash down the dust of an Illinois race track on a summer afternoon. I see the timekeepers put their heads to...
(We can succeed only by concert. . . . The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion....
RED drips from my chin where I h… Not all the blood, nowhere near al… Clots of red mess my hair And the tiger, the buffalo, know h… I was a killer.
THE ROSES slanted crimson sobs On the night sky hair of the women… And the long light-fingered men Spoke to the dark-haired women, ‘Nothing lovelier, nothing lovelie…