Cornhuskers. 1918.
#AmericanWriters
I HAVE ransacked the encyclopedi… And slid my fingers among topics a… Looking for you. And the answer comes slow. There seems to be no answer.
THE working girls in the morning… long lines of them afoot amid the… and factories, thousands with litt… lunches wrapped in newspapers unde… Each morning as I move through th…
I asked the mayor of Gary about the 12-hour day and the 7-day week. And the mayor of Gary answered more workmen steal time on the job in Gary than any other place in the United States. ...
THIS Mohammedan colonel from the Caucasus yells with his voice and wigwags with his arms. The interpreter translates, ‘I was a friend of Kornilov, he asks me what to do and I tell him.’...
You have spoken the answer. A child searches far sometimes Into the red dust On a dark rose leaf And so you have gone far
Alike only as a yellow cat and a green parrot are alike, (Maybe this is a jabber too—are we at it again, you and I?) One thing there is much of; the name men call it by is time; int...
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…
WHAT do we see here in the sand… moon alone with our thoughts, Bill… Alone with our dreams, Bill, soft… scarves around their heads dancing… Alone with a picture and a picture…
I SPOT the hills With yellow balls in autumn. I light the prairie cornfields Orange and tawny gold clusters And I am called pumpkins.
WANDERING oversea dreamer, Hunting and hoarse, Oh daughter a… Oh daughter of ashes and mother of… Child of the hair let down, and te… Child of the cross in the south
I SAW a mouth jeering. A smile o… A fist hit the mouth: knuckles of… The fist hit the mouth over and ov… And I saw the more the fist pound…
ROSES and gold For you today, And the flash of flying flags. I will have Ashes,
MONEY is nothing now, even if I… O mooney moon, yellow half moon, Up over the green pines and gray e… Up in the new blue. Streel, streel,
MY head knocks against the stars. My feet are on the hilltops. My finger-tips are in the valleys… universal life. Down in the sounding foam of prima…
Though I can whisper to you I am looking for an undertaker humming a lullaby and throwing his feet in a swift and mystic buck-and-wing, now you see it and now you don’t. Fish to swim a ...