#AmericanWriters
PAULA is digging and shaping the… Scarlet Chinese talker of summer. Two petals of crabapple blossom bl… hair, And fluff of white from a cottonwo…
The voice of the last cricket across the first frost is one kind of good-by. It is so thin a splinter of singin…
ONE man killed another. The sayi… The killer wept over the dead. Th… Why is the sun a red ball in the s… Why is the moon a tumbling chimney…
The rear axles hold the kick of tw… It is in the records of the patent… The farm boy says hello to you ins… A bucket of oil and a can of greas… Rain proof and fool proof they sta…
They were calling certain styles o… And another manner of beard assume… Of 'mutton chops,' 'galways,… Metaphors such as these sprang fro… Sprang from sparrows finding scatt…
‘The past is a bucket of ashes.’ THE WOMAN named To-morrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time and does her hair the way she want…
CROSS the hands over the breast… Straighten the legs a little more—… And call for the wagon to come and… Her mother will cry some and so wi… brothers.
THE FLUTTER of blue pigeon’s… Under a river bridge Hunting a clean dry arch, A corner for a sleep– This flutters here in a woman’s ha…
OVER the dead line we have calle… To come across with a word to us, Some beaten whisper of what happen… Where you are over the dead line Deaf to our calls and voiceless.
THE SINS of Kalamazoo are neit… The sins of Kalamazoo are a convi… And the people who sin the sins of… They run to drabs and grays-and so… Yes, Kalamazoo is a spot on the m…
Six years I worked in a knitting… And then I married Jerry, the ice… He weighed 240 pounds, and could h… Who weighed 105 pounds, outward ea… He came home drunk and lay on me w…
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…
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…
FOR the gladness here where the s… evening on the weeds at the river, Our prayer of thanks. For the laughter of children who t… bareheaded in the summer grass,
LET down your braids of hair, lad… Cross your legs and sit before the… And gaze long on lines under your… Life writes; men dance. And you know how men pay women.