#AmericanWriters
Chant for the Transmutation of Me… Sail of Claustra, Aelis, Azalais… As you move among the bright trees… As your voices, under the larches… Make a clear sound,
The spring, my dear, Is no longer spring. Does the blackbird sing What he sang last year? Are the skies the old
I am a grave poetic hen That lays poetic eggs And to enhance my temperament A little quiet begs. We make the yolk philosophy,
DOLE THE BELL! BELL THE… Whom can these duds attack? Soapy Sime? Slipp’ry Mac? Naught but a shirt is there Such as the fascists wear,
At the table beyond us With her little suede slippers off… With her white-stocking’d feet Carefully kept from the floor by a… She converses:
After Li Po While my hair was still cut straig… across my forehead I played at the front gate, pullin… flowers.
ROSE WHITE, YELLOW, SILV… The swirl of light follows me thro… The smoke of incense Mounts from the four horns of my b… The water-jet of gold light bears…
All night, and as the wind lieth a… The cypress trees, he lay, Nor held me save as air that brush… Close, and as the petals of flower… Waver and seem not drawn to earth,…
WITH strawberries we filled a tr… And then we drove away, away Along the links beside the sea, Where wave and wind were light and… And August felt as fresh as May.
Luini in porcelain! The grand piano Utters a profane Protest with her clear soprano. The sleek head emerges
Gone while your tastes were keen t… Gone where the grey winds call to… By that high fencer, even Death, Struck of the blade that no man pa… Such is your fence, one saith,
For the seven lakes, and by no man… Rain; empty river; a voyage, Fire from frozen cloud, heavy rain… Under the cabin roof was one lante… The reeds are heavy; bent;
Though thou well dost wish me ill Audiart, Audiart, Where thy bodice laces start As ivy fingers clutching through Its crevices,
I can not bow to woo thee With honey words and flower kisses And the dew of sweet half—truths Fallen on the grass of old quaint… Of broidered days foredone.
For God, our God is a gallant foe That playeth behind the veil. I have loved my God as a child at… That seeketh deep bosoms for rest, I have loved my God as a maid to…