#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with
The birches are mad with green poi… the wood’s edge is burning with th… burning, seething—No, no, no. The birches are opening their leav… by one. Their delicate leaves unfo…
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…
Go to sleep—though of course you w… to tideless waves thundering slant… strong embankments, rattle and swi… dashed thirty feet high, caught by… scattered and strewn broadcast in…
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...