#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
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…
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...