#1923 #AmericanWriters #ThreeStoriesAndTenPoems
Maera lay still, his head on his arms, his face in the sand. He felt warm and sticky from the bleeding. Each time he felt the horn coming. Sometimes the bull only bumped him with his he...
Workingmen believed He busted trusts, And put his picture in their windo… ‘What he’d have done in France!’ They said.
The king was working in the garden. He seemed very glad to see me. We walked through the garden. This is the queen, he said. She was clipping a rose bush. Oh how do you do, she said. We...
Men went happily to death But they were not the men Who marched For years Up to the line.
He tried to spit out the truth; Dry—mouthed at first, He drooled and slobbered in the en… Truth dribbling his chin.
Jim Gilmore came to Hortons Bay from Canada. He bought the blacksmith shop from old man Horton. Jim was short and dark with big mustaches and big hands. He was a good horseshoer and did...
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall… want him for long.
The age demanded that we sing And cut away our tongue. The age demanded that we flow And hammered in the bung. The age demanded that we dance
It was a frightfully hot day. We’d jammed an absolutely perfect barricade across the bridge. It was simply priceless. A big old wrought iron grating from the front of a house. Too heavy...
At two o’clock in the morning two Hungarians got into a cigar store at Fifteenth Street and Grand Avenue. Drevitts and Boyle drove up from the Fifteenth Street police station in a Ford....
The first matador got the horn through his sword hand and the crowd hooted him out. The second matador slipped and the bull caught him through the belly and he hung on to the horn with ...
Outside, the snow was higher than the window. The sunlight came in through the window and shone on a map on the pine-board wall of the hut. The sun was high and the light came in over t...
So now, Losing the three last night, Taking them back today, Dripping and dark the woods . . .
The only man I ever loved Said good bye And went away He was killed in Picardy On a sunny day.
A porcupine skin, Stiff with bad tanning, It must have ended somewhere. Stuffed horned owl Pompous