#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
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…
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field