Poems

The Walking Man Of Rodin Legs hold a torso away from the earth. And a regular high poem of legs is here. Powers of bone and […]

The Year I A storm of white petals, Buds throwing open baby fists Into hands of broad flowers. II Red roses running upward, Clambering to the […]

Theme in Yellow I SPOT the hills With yellow balls in autumn. I light the prairie cornfields Orange and tawny gold clusters And I am called […]

They All Want to Play Hamlet They all want to play Hamlet. They have not exactly seen their fathers killed Nor their mothers in a frame-up […]

They Will Say OF my city the worst that men will ever say is this: You took little children away from the sun and the dew, […]

Threes I was a boy when I heard three red words a thousand Frenchmen died in the streets for: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity–I asked why men die […]

To A Contemporary Bunkshooter You come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling about Jesus. Where do you get that stuff? What do you […]

To A Dead Man Over the dead line we have called to you To come across with a word to us, Some beaten whisper of what […]

To Beachey, 1912 Riding against the east, A veering, steady shadow Purrs the motor-call Of the man-bird Ready with the death-laughter In his throat And in […]

To Certain Journeymen Undertakers, hearse drivers, grave diggers, I speak to you as one not afraid of your business. You handle dust going to a long […]