Tag Archives: William Carlos Williams

Heel & Toe To The End Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang and when he emerged from that one hundred eight minutes off the surface of the earth he was smiling. ...

Great Mullen One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a lighthouse to peer from: I will have my way, yellow–A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smaller as they grow more–Liar, ...

from “Asphodel, That Greeny Flower” Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem- save that it’s green and wooden- I come, my sweet, to sing to you. We lived long together a life filled, if you ...

First Praise Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splintering leaf-tread with thee on before, White, slender through green saplings; I have lain by thee on the brown forest floor Beside thee, my Lady. ...

  Epitaph An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright tendrils and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge.   William Carlos Williams  

  Dedication for a Plot of Ground This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presence of Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married; lost her husband and with her five ...

  Dawn Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings– beating color up into it at a far edge,–beating it, beating it with rising, triumphant ardor,– stirring it into warmth, quickening in it a spreading ...

  Danse Russe If I when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees,— if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before ...

  Daisy The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow is clotted with sorrel and crabgrass, the branch is black under the heavy mass of ...

  Complete Destruction It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard. Those fleas that escaped earth and fire died by the cold.   William Carlos Williams ...

  Complaint They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks. The door opens. I smile, enter and shake off the cold. Here is a great woman ...

  Blueflags I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge and the reeds begin and there are small houses facing the reeds and the blue mist in the ...

  Blizzard Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight deeper and deeper for three days or sixty years, eh? Then the sun! a clutter of yellow and blue flakes — ...

  Berket and the Stars A day on the boulevards chosen out of ten years of student poverty! One best day out of ten good ones. Berket in high spirits–“Ha, oranges! Let’s have one!” And he made to snatch an ...

  Arrival And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks of her dress in a strange bedroom– feels the autumn dropping its silk and linen leaves about her ankles. The tawdry veined body emerges twisted upon itself like ...

April If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake was too low in the sky, there was too great a ...

Approach of Winter The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go or driven like hail stream bitterly out to one side and fall where the salvias, hard carmine– like ...

A Sort of a Song Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait, sleepless. — through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones. Compose. (No ...

A Goodnight Go to sleep–though of course you will not– to tideless waves thundering slantwise against strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind, scattered and strewn broadcast in over the steady ...

  A Celebration A middle-northern March, now as always– gusts from the South broken against cold winds– but from under, as if a slow hand lifted a tide, it moves–not into April–into a second March, the old skin of wind-clear ...