Carl Sandburg Poems

  • 151.  
    THE ROSES slanted crimson sobs
    On the night sky hair of the women, And the long light-fingered men
  • 152.  
    TWO Swede families live downstairs and an Irish policeman upstairs, and an old soldier, Uncle Joe.
    Two Swede boys go upstairs and see Joe. His wife is dead, his only son is dead, and his two daughters in Missouri and Texas don't want him around. The boys and Uncle Joe crack walnuts with a hammer on the bottom of a flatiron while the January wind howls and the zero air weaves laces on the window glass.
  • 153.  
    IF I should pass the tomb of Jonah
    I would stop there and sit for awhile; Because I was swallowed one time deep in the dark
  • 154.  
    IT'S going to come out all right-do you know?
    The sun, the birds, the grass-they know. They get along-and we'll get along.
  • 155.  
    THE SEA is large.
    The sea hold on a leg of land in the Chesapeake hugs an early sunset and a last morning star over the oyster beds and the late clam boats of lonely men. Five white houses on a half-mile strip of land â?¦ five white dice rolled from a tube.
  • 156.  
    FROM the time of the early radishes
    To the time of the standing corn Sleepy Henry Hackerman hoes.
  • 157.  
    SOMEWHERE you and I remember we came.
    Stairways from the sea and our heads dripping. Ladders of dust and mud and our hair snarled.
  • 158.  
    I SAW a telegram handed a two hundred pound man at a desk. And the little scrap of paper charged the air like a set of crystals in a chemist's tube to a whispering pinch of salt.
    Cross my heart, the two hundred pound man had just cracked a joke about a new hat he got his wife, when the messenger boy slipped in and asked him to sign. He gave the boy a nickel, tore the envelope and read. Then he yelled 'Good God,' jumped for his hat and raincoat, ran for the elevator and took a taxi to a railroad depot.
  • 159.  
    Look out how you use proud words.
    When you let proud words go, it is not easy to call them back. They wear long boots, hard boots; they walk off proud; they can't hear you calling--
  • 160.  
    Sobs En Route to a Penitentiary

  • 161.  
    The strong men keep coming on.
    They go down shot, hanged, sick, broken. They live on, fighting, singing, lucky as plungers.
  • 162.  
    AM I the river your white birds fly over?
    Are you the green valley my silver channels roam? The two of us a bowl of blue sky day time and a bowl of red stars night time?
  • 163.  
    THE WASHERWOMAN is a member of the Salvation Army.
    And over the tub of suds rubbing underwear clean She sings that Jesus will wash her sins away
  • 164.  
    Yes, the Dead speak to us.
    This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness.
  • 165.  
    Six years I worked in a knitting mill at a machine
    And then I married Jerry, the iceman, for a change. He weighed 240 pounds, and could hold me,
  • 166.  
    Jesus emptied the devils of one man into forty hogs and the hogs took the edge of a high rock and dropped off and down into the sea: a mob.
    The sheep on the hills of Australia, blundering fourfooted in the sunset mist to the dark, they go one way, they hunt one sleep, they find one pocket of grass for all.
  • 167.  
    THE BUFFALOES are gone.
    And those who saw the buffaloes are gone. Those who saw the buffaloes by thousands and how they pawed the prairie sod into dust with their hoofs, their great heads down pawing on in a great pageant of dusk,
  • 168.  
    Maybe he believes me, maybe not.
    Maybe I can marry him, maybe not.
  • 169.  
    I HAVE kept all, not one is thrown away, not one given to the ragman, not one thrust in a corner with a 'P-f-f.'
    The red ones and the blue, the long ones in stripes, and each of the little black and white checkered ones. Keep them: I tell my heart: keep them another year, another ten years: they will be wanted again.
  • 170.  
    IN the moonlight under a shag-bark hickory tree
    Watching the yellow shadows melt in hoof-pools, Listening to the yes and the no of a woman's hands,
  • 171.  
    HUNTINGTON sleeps in a house six feet long.
    Huntington dreams of railroads he built and owned. Huntington dreams of ten thousand men saying: Yes, sir.
  • 172.  
    Let me be monosyllabic to-day, O Lord.
    Yesterday I loosed a snarl of words on a fool, on a child. To-day, let me be monosyllabic . . . . a crony of old men who wash sunlight in their fingers and enjoy slow-pacing clocks.
  • 173.  
    A father sees his son nearing manhood.
    What shall he tell that son? 'Life is hard; be steel; be a rock.'
  • 174.  
    Among the bumble-bees in red-top hay, a freckled field of brown-eyed Susans dripping yellow leaves in July,
    I read your heart in a book.
  • 175.  
    LET it go on; let the love of this hour be poured out till all the answers are made, the last dollar spent and the last blood gone.
    Time runs with an ax and a hammer, time slides down the hallways with a pass-key and a master-key, and time gets by, time wins.
  • 176.  
    The Balloons hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
    They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky. Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, â??What shall we eat?â?â??and the waiters, â??Have you ordered?â? they are sixty balloon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
  • 177.  
    THERE is a wolf in me ... fangs pointed for tearing gashes ... a red tongue for raw meat ... and the hot lapping of blood-I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
    There is a fox in me ... a silver-gray fox ... I sniff and guess ... I pick things out of the wind and air ... I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers ... I circle and loop and double-cross.
  • 178.  
    (March, 1919)A LIAR goes in fine clothes.
    A liar goes in rags. A liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.
  • 179.  
    On Forty-first Street
    near Eighth Avenue a frame house wobbles.
  • 180.  
    THE HORSE'S name was Remorse.
    There were people said, 'Gee, what a nag!' And they were Edgar Allan Poe bugs and so
  • 181.  
    MY people are gray,
    pigeon gray, dawn gray, storm gray. I call them beautiful,
  • 182.  
    THE DOUBLE moon, one on the high back drop of the west, one on the curve of the river face,
    The sky moon of fire and the river moon of water, I am taking these home in a basket, hung on an elbow, such a teeny weeny elbow, in my head. I saw them last night, a cradle moon, two horns of a moon, such an early hopeful moon, such a child's moon for all young hearts to make a picture of.
  • 183.  
    I waited today for a freight train to pass.
    Cattle cars with steers butting their horns against the bars, went by.
  • 184.  
    She had a box
    with a million red bandanas for him. She gave them to him
  • 185.  
    I have seen
    The old gods go And the new gods come.
  • 186.  
    I will read ashes for you, if you ask me.
    I will look on the fire and tell you from the gray lashes And out of the red and black tongues and stripes,
  • 187.  
    THE SHEETS of night mist travel a long valley.
    I know why you came at sundown in a scarf mist.
  • 188.  
  • 189.  
  • 190.  
  • 191.  
  • 192.  
    On the lips of the child Janet float changing dreams.
    It is a thin spiral of blue smoke, A morning campfire at a mountain lake.
  • 193.  
    THE MILK drops on your chin, Helga,
    Must not interfere with the cranberry red of your cheeksNor the sky winter blue of your eyes.
  • 194.  
    I DON'T blame the kettle drums-they are hungry.
    And the snare drums-I know what they want-they are empty too.And the harring booming bass drums-they are hungriest of all.. . .
  • 195.  
    MAKE war songs out of these;
    Make chants that repeat and weave.Make rhythms up to the ragtime chatter of the machine guns;
  • 196.  
    INTO the gulf and the pit of the dark night, the cold night, there is a man goes into the dark and the cold and when he comes back to his people he brings fire in his hands and they remember him in the years afterward as the fire bringer-they remember or forget-the man whose head kept singing to the want of his home, the want of his people.

  • 197.  
        head.Arithmet ic tell you how many you lose or win if you know how
  • 198.  
    Six streets come together here.
    They feed people and wagons into the center. In and out all day horses with thoughts of nose-bags,
  • 199.  
    Wilson and Pilcer and Snack stood before the zoo elephant.

  • 200.  
    THIN sheets of blue smoke among white slabs ... near the shingle mill ... winter morning.
    Falling of a dry leaf might be heard ... circular steel tears through a log.Slope of woodland ... brown ... soft ... tinge of blue such as pansy eyes.
Total 464 poems written by Carl Sandburg

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
Expectans Expectavi
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

From morn to midnight, all day through,
I laugh and play as others do,
I sin and chatter, just the same
As others with a different name.

And all year long upon the stage
I dance and tumble and do rage
So vehemently, I scarcely see

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