Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

401. Thin Strips 1/27/2014
402. Three Balls 1/21/2014
403. Three Ghosts 1/27/2014
404. Three Pieces On The Smoke Of Autumn 1/27/2014
405. Three Spring Notations On Bipeds 1/27/2014
406. Three Violins 1/27/2014
407. Threes 1/3/2003
408. Throw Roses 1/27/2014
409. Throwbacks 1/27/2014
410. Timber Wings 1/27/2014
411. Timesweep -new- 6/22/2015
412. To A Contemporary Bunkshooter 1/13/2003
413. To A Dead Man 1/13/2003
414. To Beachey, 1912 1/13/2003
415. To Certain Journeymen 1/13/2003
416. Trafficker 1/13/2003
417. Trinity Place 1/27/2014
418. Troths 1/3/2003
419. Two 1/13/2003
420. Two Items 1/27/2014
421. Two Neighbors 1/13/2003
422. Two Strangers Breakfast 1/27/2014
423. Under 1/13/2003
424. Under A Hat Rim 1/13/2003
425. Under A Telephone Pole 1/3/2003
426. Under The Harvest Moon 1/3/2003
427. Uplands In May 1/13/2003
428. Upstairs 1/3/2003
429. Upstream 1/27/2014
430. Valley Song 1/4/2003
431. Vaudeville Dancer 1/27/2014
432. Village In Late Summer 1/27/2014
433. Waiting 1/13/2003
434. Wars 1/13/2003
435. Washerwoman 1/27/2014
436. Weeds 1/27/2014
437. Whiffletree 1/27/2014
438. Whirls 1/27/2014
439. White Ash 1/27/2014
440. White Hands 1/27/2014
Best Poem of Carl Sandburg

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Read the full of Fog

Silver Nails

A man was crucified. He came to the city a stranger,
was accused, and nailed to a cross. He lingered hanging.
Laughed at the crowd. "The nails are iron," he
said, "You are cheap. In my country when we crucify
we use silver nails. . ." So he went jeering. They
did not understand him at first. Later they talked about
him in changed voices in the saloons, bowling alleys, and
churches. It came over them every man is crucified
only once in his life and the law of humanity dictates

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