Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

201. Dogheads 1/27/2014
202. The Wind Sings Welcome In Early Spring 1/27/2014
203. Galoots 1/27/2014
204. Girl In A Cage 1/27/2014
205. Offering And Rebuff 1/27/2014
206. Jazz Fantasia 1/21/2014
207. Smoke Rose Gold 1/27/2014
208. Home Thoughts 1/27/2014
209. Slippery 1/27/2014
210. Letter S 1/27/2014
211. Washerwoman 1/27/2014
212. Elephants Are Different To Different People 1/27/2014
213. Still Life 1/27/2014
214. Chicks 1/21/2014
215. Dancer 1/27/2014
216. Flying Fish 1/27/2014
217. Wistful 1/27/2014
218. Throw Roses 1/27/2014
219. Windflower Leaf 1/27/2014
220. Four Preludes On Playthings Of The Wind 1/27/2014
221. Flat Lands 1/27/2014
222. They Ask Each Other Where They Came From 1/27/2014
223. Early Moon 1/27/2014
224. Wilderness 1/27/2014
225. Excerp From The People, Yes 12/23/2014
226. For You 1/27/2014
227. Splinter 1/19/2015
228. Wind Song 1/27/2014
229. Old Timers 1/3/2003
230. Broken Tabernacles 4/2/2010
231. Baltic Fog Notes 4/2/2010
232. Band Concert 4/2/2010
233. Baby Vamps 4/2/2010
234. Eleventh Avenue Racket 4/2/2010
235. Balloon Faces 4/2/2010
236. Basket 4/2/2010
237. On The Way 1/3/2003
238. Jan Kubelik 1/3/2003
239. Momus 1/3/2003
240. Manual System 1/3/2003
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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