Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

281. The Shovel Man 1/13/2003
282. Bronzes 1/3/2003
283. Dynamiter 1/3/2003
284. Maybe 1/3/2003
285. Monosyllabic 1/3/2003
286. Pool 1/13/2003
287. Statistics 1/13/2003
288. Troths 1/3/2003
289. Silver Nails 1/13/2003
290. The Year 1/3/2003
291. 'Boes 1/13/2003
292. Sunset From Omaha Hotel Window 1/3/2003
293. Hell On The Wabash 1/3/2003
294. Clark Street Bridge 1/3/2003
295. Bringers 1/3/2003
296. Under A Hat Rim 1/13/2003
297. Interior 1/3/2003
298. Subway 1/13/2003
299. Mag 1/3/2003
300. Sheep 1/13/2003
301. To A Contemporary Bunkshooter 1/13/2003
302. Population Drifts 1/13/2003
303. Blue Island Intersection 1/3/2003
304. River Roads 1/3/2003
305. Two Neighbors 1/13/2003
306. Omaha 1/3/2003
307. Whitelight 1/13/2003
308. Pals 1/13/2003
309. The Mist 1/3/2003
310. Dunes 1/3/2003
311. On The Breakwater 1/3/2003
312. Improved Farm Land 1/3/2003
313. Loam 1/3/2003
314. The Hangman At Home 1/3/2003
315. Under 1/13/2003
316. Margaret 1/3/2003
317. Mask 1/3/2003
318. An Electric Sign Goes Dark 4/2/2010
319. Monotone 1/3/2003
320. Murmurings In A Field Hospital 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

Dynamiter

I sat with a dynamiter at supper in a German saloon eating steak and onions.
And he laughed and told stories of his wife and children and the cause of labor and the working class.
It was laughter of an unshakable man knowing life to be a rich and red-blooded thing.
Yes, his laugh rang like the call of gray birds filled with a glory of joy ramming their winged flight through a rain storm.
His name was in many newspapers as an enemy of the nation and few keepers of churches or schools woul

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