Share this poet:
Sandra Fowler
Sandra Fowler
(February,4,1937 / W. Columbia, WV, USA)
|
 |
|
Sandra Fowler Poems
- (1) Before The Music Ends Words paint a fragile picture of ...
- (1) A Friendship Bridge You made me love the teachings of ...
- Autumn Friends If one could bridge the distance with a word, ...
- A Cloud Portrait Arms hold the soundless music of the ...
- Paper Birds Our minds have become intimate with words. We ...
- A Cricket Sang Good Luck I sat against your knees all ...
- A Word And A Flower You claim my thoughts, Though you have ...
Sandra Fowler born in West Columbia, WV February 4,1937. Has been writing poetry for almost fifty years.Associate Editor, Ocarina from about 1978 to 1989. Had a poem nominated for The Pushcart Prize,1998. Wazir Agha dedicated his Selected Poems to her in 1998. Interviewed by skylark Purdue university Calumet,2000. Honorary Doctorate, World Academy Of arts and Culture,2002. Wall Of Tolerance ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
(1) Before The Music Ends
Words paint a fragile picture of the dusk.
I think them to a poet far away.
The light shines dim upon my windowpane.
A few tears fall like blue rain in the mind.
Our time has been short listed by sunset,
No matter that the weather has its way,
The stresses live within their measurement,
And distance is a gift we give ourselves.
This moment is designed to be as spare
And elegant as winter's old, gnarled trees.
I trust you to translate my whispers, Friend
And send them back before the music ends.
PoemHunter.com Updates
-
Check out
Classic Poets
-
Footsteps of Angels
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
-
A Song About Myself
John Keats
-
A Very Short Song
Dorothy Parker
THIS LADY TAUGHT ME MORE ABOUT THE WORD OF GOD THAN ANY OTHER PERSON. SHE WAS AN AMAZING WOMAN. MAY SHE REST IN PEACE WITH HER LORD.
Sandra was one of the finest poets on this site or anywhere. Her passing is a huge loss to Poemhunter and all the poets who loved her work.
Dear Sandra (sAnta) :) .. u havE mOveD me wiTh nOt Only your Words but oF ur Time and KindnEss...ur the best with a PiEce of paper and a..gueSs u CouLd Use a Quil A BrUsH a pen blunt pencil CHaLk A foUntain Pen cRayons heck BeRRieS...AnD get The thIng Said.hands down....words im not to good at so...least not these kind.. bUt i KnoW yOu know what THAT meAns...moSt sinCerly...and the KidDinG AsidE..Peace
Nightingale is a nocturnal bird, but Sandra sings all the time with her rich vocabulary in the nature....................her poems like paintings without any brush marks.Instead of the canvas she choose everybody's soul.
No way to contact her nowadays whether she's still sick or not?
sincere student,
nimal
Sandra represents a special grace within the life of the Poemhunter.com community. Bill Grace
Within the subtex of you words there is regret...
love and hope.
Truly, you are a fine writer.
Somehow the goodness within you shines through
your work. You are a quality human being and
I so injoy reading your work.
It seems when I have spent some time
with you, I always leave with a peaceful
and contented feeling.
I do not write myself, however I spend a good
deal of quality time searching for poets like
yourself.
Good health, God Bless.
Sandra has described herself as a sunset soul with a preference for autumn and winter. And this assessment doesn't surprise me. Many of her poems are written in what I would call a minor key and there is often a feeling of regret lingering between the lines. She uses the word gray and describes seasonal images viewed through windowpanes. I visualize her sitting in a cosy study lined with books. A gracious lady with a great love of words and a humility which is unusual in one whose work is so highly accomplished. I am regularly astonished by the originality of Sandra's images and when I read some of her comments on other people's work, I find myself saying: 'I wish I'd said that'. I am honored to have Sandra as my friend on PoemHunter and look forward to reading
the her latest offering, always. Love, Alison ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
One of the best poet in this site.
Paper her canvas, white
Pen her brush, black
Painters never paint
While
She's painting