The fog comes/on little cat feet.//
It sits looking/over harbor and city/
on silent haunches/and then moves on.
~Carl Sandburg
Arrival of fog was something
more catty with claws extended
it gripped the town with damp dreadful
shivering so even church bells
refused to ring and shopkeepers
closed their normally friendly doors
against the sudden misery
of a day gone terribly wrong.
the fog rolls in
on little dog paws
it sits looking
over beach and island
on silent haunches
then springs up and moves on
“Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.” Carl Sandburg.
My creativity is soaring high,
like a butterfly in the bright blue sky,
Fran's cottage garden fills me with delight,
Inspired by nature, I begin to write,
I adore pretty flowers seen in spring,
you can almost hear woodland bluebells ring!
The rebirth of spring, and colours of fall,
these seasonal changes I love them all!
There's no need for AI or plagiarise -
if lacking ideas, open your eyes!
Today I’m grateful for babies and for Carl Sandburg
In today’s world they are the perfect pairing
from which my gratitude is drawn…
Because a baby, as Carl Sandburg said,
is God’s opinion
that the world is meant to on.
“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” – Carl Sandburg.
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Stirring souls, poetry just knows,
Love, fire, boldest winds of desire,
Rains blessing, song without a choir.
Words pouring out soft, gentle prose,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Glistening dreams, love to extremes,
Beckoning from silence that screams.
Dance of dances, fluid verses,
Poetry that grace coerces,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Poems who don’t just tell but shows.
Rhymes and rhythms, tenderly abide,
Singing of light, sometimes wild-eyed,
Hearts might remain in the shadows,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Beat the drums; aye, beat the drums!
Make them go stark raving mad—
These likes of Emperor Jones. 1
The criminals' courts play house.
Adzes don't cut their own tails. 2
Where are Clinton, Bush, and Trump? 3
'We' are the people, the mob. 4
'We' are judges; 'we' punish.
They should be ripped limb from limb.
Peaceful rallies will not do.
The criminals we'll tear up
On the streets across the globe.
Over!
1.14.2024
1 See The Emperor Jones, a short play by Eugene O'Neill.
2 A Persian adage
3 Three of the infamous slaughterers of the Bosnians, Afghans, Iraqis, and Syrians
4 See "I am the People, the Mob” by Carl Sandburg.
No comments, please!
Carl Sandburg 'THE PEOPLE ! YES'
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people power= one man/one vote
I love so much the book company,
More than anything in the world,
More than cats or butterflies,
Looking at the books in my room, soothe me,
Henry James amazes me, what intelligence,
Yachar Kemal makes me travel on Turkish roads
The pleasure of writing, of thinking, they offered that to me,
Books calm me more than anything,
Carl Sandburg, Billy Collins, Thucydides,
They are landscapes, angels from heaven,
Jean Giono amazes me; I go with him to Manosque,
My library offers me so many joys, Apollinaire, Sam Shepard,,
Just looking at books makes me dream,
I’m thinking about Jack London, I’ve read everything,
He made history, so humanly, such humility,
I think of Marcel Proust, a genius,
Style makes the man, especially à l’ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs
I love so much the book company,
Camus, Alejo Carpentier makes me intelligent, so to speak,
They understood me, every word, every story, every verb,
Books understand me
More than people, Kafka, Faulkner, Joyce, understand us,
They reassure me with their titles, their presences,
What would we be without books?
Thank them; look at them, life is short,
They are the best friends in the world.
Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire
smokestacks, waffles, pansies, people,
and purple sunsets.
Carl Sandburg
PURPLE PANSIES
A pensive-pansy bouquet,
vibrant diffusion of lot,
Borscht belt, Catskill-sunshine core,
platonic petals of thought.
Purple pansies are childhood,
of God’s wide-eyed creation,
innocence in royal cloak,
a roused imagination.
Deft purpleness recollects,
not grandma’s frilly feast days -
a sixty’s mod Easter dress,
painted nails of royal praise.
Fresh fairyland apogee
o’er green-sea, circular bowl.
Petal’s shades of light and dark -
a poet’s purple, vibrant soul.
6/1/2022
Purple Flowers Poetry Contest
used Rhymezone and HMS
Carl Sandburg
Life is a garden; What’s not to like?
You can’t grow an onion without proper soil.
You peel back the rocky top and remove it,
You haul off the dirt next; there’s no lack of toil.
One layer of compost to place at the bottom,
another of oak leaves, well past their time.
And sometimes, delightful, the straw from a horse barn:
earthy, nutritious, amendment sublime.
You tend, and you water your beautiful garden
A fence of protection enhanced when you pray
But He who made onions put snakes, without pardon,
And there will be weeping when plans go astray.
—————
This also contains the same embedded Carl Sandburg quote.
The poem is “ok”, but I liked the “Keola - Rhyme” better.
Carl Sandburg
Precious, this life is, so swift and so fleeting,
wrapped in enigma, like an onion you peel.
It offers itself to the one who is willing
to weather the layers, at a time unrevealed.
And sometimes your laughing is turned into weeping,
but then, midst the darkness, joy noisily squeals.
—————
For the Keola Secret KA-CHING Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Hilo Poet
03/08/2022
Rhyme a/b/c/b/d/b
Where is the great engine of life?
How many mechanics does it take
to keep it running smooth as a baby's bottom?
All those wheels and sockets and spindles ---
must need great care;
The scientists say that if it ever broke down ---
it wouldn't matter!
Its merely made of parts ---
ordered from some non-existent wholesaler ---
the great garage of cells and atoms (now dark matter)
Even the most callous child knows
that great engines do not merely happen,
but are created by great minds...
It seems we must put some of these 'great scientific minds'
into a new category of stupid:
(they would make terrible mechanics)
(A la Carl Sandburg, whom I admire deeply)
Another World Series
I lay down and watched
as the Cubs
won it in ten
A victory after one hundred and eight years of frustration
My hometown team - the Mets
didn't mention it this year
but I salute the Cubs of Chicago
Carl Sandburg wrote of that metropolis and
wrote of baseball
Thousands upon thousands
of fans
in
the
stands
cry out
for the their team
After the struggle
I pick up a pen - write this ode
about the field of dreams
Should one watch sports or
go see great art
Why not do both ?
After all Carl Sandburg wrote a poem
about baseball
and he was an artist
No. I don't draw as well
as the old masters
but I do enjoy doodling
There is no joy in Mudville
if you receive rejections letters!
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