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Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.

Carl Sandburg

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Carl Sandburg
Age: 89 †
Born: 1878
Born: January 6
Died: 1967
Died: July 22
Biographer
Historian
Journalist
Musicologist
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Trade Unionist
Writer
Galesburg
Illinois
Carl August Sandburg
Horizon
Explanation
Series
Poetry
Life
Horizons
Explanations
Fading
Swift

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A tree is best measured when it is down - and so it is with people.
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Come on, you Do you want to live forever?
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I have often wondered what it is an old building can do to you when you happen to know a little about things that went on long ago in that building.
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Now is the time. It is never too late to start something.
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Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come.
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Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice and you can look out of the window and see the blue sky - or the answer is wrong and you have to start over and try again and see how it comes out this time.
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Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches.
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Men of ideas vanish when freedom vanishes.
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Poetry is the cipher key to the five mystic wishes packed in a hollow silver bullet fed to a flying fish.
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Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
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Shame is the feeling you have when you agree with the woman who loves you that you are the man she thinks you are.
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There is only one man in the world and his name is All Men. There is only one woman in the world and her name is All Women. There is only one child in the world and the child's name is All Children.
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Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out saying: It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that rainbow thirty seconds.
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By night the skyscraper looms in the smoke and the stars and has a soul.
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Our lives are like a candle in the wind.
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Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
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Poetry is a mock of a cry at finding a million dollars and a mock of a laugh at losing it.
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Be careful with your words, once they are said, they can only be forgiven, not forgotten.
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Freedom is baffling: men having it often know not they have it till it is gone and they no longer have it.
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Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.
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