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POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.

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
Belly
Golden
Moon
Poetry
Lost
Sliver
Frog
Frogs

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I wrote poems in my corner of the Brooks Street station. I sent them to two editors who rejected them right off. I read those letters of rejection years later and I agreed with those editors.
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Poetry is the report of a nuance between two moments, when people say, 'Listen!' and 'Did you see it?' 'Did you hear it? What was it?'
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Yesterday is done. Tomorrow never comes. Today is here. If you don't know what to do, sit still and listen. You may hear something. Nobody knows.
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Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen.
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An expert is a damn fool a long way from home.
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The scholars and poets of an earlier time can be read only with a dictionary to help.
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There are dreams stronger than death. Men and women die holding these dreams.
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There is an eagle in me that wants to soar.
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Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.
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All my life I have been trying to learn to read, to see and hear, and to write.
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The buffaloes are gone. And those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
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I been a wanderin' Early and late, New York City To the Golden Gate An' it looks like I'm never gonna cease my Wanderin'.
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