Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is a section of river-fog and moving boat-lights, delivered between bridges and whistles, so one says, 'Oh!' and another, 'How?' — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is a sequence of dots and dashes, spelling depths, crypts, cross-lights, and moon wisps. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is a slipknot tightened around a time-beat of one thought, two thoughts, and a last interweaving thought there is not yet… — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is the silence and speech between a wet struggling root of a flower and a sunlit blossom of that flower. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
I make it clear why I write as I do and why other poets write as they do. After hundreds of experiments… — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Ordering a man to write a poem is like commanding a pregnant woman to give birth to a red-headed child. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is a projection across silence of cadences arranged to break that silence with definite intentions of echoes, syllables, wave lengths. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is a puppet-show, where riders of skyrockets and divers of sea fathoms gossip about the sixth sense and the fourth dimension. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
“Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what was seen during a… — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
“I cannot tell you now; When the wind's drive and whirl Blow me along no longer, And the wind's a whisper at… — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Poetry is a tracing of the trajectories of a finite sound to the infinite points of its echoes. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share Image
Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
Gather the stars if you wish it so Gather the songs and keep them. Gather the faces of women. Gather for keeping years and… — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
Back of every mistaken venture and defeat is the laughter of wisdom, if you listen. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
Somebody's little girl- how easy it is to make a sob story over who she once was and who she now is. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
Let your heart look on white sea spray and be lonely. Love is a fool star. You and a ring of stars may mention… — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out saying: "It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that… — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
“Time is the most valuable coin in your life. You and you alone will determine how that coin will be spent. Be careful that… — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during the moment. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
a women is like a tea bag.it's only when she is in hot water that you realize how strong she is. — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
I won't take my religion from any man who never works except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory except the face of… — Carl Sandburg Copy Share
