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 Poetry: September 02, 2009 Issue [#3257] |
  Poetry This issue's editor: stormyrene More Newsletters By This Editor   1. About this Newsletter 2. A Word from our Sponsor 3. Letter from the Editor 4. Editor's Picks 5. A Word from Writing.Com 6. Ask & Answer 7. Removal instructions  This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. stormyrene    The Mist by Carl Sandburg I am the mist, the impalpable mist, Back of the thing you seek. My arms are long, Long as the reach of time and space. Some toil and toil, believing, Looking now and again on my face, Catching a vital, olden glory. But no one passes me, I tangle and snare them all. I am the cause of the Sphinx, The voiceless, baffled, patient Sphinx. I was at the first of things, I will be at the last. I am the primal mist And no man passes me; My long impalpable arms Bar them all. On January 6, 1878, Swedish immigrants August and Clara Anderson Sandburg welcomed Carl August Sandburg into their family. He was born in their three-room cottage located on 313 East Third Street, in Galesburg which is maintained by the Illinois Historic Preservation Agency to this day! Carl was born the second of seven children. Carl Sandburg worked from the time he was a young boy. He quit school in 1891 after graduating from the eighth grade. He spent the next ten years working at a variety off odd jobs. It was his experiences working and traveling which greatly influenced his writing and political views, that and the time Carl spent time as a hobo when learned a number of folk songs that he later performed. It was seeing first-hand the difference between rich and poor, which left him with a great distrust of capitalism. In 1898 the Spanish-American War broke out and Sandburg volunteered for service. He was ordered to Puerto Rico where he spent his days fighting the heat and all the mosquitoes. It was when he returned home later that year he enrolled in Lombard College. Sandburg's college years helped shape his writing talents and refine his political views Sandburg was unknown to the literary world until 1914, when some of his poems appeared in the nationally circulated "Poetry" magazine. Then two years later his book "Chicago Poems" was published. This thirty-eight-year-old author found himself at the start of his career. In 1918 he published another book of poems, "Cornhuskers." More poetry followed. Then a book "Rootabaga Stories" in 1922, which was full of children's tales. Sandburg then wrote "Abraham Lincoln: The Prairie Years," which was published in 1926. This was his first financially successful book. He moved to Michigan and spent the next several years finishing four additional volumes, "Abraham Lincoln: The War Years." In 1940 this series won him the Pulitzer Prize. In 1945 he moved to North Carolina. Sandburg won his second Pulitzer Prize in 1951 for his book "Complete Poems." Sandburg died at his North Carolina home July 22, 1967. His ashes were returned to his Galesburg birthplace and buried in the small Carl Sandburg Park behind the house beneath a red granite boulder, "Remembrance Rock." Ten years later, the ashes of his wife were placed there too. Dusty Doors by Carl Sandburg Child of the Aztec gods, how long must we listen here, how long before we go? The dust is deep on the lintels. The dust is dark on the doors. If the dreams shake our bones, what can we say or do? Since early morning we waited. Since early, early morning, child. There must be dreams on the way now. There must be a song for our bones. The dust gets deeper and darker. Do the doors and lintels shudder? How long must we listen here? How long before we go? Young Sea by Carl Sandburg The sea is never still. It pounds on the shore Restless as a young heart, Hunting. The sea speaks And only the stormy hearts Know what it says: It is the face of a rough mother speaking. The sea is young. One storm cleans all the hoar And loosens the age of it. I hear it laughing, reckless. They love the sea, Men who ride on it And know they will die Under the salt of it Let only the young come, Says the sea. Let them kiss my face And hear me. I am the last word And I tell Where storms and stars come from. stormyrene  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The winners of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [13+] are:
It feels like I already wrote this one, recapped a pen and called it done. Now I find it moss crumbling and alone, slipping from fingers suddenly dead. My memory captures words you said, a relationship dry; thousand year old bone. The soft glow of reason and reality has become a sullen stranger to me. Gone are all the rhymes and reasons that used to pour like honey from lips, beguiling, charming like poisonous sips, enjoyed for moments sting for all seasons. Into the valley that became my lost soul former love isolated by loss of control. Trapped and caged here, no birds sing, to blot out the accusing voices in my head that ceaselessly repeat words she said, resounding with a cracking bullwhip sting.
THE OLD HOMESTEAD The old homestead stands crumbling. No longer the faint glow of candlelight shines from windows. No welcoming mat at the door that is slightly ajar. The test of time has taken its toll. Moss gows over a stone foundation, its stability slipping away slowly. There must have been a reason why it was left, isolated in the beauty of a once green valley where now only the birds sing. Turning away from the past and returning to my future, the ghosts of long ago haunt me. Gone are the husband and children. No laughter echoes in the halls. The nursing home waits. Countrymom 8/13/09 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ These are the rules: 1) You must use the words I give in a poem or prose with no limits on length. 2) The words can be in any order and anywhere throughout the poem and can be any form of the word. 3) All entries must be posted in your portfolio and you must post the link in this forum, "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [13+] by September 25, 2009. 4) The winner will get 3000 gift points and the poem will be displayed in this section of the newsletter the next time it is my turn to post (September 30, 2009) The words are: nature drift woods boulders eyes hawk rumble flame  Good luck to all ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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