I
A storm of white petals,
Buds throwing open baby fists
Into hands of broad flowers.
II
Red roses running upward,
Clambering to the clutches of life
Soaked in crimson.
III
Rabbles of tattered leaves
Holding golden flimsy hopes
Against the tramplings
Into the pits and gullies.
IV
Hoarfrost and silence:
Only the muffling
Of winds dark and lonesome–
Great lullabies to the long sleepers.
Carl Sandburg
Has Louise Gluck ever read Sandburg, I wonder?
I’m confused. It that because she could learn much from Carl, or has, perhaps, learned too much? I find Carl much easier to follow than Louise.
To my mind, I think she could learn a great deal from Carl, whose images are often profound and infinitely at hand.
Yeah.
But did you know she’s La Rad’s favorite poet?
If she’s LaRad’s favorite poet, we know two different LaRads!
How’s she feel about Carl?
Where is she?
I love this poem. Simple elegance.
I think she moved out of state with her two dogs.
I saw a poem with verse numbers and never read it! Therefore I missed the comments as well. Sorry. La Rad doesn’t like this Sandburg fellow anymore than she likes that Gluck woman.
I am sticking with the lower case poets…e.e. cummings (who apparently didn’t like his lower case-ness …gotta love wikipedia); a.a. milne; ogden nash.
Introspective Reflection
I would live all my life in nonchalance and insouciance
Were it not for making a living, which is rather a nouciance.
Cute, right? And understandable the first time you read it.
I like T.S. Eliot as well (the cat poems anyway). But I prefer he were t.s. eliot.
Welcome back!