Poems begining by T
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Throw Roses
© Carl Sandburg
THROW roses on the sea where the dead went down.
The roses speak to the sea,
And the sea to the dead.
Throw roses, O lovers
Let the leaves wash on the salt in the sun.
Threes
© Carl Sandburg
I WAS a boy when I heard three red words
a thousand Frenchmen died in the streets
for: Liberty, Equality, FraternityI asked
why men die for words.
Three Violins
© Carl Sandburg
THREE violins are trying their hearts.
The piece is MacDowells Wild Rose.
And the time of the wild rose
And the leaves of the wild rose
Three Spring Notations on Bipeds
© Carl Sandburg
1THE DOWN drop of the blackbird,
The wing catch of arrested flight,
The stop midway and then off: off for triangles, circles, loops of new hieroglyphs
This is Aprils way: a woman:
Three Pieces on the Smoke of Autumn
© Carl Sandburg
SMOKE of autumn is on it all.
The streamers loosen and travel.
The red west is stopped with a gray haze.
They fill the ash trees, they wrap the oaks,
Three Ghosts
© Carl Sandburg
THREE tailors of Tooley Street wrote: We, the People.
The names are forgotten. It is a joke in ghosts.
Cutters or bushelmen or armhole basters, they sat
Three Balls
© Carl Sandburg
JABOWSKYS place is on a side street and only the rain washes the dusty three balls.
When I passed the window a month ago, there rested in proud isolation:
A family bible with hasps of brass twisted off, a wooden clock with pendulum gone,
And a porcelain crucifix with the glaze nicked where the left elbow of Jesus is represented.
I passed to-day and they were all there, resting in proud isolation, the clock and the crucifix saying no more and no less than before, and a yellow cat sleeping in a patch of sun alongside the family bible with the hasps off.
Only the rain washes the dusty three balls in front of Jabowskys place on a side street.
Thin Strips
© Carl Sandburg
IN a jewelers shop I saw a man beating
out thin sheets of gold. I heard a woman
laugh many years ago.
They Will Say
© Carl Sandburg
OF my city the worst that men will ever say is this:
You took little children away from the sun and the dew,
And the glimmers that played in the grass under the great sky,
And the reckless rain; you put them between walls
They Buy With an Eye to Looks
© Carl Sandburg
THE FINE cloth of your love might be a fabric of Egypt,
Something Sinbad, the sailor, took away from robbers,
Something a traveler with plenty of money might pick up
And bring home and stick on the walls and say:
They Ask Each Other Where They Came From
© Carl Sandburg
AM I the river your white birds fly over?
Are you the green valley my silver channels roam?
The two of us a bowl of blue sky day time and a bowl of red stars night time?
Who picked you
out of the first great whirl of nothings
and threw you here?
They All Want to Play Hamlet
© Carl Sandburg
THEY all want to play Hamlet.
They have not exactly seen their fathers killed
Nor their mothers in a frame-up to kill,
Nor an Ophelia dying with a dust gagging the heart,
Theme In Yellow
© Carl Sandburg
I spot the hills
With yellow balls in autumn.
I light the prairie cornfields
Orange and tawny gold clusters
The Year
© Carl Sandburg
IA STORM of white petals,
Buds throwing open baby fists
Into hands of broad flowers.
The Wind Sings Welcome in Early Spring
© Carl Sandburg
(For Paula)THE GRIP of the ice is gone now.
The silvers chase purple.
The purples tag silver.
They let out their runners
The Walking Man of Rodin
© Carl Sandburg
LEGS hold a torso away from the earth.
And a regular high poem of legs is here.
Powers of bone and cord raise a belly and lungs
Out of ooze and over the loam where eyes look and ears hear
The Skyscraper Loves Night
© Carl Sandburg
ONE by one lights of a skyscraper fling their checkering cross work on the velvet gown of night.
I believe the skyscraper loves night as a woman and brings her playthings she asks for, brings her a velvet gown,
And loves the white of her shoulders hidden under the dark feel of it all.
The masonry of steel looks to the night for somebody it loves,
He is a little dizzy and almost dances
waiting
dark
The Sins of Kalamazoo
© Carl Sandburg
THE SINS of Kalamazoo are neither scarlet nor crimson.
The sins of Kalamazoo are a convict gray, a dishwater drab.
The Sea Hold
© Carl Sandburg
THE SEA is large.
The sea hold on a leg of land in the Chesapeake hugs an early sunset and a last morning star over the oyster beds and the late clam boats of lonely men.
Five white houses on a half-mile strip of land
five white dice rolled from a tube.
The Right to Grief
© Carl Sandburg
TAKE your fill of intimate remorse, perfumed sorrow,
Over the dead child of a millionaire,
And the pity of Death refusing any check on the bank
Which the millionaire might order his secretary to
scratch off
And get cashed.
