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Carl Sandburg
What does the hangman think about
When he goes home at night from work?
When he sits down with his wife and
Children for a cup of coffee and a
Plate of ham and eggs, do they ask
Him if it was a good day's work
And everything went well or do they
Stay off some topics and talk about
The weather, base ball, politics
And the comic strips in the papers
And the movies? Do they look at his
Hands when he reaches for the coffee
Or the ham and eggs? If the little
Ones say, Daddy, play horse, here's
A rope — does he answer like a joke:
I seen enough rope for today?
love for company’s sake
love in the cakehouse
carried them away to where Monday is
a little rope of life
that most forget they are getting
till it is too late for any plea
last night brought back
in the mouth of my fear
we are not rid of our trouble
our whole hate business
where a lie is true
it is so much rope
taking the rope-maker
to his rope-ground
and the stove
to drink some light
we touch and see
how they speak of us
our hands
more than the mouth
called to riot
like any life
no matter no peace
we riot for a self
and a silver spoon
now found guilty
like a raw black word
the rope is older
than the indictment
all lands given to the great
city stomach
a virtuoso at rope
the wind aboard the ships
as we went down to the dock
for strong coffee
office time
is rope
and all the thin letters in my alphabet
pretty it up
A full ox is said
to tower, half house
and rank as night.
Life be blessed, but I am much
against too much,
now that we leave pleasure
to the rope.
Give me light
and a hat to dispose of it.
What neat houses
all the yards have!
As a pretty hand has
a pretty rope.
Found: good view, in a book.
Found: no answer at all. Rope.
Found: a Ford (our own).
Found: great odds. A fine thing.
Soon enough I'll find them
Soon enough they'll stray
Then I'll find ropes to bind them
And lock them all away
Soon enough they'll leave me
Like they always do
Soon enough I'll cry
Alone, under the moon
The hill was low, but stretched away
A straggling mile or so to where
The sea was stamping, tossing spray
Beyond its bulwarks black and bare :
A sullen sea of gray.
Ah me, it was so desolate,
And sadder for the sea-bird's cry
Thrillingly thin. There seemed a weight
Brooding, as if the leaden sky
Hung heavier for hate.
The grasses jerked as they were stung
By vicious winds. A daisy's head
Crouched in a tuft till it was flung
From its uneasy, troubled bed
And tost the waves among.
A bent, old man was climbing slow