Sandra Fowler

Rookie (February,4,1937 / W. Columbia, WV, USA)

Comments about Sandra Fowler

  • Rookie - 0 Points Bob Blackwell (10/6/2014 9:22:00 AM)

    Sandra was one of the finest poets on this site or anywhere. Her passing is a huge loss to Poemhunter and all the poets who loved her work.

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Bronze Star - 2,245 Points Sean North (9/24/2012 9:27:00 AM)

    Dear Sandra (sAnta) :) .. u havE mOveD me wiTh nOt Only your Words but oF ur Time and KindnEss...ur the best with a PiEce of paper and a..gueSs u CouLd Use a Quil A BrUsH a pen blunt pencil CHaLk A foUntain Pen cRayons heck BeRRieS...AnD get The thIng Said.hands down....words im not to good at so...least not these kind.. bUt i KnoW yOu know what THAT meAns...moSt sinCerly...and the KidDinG AsidE..Peace

  • Rookie - 145 Points Nimal Dunuhinga (3/22/2012 10:43:00 AM)

    Nightingale is a nocturnal bird, but Sandra sings all the time with her rich vocabulary in the nature....................her poems like paintings without any brush marks.Instead of the canvas she choose everybody's soul.
    No way to contact her nowadays whether she's still sick or not?
    sincere student,

  • Rookie - 478 Points Bill Grace (10/17/2009 12:47:00 AM)

    Sandra represents a special grace within the life of the community. Bill Grace

  • Rookie Jasper Pane (7/27/2009 5:36:00 PM)

    Within the subtex of you words there is regret...
    love and hope.
    Truly, you are a fine writer.

  • Rookie Wiskey Pete (7/23/2009 7:43:00 PM)

    Somehow the goodness within you shines through
    your work. You are a quality human being and
    I so injoy reading your work.

    It seems when I have spent some time
    with you, I always leave with a peaceful
    and contented feeling.

    I do not write myself, however I spend a good
    deal of quality time searching for poets like

    Good health, God Bless.

  • Rookie Alison Cassidy (7/5/2009 4:56:00 AM)

    Sandra has described herself as a sunset soul with a preference for autumn and winter. And this assessment doesn't surprise me. Many of her poems are written in what I would call a minor key and there is often a feeling of regret lingering between the lines. She uses the word gray and describes seasonal images viewed through windowpanes. I visualize her sitting in a cosy study lined with books. A gracious lady with a great love of words and a humility which is unusual in one whose work is so highly accomplished. I am regularly astonished by the originality of Sandra's images and when I read some of her comments on other people's work, I find myself saying: 'I wish I'd said that'. I am honored to have Sandra as my friend on PoemHunter and look forward to reading
    the her latest offering, always. Love, Alison ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

  • Rookie - 2 Points Vaibhav Pandey (1/27/2009 3:05:00 PM)

    One of the best poet in this site.

  • Rookie - 65 Points PERSIAN NIGHTINGALE (1/19/2009 4:44:00 AM)

    Paper her canvas, white
    Pen her brush, black
    Painters never paint
    She's painting

  • Rookie - 243 Points Palas Kumar Ray (8/9/2008 11:42:00 AM)

    You are a poet of unfathomable depth.You write less and draw more in your poems.They become so colourful and vivid.Your remarks on our poems are
    not only encouraging but bears your love and blessings.Wish you keep well
    and keep writing for many many more years to come and encourage new writers
    with your poetic bliss.

Best Poem of Sandra Fowler

(1) Before The Music Ends

Words paint a fragile picture of the dusk.
I think them to a poet far away.
The light shines dim upon my windowpane.
A few tears fall like blue rain in the mind.

Our time has been short listed by sunset,
No matter that the weather has its way,
The stresses live within their measurement,
And distance is a gift we give ourselves.

This moment is designed to be as spare
And elegant as winter's old, gnarled trees.
I trust you to translate my whispers, Friend
And send them back before the music ends.

Read the full of (1) Before The Music Ends

Sun's Last Grace

Your hands smell of wood shavings, sun's last grace.
That tawny essence fills all empty space.
I scarcely hear you talk of southbound birds.
Time has gone far beyond the mood of words.

The magic of the moment turns the landscape round.
That carousel defies all music to be found.
Only the wicked shadows carry us away
Into the insignificance of yesterday.

[Hata Bildir]