#walt
~for Isabel, Alex & Wendy, Theo & Rose~
be reading Whitman and Hafiz,
adding some Shelley and Frost,
for (no salt) seasoning, might add in
a biblical, King Solomon’s be-loved,
sugared Song of Songs…
won’t need to go far, on my nightstand,
search & reach, to love and preach to
generations next, a lesson last & simple:
read, read, read there by learning,
how to first define, then preserve the
variety of feelings rising from within!
here’s a starter morsel from Walt,
sort of a summary of how to do it,
all well and proper…
poppy
”This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families,
read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life,. re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”
Walt Whitman
Preface to Leaves of Grass, 1855.
Walt Whitman, c.1887.
Aug 16, 2023
Aug 16, 2023 at 4:08 PM UTC
misty days
of moisture and sun rays
grass as tall as tree trunks
rolling by
a breeze fills my eyes
with skunk
nose blind
we roll on
and on we roll
between the weeds
this private show
no one need no
what goes
on and on and on
inside misty
days of mine
kisses by the sun define
golden brown backs
where nails scratch
eggs hatch
we lay
message relay
you cannot escape fate
nor hide truth
but one thing you can do
is be you
honest and true
no matter where you learn
nor from who
relay races
ideas and encompassed facts
as a matter of lies
I feel that
this poem is out of wack
started writing
what I want
the universe only gives
what I need
always pleased to know
I need not much
but provided
and more and more
I remain faithful to you
and more and more
I give to you
you give me too
Full circle
everything everlasting
dance and sing
from night till morning
these are my days
rich and plentiful
watch as my garden grows
under the misty rays of my
moisture
May 15, 2020
May 15, 2020 at 5:48 PM UTC
and just how far have you gone for the sake of your "camaraderie," my friend?
their half-glow hearts and prejudiced minds could have swallowed you whole,
or abandoned you, wit be-damned, and genius be-damned, you
might have died a pauper—
I hear they’d **** a man much more guarded than you, they might string him up,
tie his broken body to a fencepost, leave him ******
satisfy a tyranny under the watchful eye of a loving God,
trade a boy in Laramie for a jet-black brutal odium,
**** a kid and wonder what his mother did to steer him wrong—
but still you wrote of calamus and of holding hands and handsome lovers,
still you gave us songs to sing back to our lovers, gentle songs,
despite the shame and censorship they cursed you with, despite
the threat that everything could be undone, despite the scripture,
well I must say, dear Good Gray Poet, before I fold my hand,
thank you, Walt, for giving us what you never had.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
I take a breath and close my eyes with pride.
His comments seek a lodging in my soul;
The hurt I feel from all he spits, I hide.
He’ll never know he’s found my numb heart’s holes.
“Forever” was his biggest lie to me,
One word, a feeble promise left unkept.
My heart should learn the way his drums beat free.
I’m captive to the trebled tears I’ve wept.
Do you recall when Whitman said “Beat! Beat! Drums!”?
Too bad the drums could always beat, beat us.
At least I got kisses ‘tween rounds of ***
But still, to him, I’d grown superfluous.
I simply craved some adult discussion.
I guess he preferred to play his percussion.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
I sing the body electric.
I'm dazzled by the promise of a greater tomorrow. I'm dizzied by the awareness of my own consciousness.
My body is merely a container for the soul that begs to be removed from its restrictions, for it is imprisoned within fragile bones and tender flesh.
It sings the body electric.
A melody that resembles a plea before slowly releasing a sigh in defeat against its enclosure.
It yearns from something better than what is offered in such a short span of time.
Life is short, they claim but life is indeed long.
Long and harsh, the road ahead.
We travel forward singing the body electric.
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 1:14 AM UTC
I forgot when
I lost myself
But I remembered
when I did
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 2:19 AM UTC
there was never any more of you than there is now,
nor any more of me than there is now,
if we shall be heaven, let us be heaven now,
if we shall be heathens, let us be heathens now,
for you are the south of yesterday
and the north of tomorrow
for i am the west of nothing
and the east of infinity
let us love where we cross
and if we shall cross, let us cross now
and if we shall cross only once
i will make east kiss west
and i will let south kiss north
until we become infinitesimally small
towards nospace and notime
i unbecoming i
you unbecoming you
us becoming from two
infinite at the single point now
at the single moment now
where we are nothing but now
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
I am a vast dichotomy of tasteful ideals.
I desire to dream the dreams most people deterred.
Paintbrushes touch canvases then lift
as if unsure if they should grace the world with their
beauty or hold back with chagrin.
Bodies burrow under blankets with
banned books instead of men.
I warm myself with beverages in a coffee mug on a
rainy day rather than
a body lying next to me.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
This will be no sad song,
I don’t want to overflow the rivers of tears
with a flood of my own.
We have all seen enough to fill oceans,
In dark corners I have seen the fates
sitting around and smile.
Some rivers overflow, and other scrap together every last
penny just to fight another day.
You die, I die, the president will die.
Our voices will not crawl along the edge of
a river rasping at the others to accept the
waters.
We will trumpet the tail of the glory of life from the after-party.
Chatting casually with a soldier wearing the wrong colors.
Is there one among us who does not bear the blood of countless souls?
The best champagne will not open to the highest bidder.
Nor will it be enjoyed by one, but by the prostiuite by the cop
by the technician, yourself and I. All of us enjoying each other’s stories,
none shall be left from the table, the best champagne all shall toast
with it.
An epic of a fight with a lion and the wind, of living through time
and the difficulties of never cutting the delicate surface no struggle
greater than either.
The old skeletons will find new life and I will dance freely with them
arm in arm, for a second or eternity.
We will stand proud together singing and dancing before the after party.
Then we shall toast to it all.
We shall toast the ever so careful historians,
did they really think they could fit, even the after party on
any number of pages?
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
A leather-bound work of art catches my eyes and convinces them to feast upon what it has to offer,
They gobble up each word, those gluttons, stuffing themselves,
Until they get full and dizzy to the point where I’m reading the same line, the same line, the same line, over and over again.
I fall into a trance and my mind begins to curiously wander.
My soul takes this atlas of all that has existed, exists, and will exist, and uses it as its play ground,
Jumping over the letters, sliding down the “J”s, weaving around the “S”s, jumping over the “O”s, and ducking under the “H”s.
I pick up this narrative of life and attempt to decipher the map of all that was, all that is, and all that will be.
For this novel tells a story of one and tells the story of a million,
And it is my mission to read every single word, to pause at every comma, and to flip every page.
I realize that out of all of the stories in this compilation of creations,
I am just one of them.
I am one sentence,
I am one word.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
Bryan wins the emmy
Goes up stage
First things he says
'i personally thought of voting for matthew'
Matthew laughs,
Legends.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 6:50 AM UTC
We walked in a daze, driven
for a better answer than the one given.
We, chasers of the elixir to heal wounds
But we, chancers, and ended up in a field.
Wounded Healers, laying on hay.
The filed was empty and foreign
It's beauty stolen and was now barren,
expect for the hay we lay on.
There a great sense of clarity aroused.
But before that rose could nourish and fully flourish, it rained.
Youth knows no pain, but that's a flawed statement.
Truth is, if you saw us in the rain
You'd see what we felt was raw and fresh.
We felt the cleansing waters on our flesh,
But even if we stood in this shower for hours, we'd still feel so *****
'We, Two Boys Together Clinging'
Clinging to the idea that we could fix each other.
With a mix of empathy and sympathy.
You said the arts would help, so we acted out our damaged parts.
Listening to the symphony of our bandaged hearts.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
I want you like the Colorado clouds
want to pour rain over the Californian desert.
Please, I am thirsty. Quench me.
Let me drink your nectar — it tastes like sunshine.
Loyally I will suckle your pistil,
even after the reason you ignored me did.
Relax — I want you...at ease.
It's OK — I want you...happy.
Don't worry — I want you...dreaming.
Come to bed with me
Grab my cheeks and squeeze them.
I am a child.
Tell me my eyes are galaxies
you want to swim in.
Your breath tastes like stale beer
but I steal kisses selfishly.
They tickle my ******
short-circuiting me to a cloud.
I am in your cloud.
I am rain.
Cross the ridge and
let me pour.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
Polaroid cameras
Trees with leaves
Mason jars of water
Adventures into oblivion
CDs
Journals with no plain pages
Studios with paint on the walls
Brick buildings
Small towns full of life
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
Man I miss those whiskey kisses
Thought that, babe, you might become a Mrs.
But a Mrs. of what a bottle and a gut?
Here on the street just a buzz means a lot
City of Angles
I think not
No one to trust
God tried to save them
Then Disney sold it out of lust
What a ******* ********
Can't believe my first morals
Came from a ****
But those whiskey kisses, they just got me
Look at those dark, giant, robotic towers
This is where dreams happen
This is where I get wasted
But that black granite
And tarnished stars
Made me remember who we really are
Just two mad children
In love with just enough
Caught up in the night
Intoxicated bliss
Man, I hope she'll miss me
Everytime she drinks whiskey
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
There is not a moment when the beauty that runs through yours veins doesn't run through my mind too.
I love and caress your soul, I lean and loaf at its ease
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC