I’m trying to get into Walt Whitman’s work. But I underestimated the length of his poems.
So, I’m starting with his shorter poems. And typing them out into smaller, manageable pieces.
Seeing what I can find.
Great are the myths….I too delight in them,
Great are Adam and Eve….I too look back and accept them;
Great the risen and fallen nations, and their poets, women, sages, inventors, rulers, warriors and priests.Great Are the Myths, Leaves of Grass. Whitman, Walt
Matchstick legs ignite
a Parisian son. Midfield
Blaise Matuidi is my favorite midfielder to watch right now.
He doesn’t pirouette, or flash a thousand step-overs. You won’t see a croqueta, or metronome passing.
But his tackles, endless running, headers, and enthusasim for football gives an aging amateur midfielder an example to aspire to.
Thunder hangs over,
drinking chilled beers with lightning.
Candle wicks burn out.
Of all things I know to do,
pushing you feels so true.
Because this peace I wish to keep,
I push you for,
10 more minutes of blissful sleep.
Coins clink. High heels trot.
Jackhammers punch open stone.
an ancient message. Listen.
Truth and lies creep through.
Summer’s neighbor knocks.
Pennant races, Charlie Brown.
Flannel season glows.
Wisps of childhood,
skip through palmetto bushes.