+1 if you like poetry.

Showing posts with label walt whitman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label walt whitman. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

A Noiseless Patient Spider a poem by Walt Whitman

A noiseless patient spider,
I marked where on a promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.


kill this spider with FIIIIIIRE


DONATE a BITCOIN
1G3xFu4UfXW1Uxd4oH8pYwBdBo3nqz3LRb
publish poetry

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

O Captian! My Captain! by Walt Whitman

1

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.



2

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills;

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.



3

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

Poems By Walt Whitman





DONATE a BITCOIN
1G3xFu4UfXW1Uxd4oH8pYwBdBo3nqz3LRb

Friday, February 11, 2011

1861 by Walt Whitman

1861
ARM'D year! year of the struggle!
No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you, terrible year!
Not you as some pale poetling, seated at a desk, lisping cadenzas
piano;
But as a strong man, erect, clothed in blue clothes, advancing,
carrying a rifle on your shoulder,
With well-gristled body and sunburnt face and hands--with a knife in
the belt at your side,
As I heard you shouting loud--your sonorous voice ringing across the
continent;
Your masculine voice, O year, as rising amid the great cities,
Amid the men of Manhattan I saw you, as one of the workmen, the
dwellers in Manhattan;
Or with large steps crossing the prairies out of Illinois and
Indiana,
Rapidly crossing the West with springy gait, and descending the
Alleghanies; 10
Or down from the great lakes, or in Pennsylvania, or on deck along
the Ohio river;
Or southward along the Tennessee or Cumberland rivers, or at
Chattanooga on the mountain top,
Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs, clothed in blue, bearing
weapons, robust year;
Heard your determin'd voice, launch'd forth again and again;
Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipp'd cannon,
I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.
Poetry of the day review:
 Its kinda funny, its like he is making funny of the act of war period. Not just the year. Not just the side. I believe this poem refers the whole act of "my idea is better then yours lets shoot each other to prove testicle size". Pic related.. its 1861 in the USA.

Word of the day is:

imbroglio

   im-BROHL-yoh  , noun;
1.
A complicated and embarrassing state of things.
2.
A confused or complicated disagreement or misunderstanding.
3.
An intricate, complicated plot, as of a drama or work of fiction.
4.
A confused mass; a tangle.

Try and use it in your comment!

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Weave in, Weave in, My Hardy Life. by Walt Whitman

WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life! 
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come; 
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight weave in! 
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant weave! tire not! 
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, the end—nor really aught we
know;
But know the work, the need goes on, and shall go on—the death-envelop’d march
of
peace as well as war goes on;) 
For great campaigns of peace the same, the wiry threads to weave; 
We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave.


BY Walt Whitman




Poetry of the day review:
its like a motivational poem to me, keep pushing, keep fighting no matter what, and do it happily!


Reminds me of this youtube video..


BTW!!!!! WORD OF THE DAY IS..............



philomath

  FIL-uh-math  , noun;
1.
A lover of learning; a scholar.

Nirvana is experienced only by the true philomath.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

On the Beach at Night Alone by Walt Whitman


ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE
by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
      N the beach at night alone,
      As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
      As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future.
       
      A vast similitude interlocks all,
      All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
      All distances of place however wide,
      All distances of time, all inanimate forms,
      All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
      All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,
      All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,
      All identities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe,
      All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,
      This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd,
      And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.


Wednesday, January 5, 2011

America by Walt Whitman


America

by Walt Whitman
1819-1892


Centre of equal daughters, equal sons, 
All, all alike endear'd, grown, ungrown, young or old, 
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich, 
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love, 
A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother, 
Chair'd in the adamant of Time.






My Take on this: I personally think this poem is a load of wishful thinking, especially during those days, he didnt even live during a time where all men and women were equal, only words on some Hemp paper that was really just a play on words to begin with. Land of the FREE, nah, Land of the FREE MASON. Hell over half Whitmans life, SLAVES were still around, women had no rights. So IDK i just think there is more to this then those few words