Response to Walt

The first poem "O Me, O Life" inspires me every time I read it. When I think about it through the lenses of faith, I agree with Walt on so many levels. "The endless trains of the faithless", "of cities filled with the foolish", speak a great deal of how lost our society is. Where is the meaning to life found? His answer: The fact that you are alive! Thank God! For that is where I find identity. And more than this, I am able to contribute to this life. What will I do? How will I live for Christ? These are the questions that inspire me to live a more godly life. I am not sure if this is how Whitman meant it to be taken, but this is how I take it.

In the Second Poem, I am inspired by the thought of leadership. Lincoln was a great leader, and in the same way I think I aspire to be a good leader in whatever role I am placed in(marriage being foremost on my mind). "The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;" speaka of a consistent lifestyle. A man who's character is of good report; godly character. Also, I see Christ as a metaphor for Whitman's "captain". When the day is done, I will follow my captain no matter where he goes, through whatever danger.

More Walt

Here's a poem I wrote in response to Walt Whitman's "One's-self I Sing"

"Old Walt"
Your words etched in the rock, breaking the water.
Still there, forever, greeting me as I sing.

Your words etched by a different hand, my fingers in the cracks:

Of democracy I sing.
Of working men, with their tired lives and broken eyes.
Their flat words, empty, they sing.

Reverberate off pale walls. Sing them your songs.

Of dignity and value I sing, and all are equal.
Of lonliness and dead ideals,
Shattered love I sing.

Oh, my tongue is not worthy of the Muse!

Of Postmodern Man I sing, and my voice cracks with the sound.

What drew you to the particular poems that you posted? What is your interpretation of them?

Response to "The Beginnings"

Added lines:
I was reciting the poem to myself in my head and started ad-libbing, however, I haven't actually said it out loud yet. I'm still in the editing phase of course.

"The Things I Will Not Do Today:"

This is intentionally sarcastic. I had recently been rebuked (somewhat unfoundedly) for questioning someone's doctrinal beliefs. I was a bit upset by the response, and I wrote this. The serious lines are interspersed with false ones, so its really up to you to decide which voice is actually mine.

Uncle Walt again...

O Captain! My Captain!

by Walt Whitman

I.

O captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the stead 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.

II.

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 ribboned wreaths, for you the shores a-crowding:
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning.

O captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck
You've fallen cold and dead.

III.

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 anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done:
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won!

Exult, O abores! and ring, O bells!
But I, with silent tread,
Walk the spot my captain lies
Fallen cold and dead.

Uncle Walt

Walt Whitman

O Me! O Life!

O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

The Beginnings

I like the set-up, but perhaps you could right a bit about "The Things I will not do today". O ya, and make sure you always label every poem's author. That way everyone knows for sure who wrote what (and possibly when). Personally I think I will tag mine "-the bard", so feel free to do whatever you want. I am interested to hear how these poems sound in a performance style rendering. I must say I am a little uneasy about the added lines in "un-Deliever" (brother, sister , father, mother) Do you think they are necessary?

We can debate that one later. I'm gonna post a couple crucial Society Poems.

-the bard

The Coffee House

Hey Todd,

Here's my current list of poems for the coffee house on Nov. 9

There are some noteworthy edits to my poems.

What do you think?
Is this a good order of service?

Machine
(By Gordon Gano)

I got a machine
And I took over the world

In one weekend
I took over the world
With my machine

I did it because
I was looking for a project

And it was either
Take over the world or learn French

So I took over the world
And next weekend
I can learn French

I got a machine
And I took over the world
But nothing changed
That wouldn't be fair

un-Deliever

Close the Black Gate!
Close the Black Gate!

You are officially late.
I've been waiting
oh so long.

This is how it feels
This is how it feels

Closing with a bang
And a whimper!

With a lie
and a shudder!

With an enemy
that's a brother!

Free lines, Free lines
Broken lines
Fragmented sentences

Swing on your broken words!

Close the
Close
the
Close the Black
Black
stutter
Close
stutter
shudder
strutter
brother
sister
father
mother
lover
the
Black
Break
Gate!
fate
rate
mate

Your late–

Silent in Your Car

I wrote my name on the roof cushion of your car
with my finger,
as if to leave a piece of me behind.
I hoped that you would see it someday
but it faded,
nearly as quick as I wrote it.
A negative answer followed by a scream. Then it was gone.

The Lovers

Be my refrain
Because the lovers, they inflame me.
I think I'll sleep alone tonight.
(Ah, but I never had the choice!)

If all love belongs to you,
Put your heart upon my chest.

And the Godless sing along:
"Somebody! Somewhere! Love me!"
Amen, Christ. Come.

The Things I Will Not Do Today:

These are the things I will not do today:

I will not come home drunk.
I will not engage in Spiritual or Political debates.
I will not have sex (even though I'd like to).
I will not insult you.
I will not reprove or rebuke, or hold any absolutes.

I will do anything you tell me to.

He’s Money

The man and girl at the mall

He's money

Manhood
wrapped
into one.

He's your dinner
arm
on your
side.

He's your old man sugah
daddy, oh

daddy! You're his sugah
baby, oh

baby! You're so sexy

such a good
ride.

He's money
You're pride.

Cracks

How can I sleep
When there's work to be done?
I long to be picked up in your arms.
You hold my face upon your breast
And sing me pretty songs.

In my dreams I stood before your throne,
But I was all alone!
Or was it a nightmare?
You said, "Son, where's your family?"
My eyes cast down,
And my crown was empty.

When I awoke you were gone
And I wish you'd stay,
Oh, but I never even pray
When I'm awake,
Never mind when I'm sleeping.

I just wanna go home.
My sons, please come home!
All my fallen angels,
With thorns in your wings
Come home!
And this time,
I don't wanna be alone.

I see the army coming...

Oh, there are cracks in the wall,
Cracks in the wall of my city,
As it comes tumbling down.
There' are cracks in the wall,
And I did not warn them,
Their blood's on my hands!

I Went Over The Edge of the World
(By Kevin Max)

Oh the hymns of angels
Suffer over the stench
of the twenty-first century
Nothing is black or white
Or devoid of industry

The face of monotony
The litany of pop culture
I face the microphone and fumble in
my pockets for a change
A break from the deranged world of…
plotting out the death of art

And I went over the edge of the world
And I felt the sting of all its words
I sang the song of elves and birds
I saw you in my rearview shades
And drank from pools of night-time cafes
I stopped over just to finish up
I turned the knobs and called your bluff

I went over the edge of the world
I face the microphone and fumble in
my pockets for a change
A break from the deranged world of…
Plotting out the death of art.