A Woman waits for me--she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the
right man were lacking.
Sex contains all,
Bodies, Souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results,
promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal
milk;
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals,
All the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow'd persons of the earth,
These are contain'd in sex, as parts of itself, and justifications of
itself.
Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his
sex,
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.
Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women that
are warm-blooded and sufficient for me;
I see that they understand me, and do not deny me;
I see that they are worthy of me--I will be the robust husband of
those women.
They are not one jot less than I am,
They are tann'd in the face by shining suns and blowing winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike,
retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right--they are calm, clear, well-
possess'd of themselves.
I draw you close to me, you women!
I cannot let you go, I would do you good,
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for
others' sakes;
Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.
It is I, you women--I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable--but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for These States--I
press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually--I listen to no entreaties,
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated
within me.
Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls, new
artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you
interpenetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as I
count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,
immortality, I plant so lovingly now.
-Walt Whitman
Walt Whitman is so full of himself
I tried to cut out a part of this poem I liked
I liked it all
Walt Whitman is always in teen spirit
and I'm pretty sure he would have wear flannel
and chucks
if he was alive
he understands
every age of man
so here's to you
men ....and Walt
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Dock of the Lake
The dock was warm
and below
the murky iris color
of his eyes, the water
was cut in darker and clearer portions
by the evenly proportioned wood
nailed together
on which we lay
I wondered what lay beyond
and his thoughts
that I wish I could read
what lay beyond
in the strawberry ice cream
of his brain
I did care
whatever he may say about the sky being my lover
I may be entranced by what lay beyond
the blue
but more, really, by just what he saw
with his mind
the neurons firing on and off
to make him breathe
I wanted to know
what he thought
But, at the same time
I was so far apart
so seperated by unusual ramparts
that I built
only by my own confusion
in a salt-lick castle
built on sand
so impersonal
as if I was the sun
I worshipped
I tried to give him insights
if maybe, too, he was wondering
as to where the citrus center
of my pink grapefruit brain
was wandering around
or maybe it was just sitting
blank faced
as many vegetables do
on a park bench somewhere
The wood of the dock was cutting into my back so I pulled myself up, the water that was soaking into it from my hair leaving a shodow of where I was originally. His eyes were shut as I walked to my bag where the rest of the dock was set in, immovable, with posts, but I knew as I traveled farther away he could see me, squinting down past the rest of horizontal body and against the incessant glare of the sun. Grabbing two towels seated on the top of the bag I stuffed one under arm, flipping out the other one and wrapping it lopsided over my hair, taking the step down to the tethered, unmounted dock we were both laying on, my weight depressing it only slightly. I walked back over, the lake breeze cooling my body and I wrapped the towel around my shoulders and stretching out to tap him on the shoulder and lift his head up so that I could lay the towel under his head. Instead he sat up, ungracefully, propping himself first on one elbow, then on the other, then pushing off with the arm farthest from me, so that he had rolled his body toward me, his eyes still not open completely. I knew at the moment that all he could see was white dots as the sun had left its imprints on his eyes. He took the towel from me and sat completely up, drawing his legs in and involuntarily shivering, the heat sometimes chilling you and warming you simultaneously. I sat back, pulling the towel completely across my back and around to the front of my knees with thumb and forefinger holding the edges, looking past him to the rest of the lake and looking back as he settled, sitting indian style closer to me. I rested my chin atop my knees and he smiled, hazily, honestly, and scooted closer so that his shins were at my toes. We both sat there serenly, a million things to say, but no better way to say them. Wrapping the towel around his own shoulders he patted down his hair, then set his hand on my foot. I smiled at him then.
and below
the murky iris color
of his eyes, the water
was cut in darker and clearer portions
by the evenly proportioned wood
nailed together
on which we lay
I wondered what lay beyond
and his thoughts
that I wish I could read
what lay beyond
in the strawberry ice cream
of his brain
I did care
whatever he may say about the sky being my lover
I may be entranced by what lay beyond
the blue
but more, really, by just what he saw
with his mind
the neurons firing on and off
to make him breathe
I wanted to know
what he thought
But, at the same time
I was so far apart
so seperated by unusual ramparts
that I built
only by my own confusion
in a salt-lick castle
built on sand
so impersonal
as if I was the sun
I worshipped
I tried to give him insights
if maybe, too, he was wondering
as to where the citrus center
of my pink grapefruit brain
was wandering around
or maybe it was just sitting
blank faced
as many vegetables do
on a park bench somewhere
The wood of the dock was cutting into my back so I pulled myself up, the water that was soaking into it from my hair leaving a shodow of where I was originally. His eyes were shut as I walked to my bag where the rest of the dock was set in, immovable, with posts, but I knew as I traveled farther away he could see me, squinting down past the rest of horizontal body and against the incessant glare of the sun. Grabbing two towels seated on the top of the bag I stuffed one under arm, flipping out the other one and wrapping it lopsided over my hair, taking the step down to the tethered, unmounted dock we were both laying on, my weight depressing it only slightly. I walked back over, the lake breeze cooling my body and I wrapped the towel around my shoulders and stretching out to tap him on the shoulder and lift his head up so that I could lay the towel under his head. Instead he sat up, ungracefully, propping himself first on one elbow, then on the other, then pushing off with the arm farthest from me, so that he had rolled his body toward me, his eyes still not open completely. I knew at the moment that all he could see was white dots as the sun had left its imprints on his eyes. He took the towel from me and sat completely up, drawing his legs in and involuntarily shivering, the heat sometimes chilling you and warming you simultaneously. I sat back, pulling the towel completely across my back and around to the front of my knees with thumb and forefinger holding the edges, looking past him to the rest of the lake and looking back as he settled, sitting indian style closer to me. I rested my chin atop my knees and he smiled, hazily, honestly, and scooted closer so that his shins were at my toes. We both sat there serenly, a million things to say, but no better way to say them. Wrapping the towel around his own shoulders he patted down his hair, then set his hand on my foot. I smiled at him then.
I should tell you.
I don't have school tomorrow, the realization is sweet. I may stay up and try to become the genius I'd love to be. Or I could stay up and....watch television, read Walden, do core work-outs, create cookies, and memorize Johnny Cash songs. All of which are better if you have a person to share it with, a cup of coffee and you could find that one viral video of Allen Ginsberg dancing in his documentary.
"Doth grow the greater still, the further downe;
Till that abounding both in power and fame,
She long doth give the sea her name."
-Thoreau
I've done some late thinking on the past year since we are officially seventeen days in, eighteen in an hour. I probably should have done the thinking over the Summer or possibly while the events of last year were occuring, but my thought process has always been to sit back and watch how things play out, and that putting a hand in only caused the events to occur more erratically. It also happened with this last year that I just didn't understand enough to care.
Getting feedback on what I've been doing, just how it affects...everything, should probably lead me onto further self reflection, even though that doesn't sound remotely interesting.
I'm promising myself now, on well, electronic paper, that this semester will be different than my mediocre performance in the last one. I could bring myself to say a million excuses for my performance, for the grades I've pulled out, but I can't do that. I've done that too long....for everything that has happened in the last half of last year, too.
But, the whole slate is wiped clean with this oncoming week. With this burgeoning year, a new semester, with the calm that comes from having someone that will always be on my side. Thank you for that.
I've realized a great deal
A. I do not understand pre-cal, and I probably should. I should also learn more than what I have learned...up 'til now. It's barely getting me by.
B. That I like writing, but I don't like sharing what's closest to me, and I'm sorry if you expect that.
C.That constantly talking to people leads to less self reflection, leads to less creativity and less revelations, even though I don't have much need for them. Let's face it, if I haven't wrapped my mind around the subjects now, I'm not going to. Not unless I become bedmates with my textbook and cut myself completely off. Both of which sound very cold and unhappy places to be, especially comapared to lately.
D. I should probably get my priorities straight about exactly what I want. With everything. Everything. Even if this IS an unobtainable goal.
E. That besides everything else, January has been a very lucky month.
"Doth grow the greater still, the further downe;
Till that abounding both in power and fame,
She long doth give the sea her name."
-Thoreau
I've done some late thinking on the past year since we are officially seventeen days in, eighteen in an hour. I probably should have done the thinking over the Summer or possibly while the events of last year were occuring, but my thought process has always been to sit back and watch how things play out, and that putting a hand in only caused the events to occur more erratically. It also happened with this last year that I just didn't understand enough to care.
Getting feedback on what I've been doing, just how it affects...everything, should probably lead me onto further self reflection, even though that doesn't sound remotely interesting.
I'm promising myself now, on well, electronic paper, that this semester will be different than my mediocre performance in the last one. I could bring myself to say a million excuses for my performance, for the grades I've pulled out, but I can't do that. I've done that too long....for everything that has happened in the last half of last year, too.
But, the whole slate is wiped clean with this oncoming week. With this burgeoning year, a new semester, with the calm that comes from having someone that will always be on my side. Thank you for that.
I've realized a great deal
A. I do not understand pre-cal, and I probably should. I should also learn more than what I have learned...up 'til now. It's barely getting me by.
B. That I like writing, but I don't like sharing what's closest to me, and I'm sorry if you expect that.
C.That constantly talking to people leads to less self reflection, leads to less creativity and less revelations, even though I don't have much need for them. Let's face it, if I haven't wrapped my mind around the subjects now, I'm not going to. Not unless I become bedmates with my textbook and cut myself completely off. Both of which sound very cold and unhappy places to be, especially comapared to lately.
D. I should probably get my priorities straight about exactly what I want. With everything. Everything. Even if this IS an unobtainable goal.
E. That besides everything else, January has been a very lucky month.
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