Song to Walt Whitman
I sing to Walt's inclusive humanity
I see Walt venturing forth each day and becoming
Teaching in poor lit chalk dust air classrooms, woodworking callus'd hands cover'd with sawdust,
Building framed houses on Long Island
Writing newspaper articles, gulping nightlife, breathing in late-night carousing New York City,
Writing, publishing, re-inventing ink stain'd new dandy self,
Moving poetry door-to-door, singing songs of the new rough and tumble Adam
Lifting all of America on his rugged shoulders, showing us the world of butteflies
Heading to the "west" to cover stories and creating himself as he went along
Tending the wounded and loving his brothers and men in Washington City
Hating war, but caring for the warriors, singing of lost captains
Finding new loves, fighting his fights for his dignity and his songs
Saying goodbyes
Editing, revising, and still singing of bodies electric, moving mountains
Concluding thoughts for generations to sing
Balancing loves and riding final ferry trips to Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love
Becoming the fine old Walt like wine that's been uncask'd
Hiding behind the good old gray poet's image even stroked out as the twinkle of his eyes
Belying his force of nature, using Twain's carriage to race around Camden
Foaming his horses, scattering people out of his way
Singing his way for over 80 years, going forth as a child would
Becoming what he saw, shouting its praises to the heavens, offering us a taste of it
Eating life whole, working with his hands in the dirt of our existence
I sing this song to Walt who taught me to be, to see, to do
Shout with me this chorus of living each moment for itself and of itself
Of facing life and enjoying it, of knowing love and loving it, of being a body in motion and moving it
Of becoming what you are and being it
Each moment alive, and reveling in it