Whitman’s Leaves

a chimney

 

New city’s children

Too early for maturity

Play upon sheen, oily pavement

Dancing on calloused feet

Barely feeling the heated gravel

Until broken glass reminds them

They are to grow up

Before their time,

Before any time…and

Feed the gullet of infrastructure

Picked from the driest days

A brown spring plucked, to

Produce an eternally chilled

Perpetual youth food, and…

Management, world conditioning

That keeps all matter edible

From the Kuiper Belt to Atlantis

Where Metropole mouths eat

Whatever they want, how they want it

When they want it, even if it doesn’t

Want it…with a thousand

Colors of chalk and charcoal

Clutched in their chimney sweep hands

Drawing hopscotch rules

On top of parking lots

Spread out like barns on the plains, named…

Supermarkets of Lost Foods

Where tattooed hipsters smile

Calming the old children

With sugary whole grains

Warning them of impending

Plastic packaging, pointing to

Green spaces that divide

Handicapped parking from

Silent hybrid auto engines.

Still they shop, grey bearded,

For Whitman’s leaves

in the refrigerated section

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23 Responses to Whitman’s Leaves

  1. Wonderful and introspective as usual. Yes…reality can rob you very quickly of your childhood. But one must still hang on to its innocence…because it can help you to see without visors, though you may now be a little wiser…albeit “grey bearded”. Thank you again Elan :).

    Like

  2. Interesting poetry. I like the reference to Whitman. Lets just stay young at heart.

    Like

  3. Ralph says:

    Nicely crafted, Nicely spoken.

    Like

  4. thismadmuse says:

    Wonderful write, I enjoyed this.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. impostorpawn says:

    i loved Whitman and the allusion to him was superb.Great message.
    “Drawing hopscotch rules

    On top of parking lots” was my favorite line after all we’re all trying to grasp at that childhood that’s denied at whatever cost.
    Great post

    Liked by 1 person

    • Elan Mudrow says:

      I like your take on that particular part of the poem. What if we are searching for something that we have already made up the rules to? Does that count as a search or is it just transitory, something to keep us occupied? What if that effort is the very thing that shapes our demise? It’s kind of like the arc of a lifetime, stretching from desire to desire.

      Liked by 2 people

  6. BeeHappee says:

    Very cool idea, like it.

    Like

  7. Olga says:

    If we have made the rules, it is “ego” talking and therefore is transitory. Rules change. Universal laws never change. They are there to be discovered. Search for your own “I AM”voice. Desires are transitory.

    Like

  8. Joyful2bee says:

    That is a very fascinating poem on so many levels. I loved the imagery you described.

    Like

  9. vivachange77 says:

    Complex poetry. I love looking for Whitman’s “Leaves” in the refrigerated section. It’s like we can’t see time clearly – past or future – and where present time fits is an enigma. Keeping on hopscotching may be as good an answer as any.

    Like

  10. hey poet, I’ve *humbly nominated you for a poetry “challenge”, i’d be honored if you accept; your blog and the writing prompt guidelines are in my latest post. happy midsummer poet. -Sarah

    Liked by 1 person

  11. trE says:

    The title led me here. The poem kept me. Great work, indeed!

    Liked by 1 person

  12. James Bui says:

    Great work Elan! I love it!

    Like

  13. E A M Harris says:

    An interesting poem – food for thought. And I love the pictures.

    Liked by 1 person

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