Keep your face toward the Sunshine

 

Keep your face always toward the sunshine - and shadows bill fall behind you.

Walt Whitman

Eat and Sleep with the Earth

 

"Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons; It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth."

Walt Whitman

Song of the Open Road

 

Song of the Open Road

by Walt Whitman


A FOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune—I myself am good fortune;
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Strong and content, I travel the open road.

The earth—that is sufficient;
I do not want the constellations any nearer;
I know they are very well where they are;
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens;
I carry them, men and women—I carry them with me wherever I go;
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them;
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return)

Morning Glory Rain

"The morning glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books."  Whitman, Walt
These morning glory flowers were growing outside my window so I took these pictures after a morning rain.

After a Morning Rain

After a morning rain.
the morning glory bows,
Rain droplets falling,
The dawn is breaking,
Sounds of leaves rustling
As the misty wind blows,
Clouds bathe in light,
The silent sun comes,
As treetops glistens,
A new day has begun. 

by PL Fallin

Spirit's That Form'd this Scene by Walt Whitman

These photos were taken from top of Cedar Heights at Manitou

Springs.  Colorado Springs is on the left side and Pikes Peak is on the right.  It is a fantastic view and the Rocky Mountains are spectacular driving from Pikes Peak to Estes. 

 

In September 1879, Walt Whitman visits Colorado, the farthest west he'd ever get.  While in the three-year-old Centennial State, Whitman rebukes critics of his poetry with this poem.

 

 

Spirit That Form'd This Scene

Spirit that form'd this scene,
These tumbled rock-piles grim and red,
These reckless heaven-ambitous peaks,
These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness,
These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own,
I know thee, savage spirit---we have communed together,
Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own;
Was't charged against my chants they had forgotten art?
To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse?
The lyrist's measur'd beat, the wrought-out temple's grace---
      column and polish'd arch forgot?
But thou that revelest here---spirit that form'd this scene,
They have remember'd thee.

                                       --Walt Whitman

"A Song to Myself: 35" by Walt Whitman

These pictures were taken at the Washington Oaks State Park and Beach.  It had been raining for 3 days and Matanzas River was high and winds were still strong. 

Song of Myself: 35

By Walt Whitman 1819–1892
 

Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight?

Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?

List to the yarn, as my grandmother’s father the sailor told it to me.

 

Our foe was no skulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,)

His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be;

Along the lower’d eve he came horribly raking us.

 

We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch’d,

My captain lash’d fast with his own hands.

 

We had receiv’d some eighteen pound shots under the water,

On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.

 

Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark,

Ten o’clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported,

The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves.

 

The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels,

They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.

 

Our frigate takes fire,

The other asks if we demand quarter?

If our colors are struck and the fighting done?

 

Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,

We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting.

 

Only three guns are in use,

One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy’s mainmast,

Two well serv’d with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks.

 

The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top,

They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.

 

Not a moment’s cease,

The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.

 

One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking.

 

Serene stands the little captain,

He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,

His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.

 

Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us.

 

The Dalliance of the Eagles

The Road of the Eagles

 

This is the road that leads to several Eagle nests in Princess Preserve Park of Flagler County.  I saw several young eagles but I did not see any large birds.  I have visited the Eagle site several times and still have not been fortunate to see the larger adults.

Walt Whitman had never seen the bald eagle's courtship ritual called cartwheeling.  He wrote "The Dalliance of the Eagles" based on the description a friend had given him of this extraordinary display. In the poem "The Dalliance of the Eagles" he had a deeper meaning then the courtship of eagles.  It symbolizes that as humans, we are courting with death for the thrill of being and the joy of living. Most of us want something that safe living does not provide. We all want to cartwheel through life uncertain if this will be our very last moment. It gives us living in this moment. It does not mean we should go out and live dangerously, but look deeper to find that which is our deepest longing. Then chase it passionately.


THE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES
by Walt Whitman 1880

Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,)
Skyward in the air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles,
The rushing amorous contact high in space together,
The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,
Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,
In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,
Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull,
A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing,
Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight,
She hers, he his, pursuing.



Whitman is regarded as one of America’s most significant nineteenth century poets. Born on Long Island, Whitman grew up in Brooklyn and received limited formal education. His occupations during his lifetime included printer, schoolteacher, reporter, and editor.  Whitman’s self-published Leaves of Grass was inspired in part by his travels through the American frontier. As the first writer of truly American poetry, Whitman’s legacy endures and he has influenced many poets of the twentieth century.