Art, Poetry, books, novels

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Lost Walt Whitman Novella

Want to share link with you to read the found (after 165 years)
Novella by Walt Whitman

total content here:
http://ir.uiowa.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2251&context=wwqr/ 

You can order print version from the University of Iowa Press
Thank you Zachary Turpin

Excerpt:
"I know few more melancholy sights than these old men present, whom you see here and there about New York; apparently without chick or child, very poor, their lips caved in upon toothless gums, dressed in seedy and greasy clothes, and ending their lives on that just debatable ground between honorable starvation and the poor house. Old Wigglesworth had been well off once. The key to his losses, and his old age of penury, was nothing more nor less than intemperance. He did not get drunk, out and out, but he was never perfectly sober. Covert now employed him at a salary of four dollars a week. Nathaniel, before-mentioned, was a small boy with a boundless ambition; the uttermost end and aim of which was that he might one day drive a fast horse of his own on Third avenue. In the mean time [sic], he smoked cheap cigars, cultivated with tenderness upon his temples, his bright brown hair, in that form denominated “soap-lock,” and swept out the office and ran the errands; occasionally stopping to settle a dispute by tongue or fist. For Nathanie l [sic] was brave, and had a constitutional tendency to thrust his own opinions upon other people by force if necessary. Freed from the presence of the two, Mr. Covert sat meditating and writing alternately; until he had finished a letter, on which he evidently bestowed considerable pains.—He then folded, enveloped, sealed it, and locked it his desk. A tap at the door. “Come in.” Two persons enter. One is a hearty middle-aged man,
"I know few more melancholy sights than these old men present, whom you see here and there about New York; apparently without chick or child, very poor, their lips caved in upon toothless gums, dressed in seedy and greasy clothes, and ending their lives on that just debatable ground between honorable starvation and the poor house. Old Wigglesworth had been well off once. The key to his losses, and his old age of penury, was nothing more nor less than intemperance. He did not get drunk, out and out, but he was never perfectly sober. Covert now employed him at a salary of four dollars a week. Nathaniel, before-mentioned, was a small boy with a boundless ambition; the uttermost end and aim of which was that he might one day drive a fast horse of his own on Third avenue. In the mean time [sic], he smoked cheap cigars, cultivated with tenderness upon his temples, his bright brown hair, in that form denominated “soap-lock,” and swept out the office and ran the errands; occasionally stopping to settle a dispute by tongue or fist. For Nathanie l [sic] was brave, and had a constitutional tendency to thrust his own opinions upon other people by force if necessary. Freed from the presence of the two, Mr. Covert sat meditating and writing alternately; until he had finished a letter, on which he evidently bestowed considerable pains.—He then folded, enveloped, sealed it, and locked it his desk. A tap at the door. “Come in.”

Monday, February 20, 2017

California National

National Park

Weather breathes
Nature delivers
what she feels
Storm rivers

California whim
State of change.
 Drought to brim 
I'm free range.

Shooting stars
seen in spring
second memoirs
sing on wing
shooting stars dodecatheon clevelandi





Caroline Gerardo Copyrights reserved for poetry, photographs and video 2/20/2017 

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Overcome

Burned Pine by Caroline Gerardo

Use the ability to get up tomorrow 
and stand against the wind. 
Though the veins in your
arms throb from holding on, 
pick up someone else along the way. 
In your roots find nutrients 
needed to overcome. 
On weary days, 
I have your back my friends.

Regroup and Overcome.

Love,

C G
2/15/2017 copyright

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Grow


Grow My Son

Built strong house
Built raised beds
Built joyful life
But babies grow
go

Name Steve crows
at five months
 a teenager
Runty and persecuted
chick became a house pet.
Gradually re-introduced
to the flock, by night
black hoody ski mask

no children? 
lost dog or a cat?
heart like that?

 Husband barred me
from the door while 
baby cried 
read psyho babble
tough love book of 
bubbling spring sleep,
but pain's a watershed

Dialed 911 in days 
when people had home
phones, husband ripped
the cord from the wall

Stinking cry baby
escaped that man
Divorce doesn't end.

Name Steve is number 901
of miscarriages, children,
and adopted pets.

Morning free
range time and coffee. 
Call Name Steve to snuggle. 
He ignores.
Turns his back.
"Act like you don't know me lady,
 I'm deep under cover."

Yes, I recall, Pick me up from
school Mom, down the street

Pussy willows for sale
Goat sallow in spring
Plant echinacea 
under forsythia
golden health
Bloom my son 
find your joy
Miss you
Love Mom

Copyright Caroline Gerardo 2/5/2016 all photographs and poetry rights reserved