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Mad for Poetry

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad for life, mad for talking, mad for poetry.

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Song For All Seas, All Ships By Walt Whitman

To-day a rude brief recitative,Of ships sailing the Seas, each with its special flag or ship-signal;Of unnamed heroes in the ships Of waves spreading and…

September 27, 2019
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Song At Sunset By Walt Whitman

Splendor of ended day, floating and filling me!Hour prophetic hour resuming the past!Inflating my throat you, divine average!You, Earth and Life, till the last ray…

September 27, 2019
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Sometimes With One I Love By Walt Whitman

Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn’d love;But now I think there is no unreturn’d love the…

September 27, 2019
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Solid, Ironical, Rolling Orb By Walt Whitman

Solid, ironical, rolling orb!Master of all, and matter of fact! at last I accept your terms;Bringing to practical, vulgar tests, of all my ideal dreams,And…

September 27, 2019
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So Long By Walt Whitman

To conclude I announce what comes after me;I announce mightier offspring, orators, days, and then, for the present, depart. I remember I said, before my…

September 27, 2019
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So Far And So Far, And On Toward The End By Walt Whitman

So far, and so far, and on toward the end,Singing what is sung in this book, from the irresistible impulses of me;But whether I continue…

September 27, 2019
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Sing Of The Banner At Day-Break By Walt Whitman

POET. O A new song, a free song,Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, by voices clearer,By the wind’s voice and that of the drum,By the…

September 27, 2019
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Shut Not Your Doors By Walt Whitman

Shut not your doors to me, proud libraries,For that which was lacking on all your well-fill’d shelves, yet needed most, I bring;Forth from the army,…

September 27, 2019
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Sea -Shore Memories By Walt Whitman

Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,Out of the Ninth-month midnight,Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where…

September 27, 2019
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Scented Herbage Of My Breast By Walt Whitman

Scented herbage of my breast,Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards,Tomb-leaves, body-leaves, growing up above me, above death,Perennial roots, tall…

September 27, 2019

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Mad For Poetry

Mad For Poetry

Poesia Poetry Journal! Have a Read.

  • Issue #1 – Mad for Poetry / Pazzi per la Poesia

Mad for Poetry

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