Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Tuesday Poem | The World Below the Brine by Walt Whitman

                     The world below the brine, 
                     Forests at the bottom of the sea, the branches and leaves, 
                     Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds, the thick 
                     tangle openings, and pink turf, 
                     Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white, and gold, the 
                     play of light through the water, 
                     Dumb swimmers there among the rocks, coral, gluten, grass, rushes, 
                     and the aliment of the swimmers, 
                     Sluggish existences grazing there suspended, or slowly crawling 
                     close to the bottom, The sperm-whale at the surface blowing air and spray, or disporting 
                     with his flukes, 
                     The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle, the hairy 
                     sea-leopard, and the sting-ray, 
                     Passions there, wars, pursuits, tribes, sight in those ocean-depths, 
                     breathing that thick-breathing air, as so many do, 
                     The change thence to the sight here, and to the subtle air breathed 
                     by beings like us who walk this sphere, 
                     The change onward from ours to that of beings who walk other spheres. 

                     Walt Whitman (1819 - 1902) 

This week's editor on the Tuesday Poem hub is Lesotho-born, Paris-based poet Rethabile Masilo
with A Poem for the Innocents

                                                             "A killing moon peeks through leaves
                                                             of trumpet trees in full bloom
                                                             for Lent, their barks crisscrossed
                                                             by wild strokes of a machete
                                                             when my son tried to help me weed
                                                             our garden, overrun with dandelions. . . " 

To read on, please click on the quill. 

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