On Walt Whitman’s 200th Birthday – A Poem

Happy birthday Walt Whitman
Two hundred times remembered
Words engraved, memorized, preserved
Immortal haunting poetically still

Dear sir, please, look not away
Though this, not, you spoke beautiful true
Forgive us, if it to be your desire
Selfishly wrecked such fragile beauty

On the rotting wood docks Atlantic
Creaking lapped wave lapping
Once booming bustle freedom
Vacant lonely ghost ship serenade

O’ Brooklyn, sweet Brooklyn weep
Through hustle step toe run around
Manhattan masks sorrows gentrified
Burnt contract breeched profit smoke

Nature chokes a gasping cough
Water spits up trash can careless
Floating death absorbing lethal
Melting we, doomsday countdown

Rest assured, poetic pens still scratch
Birds sing sonnets to the bloom of spring
Ships sail, lovers love, dreamers dream
Baseball played as once remembered

New York is New York, in ways
Though men ruin with thirsty lust
Shameful yet ghosts remain reminding
It began before the rusted age of greed

America, still beautiful messy beloved
Still, rivers, rushing, gushing, into open seas
Poetry matters, more so, ever still
Walt Whitman, your words, more so, ever still

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