James Marshall Goff Poet Narrative

The Journeyman, Walt Whitman

The Journeyman, Walt Whitman


Acrid smoke drifts over this lifeless battlefield…
Forlorn cries escape from his tattered journal, bound in silence…
From above, Vultures circle lazily, stung from below, the burning
Eyes of the gray-bearded one,  give them pause…
Off in the distance, cannons boom, as sons and brothers deny destiny…
Blades of grass, turn to dust…
Only memories now, hands reach out as pages turn, releasing arrows
That pierce every generation, born of his pen…
O godless thunder, tear the earth below my feet!
O wingless warrior, carry me beyond this sightless grave!
I long, for those dreams I once revealed…
I long, for my purple mountain streams…
Forever etched in acrid smoke,
Forever etched…
Drifting…
Drifting…

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Sara Kendrick April 11, 2010 at 5:21 AM Great write...Great author..Walt..Keep the creative pen flowing. Sara

Barbara Gorelick April 9, 2010 at 7:46 PM MY favorite poet..There are some lovely lines in the piece..I love it. BG

Doris Culverhouse April 9, 2010 at 7:15 PM enjoyed very well written--you got it going on when you want to, my friend.

Carrie Richards April 9, 2010 at 6:54 PM Wow....James, this is wonderful, almost haunting! Well done....This one should be a winning poem in the contest! ~ Love, Carrie