Whitman: A Word Cloud Poem

John G Evans © 2019

Poetry  translate           experience life             cynical             lack of trust     injured             as a child            humanity factor          vision of hope             the still woods             naked in all my truths

Plant you permanently within us        insatiate           minsters           sour death      

To experience the translation of a poet, why, it makes sense.

Though life, cynical as it may be, my lack of trust, humanity –

Injured, thus, as a child, the still woods, naked in all my truths

Planted permanently within me, sour death, insatiate, deceiv’d?

Through the sod, and to turn it up underneath, foul meat, thus we may behold

Through poetics be bold, in simple truths we stand, as grasses of spring covers the prairies.

This new – found resurrection from the poetic breed, words make sense, words take heed.

A word made flesh, O Christ, have thy goodness upon me, and of all bandits,

Take mercy, for we know not what we do.

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