This Compost (Walt Whitman)

This poem by Walt Whitman is fine by itself, but as I read I kept layering on recent news and hipster-ish ideas and ideals.

One) It's a poem, literally, about compost. Back yard farmers, anyone? I admit to being curious about starting my own piles and how neat it would be to have quality soil for new garden beds.

Two) Part of me wanted to remind WW that the Earth cannot take it all in and turn out positive, clean produce. You know how people thought/still think that the oceans can deal with any refuse you put in? A part of me wants to tell him that the Earth is a closed system!

Three) But never mind my additions, his points about the awesomeness of the old/diseased things yielding new, bounty is apt and exciting. Every time I read one of his poems I just get the urge to go on a walk and see things as though for the first time. He reminds me that most everything is awesome.

Favorite line: "It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions"

It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions, - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/23446#sthash.8H97BQDQ.dpuf