The Nine-O-Clock Song like a spilled spool
Of tread along and over desperate for what’s
New of the city streets, along the river
Like a lucky railroad spike you found
As a kid then into the fields of pussy willow
And milkweed and goldenrod
The Song of the Moon Crater is a poem
Written by Walt Whitman the astronaut,
As is The Song of the Snowdrift written by David
“I like sneaking into the drive-in” Thoreau
Just as when we were kids hanging out
On the curb, or just running around, till the dusk up dark ladders
Into night when the streetlights came on
naïve haircuts 
I like this one!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! Much appreciated.
LikeLike
wonderful imagery, Bob, esp the third stanza when we meet familiar names in unfamiliar guises 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks John. Who know Thoreau liked going to the drive-in. 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
you learn something every day, Bob 🙂
LikeLike
This one feels like a story or a memory written in songs and heroes. It’s summer and time to go home to dinner. “the dusk up dark ladders”. Beautiful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! Definitely a lot of memories here of playing as a kid and having to come home when the streetlights came on. Glad you liked it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“desperate for what’s new” feels like an anthem as we get older and the following stanza of “lucky railroad spike found.” We knew it as kids and sneaking into drive-ins like Thoreau…..well, it seems like a damn good idea to do today, siping beer from paper cups and/or smoking a joint in the bushes watching the movie without sound and that wonderful feeling of defiance! I’d love to be old doing this wearing socks that don’t match due to…well, just being old and not giving a hoot. Enjoyed this trip through youth and reminder that it’s all still possible today.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Steve. I think that’s definitely a something as we get older. Everyday as a kid seemed new. And we have to push ourselves now to make that happen. Not always, but often. Wouldn’t be great to sneak into a drive-in with Thoreau? I love your idea about the mixed up socks. That even feels like a whole poem to me about mixed up socks and not giving a hoot.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I have one Thoreau book. i forget what it’s called, but it has the part when he lives in the woods all by himself, totally self-reliant and I guess hunting and catching fish and all that. Anyway, I guess the drive-in movie wouldn’t matter if Thoreau was there beside me because I’m sure after all that time being alone, he would love to talk and plus I remember enjoying what he had to write and plus he used words I had never heard of before. I have one of his books here. We had a fire in our building last April so I haven’t been here since then. The people recently finished the tough fixer up things so now I’m back here. Books all in boxes, but I know there’s a Thoreau in there. Thanks.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You made me laugh with Thoreau’s middle name 🙂 I guess the TV reception wasn’t so good at Walden Pond. Or maybe the squirrels demanded to see certain TV shows and wouldn’t let Thoreau change the channel. Anyway, I’m going on a tangent. The last stanza of your poem also struck me. The times of being kid, the immense possibilities, the fun of running around. Man, that brings me back. The feeling that’s certainly worthy of a poem. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can really see Thoreau sneaking into a drive-in. Or maybe it’s just the idea of have of him. And I’m glad you liked the end, about being kids and running around till the streetlights came on. I have lots of fond memories of that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great work! I love the first stanza, and the image of Thoreau at a drive-in is perfect.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks! I hope to catch a movie at the drive-in one day with Thoreau.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That would be awesome. 😎
LikeLiked by 1 person