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He had no last words before being put to death in the electric chair for the first of four rape-murders he was convicted of committing. Spencer arranged for his immediate family to visit him before the execution, said Wayne Brown, a spokesman for the prison in Jarratt. In the afternoon, the U. Supreme Court turned down his lawyers request to halt the execution.
A court spokesman said Justice Harry A. Blackmun cast the lone dissenting vote. It was the first scheduled execution for which a doctor declined to be present since the American Medical Assn. Kapil, a prison doctor who regularly pronounces inmates dead, said he was taking a vacation day. State officials arranged for a private physician, Dr. Alvin Harris, to be present. Spencer was condemned for the murder of Debbie Dudley Davis, the first of three people from the south section of Richmond, Va.
The female victims were bound with clothing and household items, then raped and strangled or hanged. After his arrest, three criminal laboratories concluded that semen found at all the crime scenes came from Spencer.
Scientists said the chance the semen could match someone else was one in million. At the time, genetic testing had been tried in a few criminal and paternity cases, but never in a murder trial. And new results have implicated Williams in the death of at least one year-old victim. When Patrick Baltazar s body was found dumped down a wooded slope behind an office park on February 13, , a forensic scientist discovered two human scalp hairs inside the boy s shirt.
At trial, scientists from both the FBI and Royal Canadian Mounted Police would testify that, under a microscope, the hairs were consistent with those of Wayne Williams. But that was only a matter of judgment, not exact science.
In , defense lawyers for Williams raised the question of DNA testing on dog hairs which were on bodies of many of the 27 boys and young men found dead during the two-year murder spree. The laboratory report found the scalp hairs had the same type of DNA sequence as did Wayne Williams own hair.
Night on the bridge Video: Wayne Williams on trial. The DNA test implicating Williams would probably exclude 98 percent or so of the people in the world. I don t think they said it was a match, Williams told CNN. I think they said they could not rule out whoever the hairs were from as being the possible donor. But retired FBI scientist Harold Deadman, who testified about the hair findings in Williams trial and later became head of the FBI s DNA lab, said it was the strongest finding possible with this particular type of testing.
None of the Caucasian or Hispanic hair samples in the data base had this sequence. When those samples are added in the total, then the odds rise to almost to-1 against the hairs coming from any person other than Wayne Williams. The finding is not ironclad. Because the hairs were incomplete, the type of testing, called mitochondrial DNA, can trace only the maternal line. Only with nucleic DNA testing, which includes paternal lineage, could the results be absolutely conclusive.
Yet testimony at trial established various fibers found on the Baltazar clothing could be traced to a bedroom carpet in Wayne Williams home, his bedspread, a yellow blanket found under that bed, a leather jacket hanging in Wayne s closet, and a gray glove in his station wagon. There were also dog hairs on the Baltazar body which prosecution witnesses testified probably came from the Williams family s German Shepherd, Sheba. When those dog hairs were sent to a genetics laboratory in the School of Veterinary Medicine at the University of California, Davis, in , the report said Sheba had the same DNA sequence.
It said that DNA chain would be found in only 1 out of dogs. The Baltazar case was included among 10 other deaths presented to the jury in Wayne Williams trial, although he was not charged in any of those, and was convicted of murdering two adults whose bodies were found in an Atlanta river in the spring of Scientists considered the hair and fiber evidence in the Baltazar murder to be among the strongest of their cases.
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The estranged couple will be reunited after Patch and their son, Joey, James Lastovic return to town unexpectedly, which gives Kayla both joy over seeing them again. Steve Patch Earl Johnson and Dr.
On the Internet message boards 5 the couple is often referred to by the portmanteau Stayla for Steve and Kayla. The couple was initially popular from through until the death of Steve. Both characters have recently returned: Steve and Kayla were dropped off canvas in February Kayla returned in December In August , Steve returned to Salem.
Steve Johnson was a former Merchant Marine who came to Salem working as a mercenary. He had a vendetta against his former best friend, Bo Brady Kayla s brother who had gouged out his eye during a fight long ago.
His bad boy image and criminal actions were no match for the beautiful good girl, Kayla Brady. One night, he rescued her from a street gang and, eventually, the two fell in love. Steve pushed Kayla away, but she was undeterred. She kept trying to convince him that they were meant to be together. Kayla s family were opposed to the pairing, most especially Bo Brady, who believed Steve to be dangerous.
Steve received an incredible shock when his sister came to town. Adrienne had been born after Steve s mother had brought Steve and baby Billy to an orphanage. Steve had been 5, Billy had been a young baby.
Jo Johnson Steve s mother was afraid her husband Duke would kill the children or vice versa due to Duke s extremely violent nature. Steve wanted nothing to do with Adrienne or Jo, but deep down, he was yearning for the mother he had loved and hoped to see again. Duke ended up raping his virgin daughter, Adrienne, when she refused to tell him where to find her mother.
She shot him in self-defense when he staggered over to her to do it again, and then she blocked out the memory of the rape and the killing. Steve tried to take the blame and developed a strong protectiveness towards his sister. Adrienne remembered what had happened just in time, during the trial, and Steve was exonerated.
He started to push Kayla even further away, blaming her at first for not letting him kill Duke when he had had a chance before the rape and then fearing that he would be just like Duke, after his mother angrily told her children that Duke hadn t always been so bad when they confronted her on her decision to ever hook up with a man like him.
She told Steve that Steve reminded her of Duke in many ways, not realizing how painful those words would be. Their relationship would be challenged by the appearance of Jack Deveraux, a man who had fallen in love with Kayla in Hawaii. Kayla did not return the love and kept their relationship as just friends. Jack hopefully pursued Kayla because he thought eventually he would win her over. The Deveraux Family hired Kayla to be Jack s private nurse when he was diagnosed with Hodgkin s Disease and quite ill.
Steve learned the truth that Jack was his own brother, Billy. When he did, he shunned Kayla, hoping she would end up with Jack so his brother would have someone special with whom to spend his seemingly final days.
Believing Steve was no longer interested in her, Kayla accepted a marriage proposal from Jack. Jack now played by Matthew Ashford recovered, but Kayla rebuffed every one of his attempts to consummate the marriage, unable to let her love for Steve go. Jack assumed Kayla was just nervous because they didn t know each other all that well. He knew she didn t love him, suspected that there were still feelings between Steve and Kayla, but he still remained hopeful that she would someday love him.
Months later, Steve discovered Kayla was being poisoned. Suspecting it to be someone in the Deveraux house, and heartbroken that it could be his baby brother, he kidnapped her and the two made love.
They carried on their affair in secret. Kayla wanted to get out of her marriage, but Jo and Steve begged her to wait until Jack s political election had passed. A photographer snapped pictures of them kissing on New Year s Eve, while at the same time, a disconsolate Jack was searching for his wife at a party to do the new years countdown together.
A few weeks later, Jack won the political election and an unscrupulous reporter gave him the compromising pictures, intending to blackmail him.
Enraged by her behavior and believing that Kayla and Steve had deliberately set out to hurt him, Jack confronted Kayla, and angrily raped her. Steve discovered this, fought his brother, and nearly killed him when Jack fell off the roof where they were fighting. In the aftermath, as Jack suffered from failing kidneys, Steve donated one of his own to save his brother s life. Jack resented - and even harassed - Steve and Kayla, but the revelation that he was Steve s brother and that his own father Harper had been a serial killer who had tried to poison Kayla would change his life, eventually for the better.
Steve saved Kayla from Harper once more, but Kayla ended up losing her ability to speak following surgery to repair her hearing. When Jack discovered that Kayla was deaf and that part of the reason she was deaf was the stresses in her life, including his own violent behavior, he sadly gave her divorce.
Steve learned to use sign language to communicate with her. Kayla s speech returned on her wedding day when she said I do to marrying Steve. A couple of years later, Steve s supposedly dead wife Marina resurfaced. She didn t want to get back together with Steve, but instead asked for his help in finding a special key.
A pregnant Kayla thought it was the best thing to do in the hopes Marina would grant Steve a divorce so they could truly be married. Marina had every intent of rekindling things with Steve, but Jack, who was now well on his way to reforming did his level best to bring Steve and Kayla back together, despite Steve and Kayla s insistence that he stay away from them. After going all the way to Italy and back, Marina ended up dead and Kayla was accused of the murder. Due to doctored videotape evidence, Kayla was sentenced to prison for ten years.
She gave birth to a daughter, Stephanie, who Steve would raise while Kayla was in prison. However, a deranged nanny kidnapped Stephanie. Kayla escaped prison and she and Steve followed the kidnapper to Australia where, along with Bo and Hope, they were able to recover their baby.
Now a newspaper man, Jack Deveraux worked with Jennifer Horton his employee and future wife to help push public opinion Kayla s way and help find out who really killed Marina.
The evidence against Kayla was soon discovered to be a fraud when Isabella, Marina s sister remembered that she had killed her sister during a violent altercation and Kayla was allowed to return to Salem, a free woman. Steve and Kayla were married again in , this time with Jack Deveraux as best man. The incident with Marina had changed his relationship with Steve and Kayla and Steve was tentatively trying to welcome his brother into is life.
Kayla, while always uncomfortable around Jack, tried to make peace with their past and allow the relationship to grow between the brothers. Tragedy would strike, however, when Steve was caught in an explosion aboard Bo Brady s boat. It was no accident; the explosion was meant to kill Bo and was planned by the evil oil baron Lawrence Alamain.
Steve survived the blast, but because he thought Steve had evidence against him, Lawrence had Steve s IV poisoned. With a grief-stricken Kayla at his side, Steve died. However, an empty coffin was buried in his grave. Presumed dead after his car went into a river, Jack Deveraux was on his deathbed in a hospice. He was awaiting death, and refusing to let his wife Jennifer, daughter Abigail and mother Jo know he was still alive, hoping to spare them the agony of losing him yet again, as he has died more than once.
A caring orderly tried to see if he wanted anything to eat or drink and a delirious Jack was shocked to see that it was his brother Steve Johnson. Jack could not believe his eyes. Intrigued by the possibilities, and driven by his brother s earnest pleadings that he return home, he convinced Jack to return home as well. Everyone was shocked when Jack interrupted the ceremony. Meanwhile, overwhelmed by the pain of returning to Salem where she had enjoyed such a short time of joy with Steve, Kayla was crying at Steve s graveside at the cemetery at the church, unable to sit through the wedding without breaking down.
Suddenly, Steve approached her from behind, asking her if she was okay. The shock of seeing her long lost love caused Kayla to faint, but when she awoken, her wildest dreams were confirmed: Kayla was overjoyed and has tried not to pressure Steve, who is clearly suffering from amnesia.
He has shared the memories he does have, but continually tells Kayla he has no memory of her. Kayla and Steve have spent a lot of time together trying to stir up memories, but upon a visit to Cincinnati, Ohio - Nick Stockton s old stomping grounds - it appeared as though Steve was giving up on those missing memories and on Kayla.
She returned to Salem, and Steve would almost immediately follow her. Steve s daughter Stephanie also proved to be a great draw for him, as the young woman joyfully welcomed her thought-dead father into her life.
Steve began to push Kayla away again, trying instead to make a love connection with Billie Reed whom he thought to be more like himself than the classy Dr. At the same time, his brother Jack made a complete recovery and left with wife and son to head up the London Spectator news office. Jack begged his brother to give his love with Kayla a chance, telling him that Kayla and Steve were meant to be together, which was full circle from the times he tried to tear them apart.
Having no memories of his darker past with his brother, Steve was moved and affected by the younger man s words and outpouring of brotherly affection, but he still could not make the move towards a life with Kayla. His daughter roundly scolded him for bringing Billie with him to watch her race she races cars and Steve blamed himself when Stephanie was critically injured during the race. Tearfully at her bedside, he had a flashback to holding her as a baby. He still doesn t remember Kayla, but now he remembers Stephanie and he s terrified of how much it hurts to love her, especially as she lies near deaths door.
Steve and Kayla were poisoned by a biotoxin a month later, in November Steve recovered, but Kayla, hovering near death, fell into a coma. Steve pretended to get his memory back with the help of notes of his history with Kayla, provided by Bo and Hope to give her the will to carry on; it worked, and Kayla woke up, weak but responsive.
Before John and Marlena could get back from Canada with the antidote for Kayla, she flatlined, and Steve became hysterical; he lifted her up and gave her a long kiss, and miraculously, her heart started to beat again. John and Marlena got to the hospital, the antidote was administered, and Kayla began to recover. After Kayla was released from the hospital, Steve remained by her side, but was distant; because of her fragile, still-recovering state, he was hesitant to tell her that his memory had not really returned.
However, Kayla suspected the truth, as he was distant. To find out for certain, she asked Steve to take a trip with her to the bungalow where they had hid from Victor Kiriakis nearly two decades earlier; she wanted to test his memory there. Steve, not knowing that Kayla suspected the truth, reluctantly agreed.
Once at the bungalow, Steve decided to tell Kayla the truth: Heartbroken but strong, Kayla surprised Steve by telling him that she had already knew that this was the case. She excused herself, going to another room to silently cry. Steve promptly fell asleep on the bed, and began to have flashes of memories and dreams of Kayla.
Waking up in the middle of a dream, he thought that he and Kayla were on the run from Victor Kiriakis, something that had happened nearly 20 years prior. Entering the room Kayla was in, he frantically vowed to protect her, as Kayla, shocked, didn t understand what was going on.
The flashes of memory became more intense, and Steve, with Kayla holding on to him in an attempt to snap him out of his erratic state, fell; catching his breath, he realized that his memory had returned, telling Kayla tearfully, I remember loving you. Kayla was skeptical, but Steve, at first, was oblivious; he was so overjoyed at having his memory back, trying to tell her every memory at once.
He soon noticed that she was crying, and was shocked, asking her what was wrong. Kayla replied that she didn t know if she could believe that he had really gotten his memory back, especially not after how he had previously pretended to remember her. Horrified, Steve grabbed her and assured her that he, Steven Earl Johnson, her one-eyed tomcat was indeed back.
Overcome, Kayla ran out of the bungalow, crying, with Steve chasing her. Coming back, she nearly fainted still recovering from the biotoxin poisoning and he caught her, holding her close and assuring her that everything would be fine. After more desperate pleas from Steve to believe in him, and after he signed courage to her as he did on their wedding day, Kayla relented; they reunited passionately. Over the next year, , Steve and Kayla would overcome the consequences of Steve s brainwashing by Stefano DiMera, who had used him as a pawn.
Kayla deprogrammed him after several months of pain and terror. That summer, Steve would act as a go-between between the DiMera family and the Bradys, as he attempted to discover what the DiMeras were up to by infiltrating their mansion as an undercover agent. Also around this time, Kayla began thinking about adopting a child so she and Steve could experience raising one together.
Kayla was working at the hospital when she discovered an abandoned baby boy there, and instantly fell in love with him. With some convincing, Steve agreed that they would become the foster parents of the baby boy, nicknamed Pocket by Kayla. After a couple of months, however, Pocket began getting sick, and had to be hospitalized. During this time, Philip Kiriakis discovered he had a son, an in-vitro baby with Mimi Lockhart.
Steve, Kayla, and Philip all learned that Pocket was really Philip and Mimi s son, whose real name was Tyler, and who had been abandoned by the surrogate who gave birth to him. In the end, a young couple who had been caring for the baby after he was taken away from Steve and Kayla expressed a desire to adopt him, and Steve and Kayla, though heartbroken to lose the little boy, agreed that the child would be well off with the adoptive parents, as did Philip. Steve and Kayla then had to deal with the rape of their daughter, Stephanie, by Ford Decker, who afterwards had died in an accidental fall.
On May 16, , in an emotionally charged episode, Kayla gave birth to her and Steve s baby boy, who arrived three months prematurely, and was not breathing at birth; he was immediately transported to the NICU of Salem University Hospital. Devastated yet hopeful, his parents are now dealing with the aftermath. The baby boy has been named Joseph, to be known as Joe Johnson. Steve and Kayla were part of a growing supercouple phenomenon on Days of our Lives, largely starting after Luke Spencer and Laura Webber from General Hospital took the daytime world by storm and enthralled viewers with their adventurous and romantic storylines.
In contrast, Kayla had been raised in a happy, content family, and grew up with loving parents and siblings. At times, Steve felt it impossible for them to really have anything in common. However, the show stuck by the couple and their pairing was and remains one of the most successful partnerships in DAYS history. They were ranked number 19 on the We Love Soaps 50 greatest soap opera couples of all time.
In addition to being popular with viewers, Steve and Kayla were also featured regularly in soap opera magazines, appearing on numerous Soap Opera Digest covers, and appearing also in the now-defunct magazines Daytime Television and Soap Opera Update. Their wedding in , occurring over the course of two episodes, Days of Our Lives went to number one in the ratings, something that had not happened for 14 years. They were honored with many accolades, including an honor bestowed by Soap Opera Digest, Favorite Couple, in In the Best Worst issue, they were singled out as having the best wedding.
Stephen Nichols was also nominated for a Daytime Emmy in Many fellow actors and co-stars have praised the magic of their partnership, with one writer from Soap Opera Update quoting that There was Bogie and Bacall, Tracy and Hepburn, and Scarlett and Rhett. Then there was Patch and Kayla. I feel so behind in these. But I m gonna keep truckin along.
At the very least, this will be a great way for me to look back over the years and see what we learned each year. Also, let me note that not everything on our to do schedule gets done all the time.
These are all activities that I think would be fun and helpful but if the boys particularly like one activity, I let them spend longer on it, or some activities take longer than anticipated and we don t get all the way down the list. I usually try to list the activities in order of preference. The boys are fascinated by eggs so I knew it would be a good choice for letter E.
Dinosaur eggs, bird eggs, chicken eggs — they love to eat them, seek them and read about them. We have a few books about eggs already at home, but I found a few new ones for us to read from the library:. I had pre-filled 12 Easter eggs with black beans numbering from and hid them around the playroom. I sent the boys off on the hunt to find them all. Once collected, I had them one by one open them up and count the beans. Then they had to match the number of beans inside the egg to the correct number in the egg crate.
We ve been really working on recognizing numbers with the boys, so this was a great activity for that. After this activity, I swapped out the beans in the eggs for little slips of paper that had a variety of egg laying animals printed on them and hid the eggs for the boys to find again simply because they are 2 and 4 and love egg hunts.
I cut out two large egg shapes, one for each boy. We had an egg poem from here, glued it to the egg, and then glued all the animals around the poem.
A few days prior, we had gone to our favorite little Asian foods store around here — Wing Wa. We picked up some duck and quail eggs. We hadn t ever had duck eggs and these were a little too salty for us, so we lovingly passed them on to our neighbor-friends who are also homeschooling, doing letter E and EGGS. We DO love quail eggs though. They are so tiny and cute — we ve been getting these for years because they are the perfect bite sized protein snack for little hands.
We most often hard boil them though they do make the most adorable little fried eggs you ve ever seen.. Zeek ended up being sick one of the days this week, so we lumped Eyes Ears together into one day, which seemed fitting anyway. We had a couple uh, graphic surprises as we turned some of these pages and some some very detailed looks at these body parts As in, cadavers that were flayed open and photographed.
But thankfully, the boys were really into it. Eye to Eye was a really fun book that showed different eye shapes and functions of a variety of animals. I had completely forgotten about these little gems until I spotted one at the library. These were my favorite back when I was in about 2nd grade And I should probably bust them out around that time again for Zeek, because he was too young to be able to grasp the concept of what he was supposed to do and these books ended up being a major source of frustration to him because he couldn t quite get the hang of it and couldn t see the hidden picture.
Many tears were shed over these two books:. After we learned all about eyes and ears and their functions, we sifted through several magazines and cut out any good photos of eyes or ears that we could find.
Then Asher took on gluing the ears in a collage, and Zeek took on eyes. I had previously recorded different sounds around the house on my phone the microwave beeping, the garage door opening, the signal on the washing machine, markers being shaken in their container, the paper cutter arm being moved up and down, etc.. I played each one and had them guess what the noises were. I was pretty impressed with how quickly they got them correct.
I took a wind up timer and hid it around the house in a few locations and had them try to hear the soft tick tick of the timer and see how close they were when it went off.
I was super excited for Earth. I knew that Zeek would enjoy learning about it, plus I had a Magic School Bus movie on the agenda — holla. I am determined to make him a lover of it. Before the flick though, we read some books and learned the basics about Earth and also briefly about the solar system. And finished off with a zoomed in shot of our street which I didn t photograph because, you know.
The boys each made one of these books, which they thought was pretty great. They have them stored in their desks. I love when they love an activity that we do so much that they keep them with their special school stuff. And that about wrapped up Letter E. We have had Letter F G weeks, and are currently taking a break this week for Thanksgiving and just doing some fall related activities. Letter H will resume next week — and hopefully I can get F G posted sooner than later.
Came back to life. Nicknamed Patch Used to be engaged to Ava Vitali. This week on Days of Our Lives the super couple are reunited when. For updating all Iomega drivers, use DriverAssist. It has a database of over 26 million drivers and can identify Iomega devices and almost any other.
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Smile, for your lover comes. Prodigal, you have given me love--therefore I to you give love! O unspeakable passionate love. I resign myself to you also--I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land, Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse, Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you.
Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases.
Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms. I am he attesting sympathy, Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them?
I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. What blurt is this about virtue and about vice? Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown. Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy? Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified? I find one side a balance and the antipedal side a balance, Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start.
This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel. And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.
It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing. Hurrah for positive science! Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches, These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas. This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician.
Gentlemen, to you the first honors always! Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling. Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire.
Unscrew the locks from the doors! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.
Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd. I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.
I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you!
Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you! Firm masculine colter it shall be you! Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you! You my rich blood! Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you! My brain it shall be your occult convolutions! Root of wash'd sweet-flag! Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you! Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you! Sun so generous it shall be you!
Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you! You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you! Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you! Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you!
Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you. I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again. That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
To behold the day-break! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.
Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven. The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master!
We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak. My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds. Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then? Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded?
Waiting in gloom, protected by frost, The dirt receding before my prophetical screams, I underlying causes to balance them at last, My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things, Happiness, which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search of this day.
My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am, Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me, I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you. Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two, They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.
I hear the violoncello, 'tis the young man's heart's complaint, I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music--this suits me. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. I hear the train'd soprano what work with hers is this?
The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them, It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves, I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath, Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death, At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And that we call Being.
Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither, If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough. Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me.
I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand. The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me. I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there.
Did it make you ache so, leaving me? Parting track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward. Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden. Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.
Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is so. A minute and a drop of me settle my brain, I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman, And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other, And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it becomes omnific, And until one and all shall delight us, and we them.
I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire it. In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones, In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low, In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky, In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs, In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods, In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador, I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.
So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession. I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?
Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.
His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return. I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them? Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you. My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision. I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.
I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, My course runs below the soundings of plummets. I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me. I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest, We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty, The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is plain in all directions, The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them, We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged, We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet and caution, Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe.
I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridgroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself, I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips. My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd. I understand the large hearts of heroes, The courage of present times and all times, How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm, How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of days and faithful of nights, And chalk'd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not desert you; How he follow'd with them and tack'd with them three days and would not give it up, How he saved the drifting company at last, How the lank loose-gown'd women look'd when boated from the side of their prepared graves, How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lipp'd unshaved men; All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine, I am the man, I suffer'd, I was there.
The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am. I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the ooze of my skin, I fall on the weeds and stones, The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks.
Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.
I am the mash'd fireman with breast-bone broken, Tumbling walls buried me in their debris, Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels, They have clear'd the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth. I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.
Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again.
Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive. I take part, I see and hear the whole, The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim'd shots, The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip, Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs, The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion, The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air.
Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me--mind--the entrenchments. Retreating they had form'd in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks, Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance, Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone, They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv'd writing and seal, gave up their arms and march'd back prisoners of war.
They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age.
The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer, The work commenced about five o'clock and was over by eight. None obey'd the command to kneel, Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight, A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead lay together, The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there, Some half-kill'd attempted to crawl away, These were despatch'd with bayonets or batter'd with the blunts of muskets, A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more came to release him, The three were all torn and cover'd with the boy's blood.
At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies; That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars? List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me. Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, said he, His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be; Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us. We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch'd, My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.
We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the water, On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead. Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves.
The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. Our frigate takes fire, The other asks if we demand quarter? If our colors are struck and the fighting done? Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting.
Only three guns are in use, One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast, Two well serv'd with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks. The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top, They hold out bravely during the whole of the action. Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.
One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking. Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns. Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. In at the conquer'd doors they crowd!
Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain. For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night. Not a mutineer walks handcuff'd to jail but I am handcuff'd to him and walk by his side, I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips.
Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried and sentenced. Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat. Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them, I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg. Somehow I have been stunn'd. Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.
That I could forget the mockers and insults! That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers! That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning. I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me. I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one of an average unending procession, Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines, Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years.
Eleves, I salute you! Continue your annotations, continue your questionings. Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it? Is he some Southwesterner rais'd out-doors? Is he from the Mississippi country?
Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them. Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncomb'd head, laughter, and naivete, Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations, They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers, They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes.
You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also. Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot, And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot, And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days. Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself. You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any thing I have I bestow.
I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you. To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.
On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes. This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics. To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door. Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home. I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down! I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.
Sleep--I and they keep guard all night, Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you, I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so. I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it and heard it of several thousand years; It is middling well as far as it goes--but is that all?
Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass'd his prelude on the reeds within.
Easily written loose-finger'd chords--I feel the thrum of your climax and close. My head slues round on my neck, Music rolls, but not from the organ, Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine. Ever the hard unsunk ground, Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides, Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real, Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn'd thumb, that breath of itches and thirsts, Ever the vexer's hoot!
Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going, Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming.
This is the city and I am one of the citizens, Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools, The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate. The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and tail'd coats I am aware who they are, they are positively not worms or fleas, I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest is deathless with me, What I do and say the same waits for them, Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them.
I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself. Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book--but the printer and the printing-office boy? The well-taken photographs--but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms?
The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets--but the pluck of the captain and engineers? In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture--but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes? The sky up there--yet here or next door, or across the way?
The saints and sages in history--but you yourself? Sermons, creeds, theology--but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason? One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like man leaving charges before a journey. Down-hearted doubters dull and excluded, Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishearten'd, atheistical, I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair and unbelief.
How the flukes splash! How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood! Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much as among any, The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same. I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail.
Each who passes is consider'd, each who stops is consider'd, not single one can it fall. It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall, Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder, Nor the numberless slaughter'd and wreck'd, nor the brutish koboo call'd the ordure of humanity, Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in, Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth, Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads that inhabit them, Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known.
What is known I strip away, I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown. The clock indicates the moment--but what does eternity indicate? We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them. Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety. I do not call one greater and one smaller, That which fills its period and place is equal to any.
Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister? I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, What have I to do with lamentation? I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things to be.
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.
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I ve been writing music for so long. Tak jarang bahkan beberapa orang. Steve Patch Suopping Johnson and Dr. I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means. Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. Steve discovered this, fought his brother, and nearly killed him when Les reines du shopping speed dating streaming fell off stresming roof where free online texting dating sites were fighting.
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