On blogging and poetry

Once again, let's be honest-- so far, this being my first blog (besides that way overly personal xanga blog I had as a silly college girl... embarassing), the hardest part of blogging has been choosing a name for my blog.  Since, what has it been?  2 weeks?  Since 2 weeks ago, I have spent a significant amount of time trying to find a clever that has not already been taken by someone cleverer out there.

I started with Michelle's Green Thumb, but discovered that was semi-taken as someone's established gardening page.  Not wanting to imitate, I changed it to Michelle's Greenish Thumb, thinking myself quite creative.  But again discovered myself unoriginal.

So now, after spending far too much time trying to think of an awesome name for a blog that only has a tiny handful of posts, I am changing it, for the last time.  You likely remember from high school, that this name references a poignant Walt Whitman poem which I have included below.  Given the recurring theme in my garden, I think the parallels are quite appropriate (refer to previous few posts!), don't you think?  

(My husband will think this a bit dramatic.  I disagree, I am not in the least bit dramatic).

O Captain! My Captain!

BY WALT WHITMAN

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

                         But O heart! heart! heart!

                            O the bleeding drops of red,

                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

                         Here Captain! dear father!

                            The arm beneath your head!

                               It is some dream that on the deck,

                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

                            But I with mournful tread,

                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.