MASTER AND SAGE


“Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try!”
~ Jedi Master Yoda

Futile attempts are
when success comes not!
Become we do, what wish we,
but loss, arise it does, when
achievement flat on its face falls!
Satisfied be not, when accomplished
nothing is. Try not! Do
or do not. There is no try!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

TAKE A HIKE IF YOU’D LIKE

Looking down on the little people from the penthouse high above them, I love them but they are so small, a blip really. The hustle and bustle makes a din, a noise that festers within, and I can barely hear it over the construction cacophony. I’d bet money the traffic is as thick as petroleum jelly (it ties my belly in knots with rage). At this stage, country living would surely entice, it would be nice to walk across the road without dodging Dodges and Audis like I’m playing Frogger. I’m no jogger, I don’t own a bike and it’s a hike to Midtown. I wish I could lose this frown,  for urbanessence has gotten to me. Set me free, or call me a friggin’ cab!
a stroll takes its toll
so walk as brisk as you’d like
go on, take a hike
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2020
dVerse Haibun Monday – Hike

IN THE EVENING, WHEN DAY IS THROUGH

In the evening, when day is through,
the sun retreats to a place where
slumber awaits her brilliant hue.
Night is her time to seek repose.

And so, in her tired escape,
in the evening when day is through,
star-crossed lovers beneath the moon
hold each other ever so close

and share their dreams. It always seems
that it draws out a kiss or two
in the evening, when day is through.
Seductive sounds surround them so.

Yet sounds, like sunsets, seek repose
as morning approaches once more.
But to be sure, romance returns
in the evening, when day is through.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

BUM ON A LOG

Always in lost thought,
I oughta be dog-eat-dog, not
some bum on a log poet wrangling words.
No combatant in whatever war of wits
I would find myself.
my wile with words
seemed impressive. I found it excessive;
obsessive. Ogden and John Nash conjoined.
 
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

dVerse Quadrille Monday: Bum

 

ALL THE WORLD LOVES A CLOWN

The jolly joker, baggy pants and scant
patches of outrageous hair ; smiles and gags
abound. But nobody knows! Nobody knows.

And still, he’ll strap on his suspenders,
Seltzer water at the ready and a steady
Stream of laughs and guffaws, canned

And recorded for such times.
For his mind is a million miles away,
And all the pain does is slash at his heart.

His plaid jacket held together by one large button
It does not hold him tightly as he wished
He could hold his young daughter.

His tragedy feeds his comedy,
His funny side is the mask that hides
the tears of the clown. Only one wish –

that he could take his helium balloons
and allow them to float him to his little girl.
Separation takes its toll on all concerned.

The clown cajoles and entertains,
But no one ever sees his pain.
And their laughter does not heal him.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik -2020

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Clowning Around

I USE MY WORDS

I use my words to express my heart.
Words that live deep within me,
and I hope that you can clearly see
by the way my love songs always start.
So, with all the feelings I impart,
with all the thoughts there’ll ever be,
I use my words.

For love invades like Cupid’s dart,
quite sent straight to you, straight from me.
And as I proposed on bended knee
with feelings that came from deep in my heart,
I use my words.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

POETIC BLOOMINGS – Inform Poet: Rondine

SAIL

Unfurled, my canvas tightens,
taut and rigid in the strength
of a gale force wind. Beginning
and ending with the gusts
prevailing, sailing into the waters,
uncharted and unsure. It is purely
the epitome of self-sufficiency;
this proficiency so star-guided
provides me with the direction I crave.
In it, I am saved, a navigator of
life’s currents. Wave after wave,
I am coaxed toward shore, for sure
more open waters await me.
My sole journey continues undeterred.
(c) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

DADDY’S FLOWER BLOSSOMS

She has spread her cheer every year
for twenty-seven. Pure heaven with
her heavily dimpled smile.
One of the sunshines of my life
and she, the sunflower of same.
Her name is Andrea, and her bloom
brightens every garden
she sees fit to visit.
 

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille: Garden

SUNRISE, FRONT WINDOW

Quiet. Serene. Soft and gentle
calling to the soul seeking refuge,
solace in the silent sanctuary.
It’s a feeling that rises up, touching
every fiber of your being.

As the sun rises, you are seeing
things in the light of a new day, 
a front window to capture the beauty of a world
left to your own devices, It is nice
that the vision of that first sun, shines through.

You fill your lungs with as much fresh air
as you can inhale and without fail, the scent
of the pines brings a tear for it is here
that the world began. Your heart beats
more true as you stand and listen

to the awakening that began
with the rays of the sun as it raises its hands
to glorify all that it touches. A symphony
of avian arias and woodland creatures
alerting the world they have arisen.

There is a sweetness that exists in nature,
a honeyed palette that quenches your thirst
and satisfies your hunger for each new day.
You savor the flavor of what your window reveals.
You believe this is the most alive that you will feel!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2020

dVerse – Poetics: Looking Out the Window

LINE OF THREE

I was born the third child on the third day, the third Walter in the line of familial redundancy. Not a junior, not a numeral, and after my father’s funeral, the last Walter standing. No three-star General commanding multitudes of minions. Just a man with a penchant for poetry, be they tercets or haiku, I am true to the test of three.

A third birthday was ushered in by the death of three, rocking my world at an early age. Holly, Valens and Richardson – mother’s sons all, taking the fall in a stormy Iowa sky. I don’t remember if I cried, but the music died all the same. Later the same year we saw the first of three Walter’s perish and a cherished name was diminished by one, survived by two “sons”. Three seems to be my number, lucky or not, but it’s gotten me this far in the line of three.

The trinity guides
and provides me a purpose,
three steps onward

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2020

dVerse Haibun Monday – Birthday