HEAVEN WAITS; TIME HEALS

Heaven waits.
That’s the root of the problem.
The plan always seems to be
that we get all our ducks in rows.
But, we go around with a pack mentality
and the reality is we growl and howl
like slack jawed fools; we drool til we burst
and what’s worst, we stand shivering,
in need of mending.
Time heals.

(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
 
THE SUNDAY WHIRL - WORDLE #154
THE SUNDAY WHIRL –
WORDLE #154

Written for the SUNDAY WHIRL – WORDLE #154

THREE BIRDS

Photo Credit: Janet Ride Carnahan -2014
Photo Credit:
Janet Rice Carnahan
-2014

High above the cliff they fly
a tribute of sort off for a short stretch.
The three birds are the free spirit
of one so loved, high above the cliff.

The first bird is Honor.
Its flight takes a straight and true course,
the source of all pride and achievement,
no bereavement is complete without Honor bestowed.

The second suspended in avian beauty is Respect,
fully earned, in a circuitous route, for wherever
it goes it is recognized for its ability and strength
it would go to any length to earn what is returned.

But the last bird holds a special mantle. It is Love.
Higher above the others it flies, filling the skies
as like many hearts with the devotion to family
and country. A boundless gift lifting all to such heights.

We all carry the spirit of these three birds,
and we continue to soar through their wings,
a flight to pay tribute to all left behind to find it.
The flight is endless, forever rooted in Honor, Respect and Love.

(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

NO COMPETE CLAUSE

Another challenge offered
I proffer my poetry,
it’s all I have in me.

I tell myself each time
I will hold onto my rhyme,
let these challenges be.

I’ll sound repetitive,
but I’m not competitive
despite my poetic voice.

I’ll never be the first choice,
I’m seldom in the top ten,
yet submit again and again.

Old Laureates never die,
they only lose their forms,
sweaters keep their muses warm.

So, I’ll write my rhymes, so sweet,
for the joy, not to complete,
and stay home to pen my tome.

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

POETIC ASIDES with Robert Lee Brewer – Triversen

SPLENDOR

Many splendored is love,
a truly pure emotion
a notion of the heart.

She has marked your place,
sharing a space together,
love will blossom and grow.

You know her like she knows you,
knowledge gives perspective
each reflective thought says so.

In the closeness of a breath
we’ll go from birth to death
joining our hearts as one.

When our lives are all done
we find our love continues,
love keeps our hearts alive.

We live to love each other,
we are sisters and brothers,
we are friends and lovers.

We sing of pure devotion,
a notion of emotion,
a many splendored love.

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

POETIC ASIDES with Robert Lee Brewer – TRIVERSEN

WHITHER GOEST SPRING?

Winter holds animus.
She refuses to depart
to allow Spring to start.

We languish in her grip,
slipping on her icy floor
& more snow than we’ve needed.

We’ve pleaded for an end,
offering to send her
on the vacation of choice.

But inside our heads, her voice;
a sinister laugh and taunt
and howling winds that haunt

and toss us, to boss us
into cowering here
where it should be flowering.

Whither goest Spring?
Come prove you don’t hate us
and end your hiatus.

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

DIVIDENDS

Words are the currency spent
in the expression of love
in a true poetic heart.

We start with an idea,
a thought that permeates
through to our very souls.

It controls our feelings
leaving us reeling with heat
from that smoldering ember.

We choose to remember it,
to hold it in our hands
and write the way it feels.

Then, as our hearts reel
it steals a bit of us
to share with all present here,

all are willing to spend their words,
investing in the thoughts
other words have inspired.

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

The form is TRIVERSEN and is highlighted at POETIC ASIDES with Robert Lee Brewer. The form is eighteen lines (6 stanzas, three lines each). Each stanza is a complete sentence divided between the three lines; each line a thought in the sentence.

EVENING IS A SHROUD

Darkness covers all,
cloaking everything enveloped in her sad embrace.
Her face is hidden, masked and concealed,
not to be revealed in the muted moonlight.
Even stars bright lose their luster, remaining
only a cluster of distant orbs. Evening absorbs
and devours, leaving a pall over the crowd.
Evening is a shroud.

 

(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

CREATIVE BLOOMINGS PROMPT #146 – LINE PLEASE