Day: April 4, 2014
MEMBER SINCE 2009
“I wouldn’t join any club that would have me as a member.” ~ Groucho Marx
April 2009.
I was fine with keeping my words to myself,
stacked of a shelf or stash in a file.
I smile at that now.
How can one stifle their own voice?
It was a personal choice, one I’ve regretted.
I forget all that now.
I wrote lyrics. I penned plays.
I stayed in my comfort zone and didn’t poem.
Not really. Not seriously. Not since High School.
Now I see what a fool I had been.
I said it would be a sin to waste this skill,
I didn’t know the thrill of an expressive heart.
So when I found there was a poetry challenge,
a poem-a-day during April, I gave it a go.
Once the floodgates open, I was just fine.
Writing poems since 2009.
© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
I HAVEN’T GONE THERE SINCE
Home should never roam,
it should be a foundation,
our plantation where we staked our claim,
and wore our name proudly
We ran the neighborhood a bit loudly,
but respect was always the rule by which we lived.
I would give anything to be back there again.
But it is no longer ours, and I haven’t gone there since.
Memories like curses flood in torrent streams,
and dreams of that place being our sanctuary were nary in doubt.
But we lost our clout when Dad passed on.
It’s gone, and I haven’t gone there since.
We were nine, and we were fine with it. Our family home
well known for the brood three generations strong, I had belonged
to my grandfather, was my mother’s home and our domain.
It’s emblazoned in my brain, and I haven’t gone there since.
They say it has changed. A fenced fortress where once we ran free.
A flowerless clod of dirt where once all the beauties of earth sprouted.
I always doubted it would never be ours. But life happened quick,
it makes me sick and wince, and I haven’t gone there since.
Surely, we all grow up and move on to worlds of our own, but the protection
of our connection to those faces and that place were yanked from our grasp
in one fell swoop. I remember a happy place, with all our cramped space
it brought us closer and I haven’t gone there since.
If for one day I could just go back to Wood,
I would reclaim it in our name again, an old friend back in our embrace.
It would be good to see that place. There is no disgrace in longing,
it was our sense of belonging, and I haven’t gone there since.
© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
SINCE I FOUND MY MOJO
Since I found my mojo
things are fine
and my confidence is soaring.
There’s still a way to go
but it’s mine
so I won’t let life get boring.
Since I found my humor
I just laugh.
It seems I find everything funny.
There’s this vicious rumor
that I’m daft,
but it rarely makes me money!
Since I found my style,
people think
it must be easy to be me.
But I sit and smile,
and I wink,
it is much harder than they see!
© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
SINS OF THE FATHER
“Do not drink wine nor strong drink, thou, nor thy sons with thee, when ye go into the tabernacle of the congregation, lest ye die: it shall be a statute for ever throughout your generations:” ~Leviticus 10:9
Dad drank.
He sank into a distilled puddle of despair.
And we were there, my siblings and I
to watch his decline and take notes.
As much as we despised his ranting,
his belligerence, his “Bull in the China Shop” demeanor,
we knew we would not all walk away unscathed.
We make our choices. We accept responsibilities.
And we paid the price when acceptance wanes.
There is always a price to pay for the sins of the father.
My brother paid. My youngest sister paid. And I.
And try as hard as I might, the fight never ends.
Wagons should have side rails. I crave
my sobriety, and society should understand.
Dad drank, until cirrhosis begot liver cancer.
Since then, his answers came “easily” along with regret.
His admission, a “should have, could have,
would have done things differently” refrain.
It left stains on us all. There is always a stain.
© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
POETIC ASIDES APRIL P.A.D. – 2014: DAY 4 – SINCE (BLANK) _______
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 
I might as well rhyme.
I have this blank page, and the time
and the rage to go gently into that good write.
I might as well rhyme.
A poem is as expressive as I can get,
and I’m of a mind do it all on my dime every time.
I might as well rhyme.
Poets are a special breed. We don’t need much
except a muse and just enough heart to get started.
Since I’m going to write something anyway,
I might as well rhyme.
It’s the best way to know I’m alive.
© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
POETIC ASIDES APRIL P.A.D. 2014 – DAY 4: SINCE (BLANK)