IN SILENCE

Hushed breathing
in the dark night.
Nightlight aglow.
Suddenly stirred,
a sense of security arises.
Listening in the night,
attentive. A soft giggle; the coo
of a precious dove, angelic.
She settles in again to sleep.
A world of love in a baby’s peep!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille #27 – Giggle

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THE KREWE OF PYTHON

monty-python_00363711

A small band of Brits what writ
a cavalcade of skits and silly things,
sometimes men dressed as ladies in frilly things
doing silly walks down Bourbon Street.
Giant cartoon feet stepping to flatten
bystanders as they meander aimlessly,
shamelessly exposing their naughty parts,
dressed as lumberjacks and tossing Spam
at the troupe of Vikings wailing, no sailing
today for the Camembert is a bit runny.
Saying funny things to all named Bruce.
(We’re all named Bruce!) Marching
down the thoroughfare with galloping coconuts
at the ready and a steady chant of “Ni, Ni, Ni”!
Dead ex-parrots pining for the fiord!
Bringing disorder to the French Quarter
(nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition)
as the locals taunt them a second time.
Searching for the Grail without fail,
silly twits, a band of Brits! Run Away!
They don’t really like Spam! Spam! Spam! Spam!
…And now for something completely different!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Quickly – Funny Thing Happened

WARRIOR HORSEMAN

world_war_i-300x168He rides with the cavalry,
a rider astride his steed.
Much in need at times such as these.
He wishes to please his regiment,
for God and for country. No one
sees what goes on inside
his heart and head. Instead
they see a horseman
out for a jaunt on his mount
his lance in tow. They cannot know.
They do not account for
the battle fatigue and the league
of fellow combatants. They do not
know the fear that is inherent here.
No one feels the internal conflict,
they just inflict their jabs
and criticisms. Aimed at him for doing
what others would not dare.
He does not scare easily, but the queasy
knot in his belly turns his knees to jelly.
A war monger he is not, but he’s got a duty.
His horse is as brave as he,
an extension of his resolve, a weapon.
He reckons if lucky, he’ll retire to the peace
of mind he anticipates. His loved one waits
for his return. Both hope that mission
is accomplished. His horse and he.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides Prompt #385: Ekphrastic Poem – “World War I”

MAKE JEDDHA GREAT AGAIN

"Old Rural Bridge"
“Old Rural Bridge”

The temple has been defaced.
There is no trace of life to be seen.
True, the hills are green and you’ve seen
holograms in the archives.
But you can feel it! It surrounds you.
It confounds you that something
so strong within you can run
so hot and cold, so light and dark!
The stark reality is you are the last
man standing. Commanding your force
of one. No one would have blamed you
for eschewing your ancient weapon
and hokey religion and flying Solo
with a blaster at your side.
But now you hide among the ruins,
stewing over every bad turn you take.
Make no mistake, you are the balance.
Under the valance of doubt and darkness
you hearken back to the farm
where you were just a naïve and charming boy.
Your father should have warned you,
but you would have resisted anyway.
You’ve climbed the stairs to your new station,
to bring order to this planet nation. And the galaxy.
Your new adventure awaits!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides Prompt #385: Ekphrastic Poem – “Old Rural Bridge”  

RUSH HOUR

old_car_race-300x233
“Old Car Race”

Take the 90 to the 33,
Ralph it to the 198.
Pray to God you’re not late
because the traffic sucks.
You’re stuck under
the overpass and your gas
gauge is nearing “E”.
You see an accident up ahead
and you dread that you will
be stuck here until Erie thaws.
Your hands are white knuckled claws,
pawing your steering wheel.
You feel the angst and frustration.
There is no elation, this is how
your daily commute goes.
It gets even worse when it snows!
No love for rush hour in Buffalo!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides Prompt #385: Ekphrastic Poem – “Old Car Race”

MAYBE I’M AMAZED

I heard it again on the radio.
From long ago, it was our song.
And I heard it yesterday. Is it wrong
to make me think of you, your loving glow.
There’s no pretending my heart would know
and is starting to feel you through this song.
I heard it again.

Why do I marvel when your spirit shows?
When I hear it would I keep love as strong?
Maybe I’m amazed you’re here all along
when I honor you as my words flow?
I heard it again.

© Waltetr J. Wojtanik – 2017

Rondine (Form) as presented by Robert Lee Brewer at Poetic Asides

 

BOOK SALE

booksaleStacks and stacks
of books without racks,
hard covered and paperbacks.

Their conditions are fine
all titled on their spines,
(But none of them are mine.)

Grand adventures to set sail,
grand words without fail,
it looks like they’re all for sale.

There’s romance novels and reference tomes,
historical tales of where the buffalo roam,
some hysterical farce, try taking one home.

Get a book, by hook or by crook,
Get a great deal, come take a look!
It’s a steal, come buy a book!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Quickly – Quickly, Simply

NO ONE KNOWS

He has returned to the scene; they always return.
Incognito means ball cap drawn and cheap sunglasses
hiding calculating eyes. He’s cold, duffle bag in tow –
unsure how many heads it would hold, but eager to learn.

Nope, no one knows.

That one is Billy. I assume so because his name is repeated;
his mother’s screech is invasive. Jeans torn at the knees,
he pulls chewing gum from hidden places, saying curse words
to the old man “shushing” in the library. Glue for Lepages.

Nope, no one knows.

She is afraid of the world, a vicious orb and its people,
she cowers below the steeple that towers above the sanctuary.
It is a scary place that she possesses, and she obsesses
over forgotten loves and suitors, a mental computer of regret.

Nope, no one knows.

He stands outside the cemetery gate and waits his call to join her.
His pains are hidden and he has forbidden anyone to mention
her dementia. He will not answer questions about his cancer.
He merely waits. He is not a miscreant or transient. He is only lonely.

Nope, no one knows.

The shelter is busy tonight. No one delights in their predicament.
Meals offered while they last and a fast respite from their despair.
They go there for warmth. They come seeking comfort,
neither a lasting gift, just a momentary lift from their sad existence.

Nope, no one knows.

Just an observer, that’s all I’ve become. In the doorway shadow,
out of the downpour. Tabulating cars/buses; trusses on the “El”;
going to hell for my misguided thoughts. I ought to get work. Just a jerk
feeling a draft below, not knowing my fly’s undone. I’m cold too!

Nope, no one knows.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides Prompt #384 : Nope

HEARTS AT SEA

Two hearts afloat upon love’s endless sea,
bobbing free in currents of emotion.
There is no lake or ocean can compare
to the freedom there. Two hearts float in love.

Above is an endless sky full of stars.
Hearts navigate by their chart position,
a condition driven by the love shared.
They are spared rough tides; they ride the current.

The rough torrent cannot put them under,
it’s a wonder love keeps their heads above
water. They ought to thank their lucky stars,
they are adrift uplifting each other.

Hearts at sea are free to be. Their journey
can lead them to distant shores and much more!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2017