THE TWIGLETS #117 – A BROAD BRIGHT MOON

Night had fallen,
and any sullen mood I might have fostered
had found its rest in the evening sands.
The warmth of the day lingered
as wanton fingers traced along the
titillated flesh of that beautiful and willing
(although scared and nervous) woman
who had held my fascination
and seized my heart. We began that
tactile meander with shaking hands
as they wandered and we explored one another.
Tender caresses that unharnessed
our sleeping libidos. In the heated throes
of passion, it was an uncharted course.
Navigating by the stars above,
love came home in the shimmer
of a broad bright moon. It felt so right,
just like the first time, every night.
And my hands still quiver from that sight,
the beginning of passion in the bright moonlight.

A GIFT STITCHED AND BOUND

It must be her breeding.
My baby girl was made for reading.
Put a book in her hands
and she’ll have a grand time.
She loves to imagine places,
personalities and faces,
and loves filling the spaces
on her overflowing shelves.
She herself has me figured,
a hard cover gift to bring home
to her poet dad. Not too bad
for one so enamored of books
she found a job in her new Canadian home,
hawking tomes for folks of her mind,
she specializes in hard to find editions,
her position is if she can hold it
in her hand, a book surely can
entertain her. A quick learner,
a page turner. She likes reading.
It must be her breeding.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2019

Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Prompt #474: Gift

DING, DONG, MERRILY I’M HIGH

Imbibed a wee much Christmas cheer,
someone spiked the punch,
the mix within doth stink of gin,
that’s just my hunch.
I truly am inebriated,
I’ve climbed into a tree,
singing bawdy Christmas songs,
Ding-dong merrily, I’m high!
I’ve been bested,
gonna get arrested!”

FIND ROMANCE

Find romance
looking for love in places
those traces of love will dance

Take a chance
those two hearts can beat as one,
ours beat bolder to enhance

completely.
What the world needs now is love.
It will fill your lives sweetly.

Romance lives
in almost hidden spaces.
But, believe the joy it gives.

Look within
to find all that your lives lack,
love gives it back once again.

Love will dance.
It possess the power
to heal hearts . Find romance.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Poetic Form: Treochair

 

PORTRAIT

In the misty shadows, she walks
a specter, a flash of paint in
an obscure painting,
A beauty in memory,
or an imagined smile.
A man could surely fall
for the mystic miss,
a kiss in waiting and fading
fast. Every last encounter
with her could be just that.
Alluring and luring you
to the wind-torn seas,
breezes to gusts and
a bluster of rapid heartbeats,
precious and scary to think
she keeps you on the brink
of your demise. You’d be wise
to walk away and yet you stay.
Love trapped within her portrait,
and Jennie’s been dead for years!

© Walter J Wojtanik, 2019

Movie: “A Portrait of Jennie” – Joseph Cotten and Jennifer Jones

Red Wolf Prompts – Prompt #426: Borrowed Poetry

WHAT A MAN BELIEVES

Three days, he said.
I believe him and I agree.
If I can see the soul through her
longing eyes, then I’d be wise to believe
in that point where we come together;
I find sensuality in the small of her back.

And true, I trust in the smack
of a high hanging curve ball.
It is all that, and the headiness inherent
in good scotch gets me high!
The self-indulgent fiber of the crap
Sontag spews could be used to relieve, I believe!

Don’t ask me about Oswald and the lone-gun theory,
and I’m leery of Astroturf and the designated hitter!
There ought to be a law!
The sweet spot where the ball meets bat,
you gotta love that! Christmas gifts, I believe
are never opened Christmas Eve!

And kisses?
Kisses should be long!
Kisses should be slow!
Deep and wet
and they should last three days!
Three days, he said!
I believe him and I agree!

© Walter J Wojtanik, 2019

 

Inspired by Bull Durham, starring Kevin Costner.

 

THE TWIGLET #116 – LIKE COLD IRON

I’d prefer a red-hot poker,
as opposed to something like cold iron.
I abhor the cold of late,
I hate it if you must know,
and the glow of red-hot has got
great appeal, a real warmth
that escapes me. Much more
of a chill will kill me,
never thrill me as it once did.
I’ve hidden my true feelings
when dealing with the cold.
As I get older, I’d as soon
taste the warmth of love’s sting,
than to stick my tongue
on something like cold iron.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Written for The Twiglets #116 – like cold iron

 

MY DESTINY BRINGS ME

seagulls

I go to the shore to stand in the place where our passions ignited. It was right here, somewhere near midnight with the bright moon exploding in liquid shrapnel upon the lake. My one mistake was not bringing you here sooner. The lunar luminescence made our hearts dance and visions of lips openly pressed in love’s hunger make me long for your shadow to return. Heartache burns singeing my soul, and offering this fire no fuel, yet it smolders.

The gulls take a turn toward the water, leeching their multitudes away to disturb my peaceful solitude. I’ve viewed their escape many times since you’ve passed. I’ve asked them to take me away with them, to free me as well. But they tell me in their raucous refrain, my footsteps are to remain to leave their stain on this place. I am destined to return as long as I remember your face, this place and our fire.

horizons beckon
calling me to remember
your glow of love

 

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2019

Red Wolf Prompts – #423 Ekphrastic Poetry: Seagulls

EARLY BIRD OF WORDS

I wake up early each day.
Some folks say I’ve lost my mind.
“You should sleep in, get your rest”
But mornings are best to rhyme.

I find I rhyme through the night.
I just might even dream in meter,
snore in something iambic.
Schemes don’t always click either.

Writing them down when I wake,
it does take an effort then,
eyes need a chance to adjust.
But it is a must to pen

the lines that are repeating.
They are fleeting, you can bet,
but if I focus, I’m good.
The rest of it I could get

with some determination,
A poet’s station for sure.
It is my word affliction,
my dereliction; no cure.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

For the Poetic Form Awdl Gywydd featured at Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer