LOST WORDS: POETS IN PASSING

I’ve spent a lot of time getting lost in words.
My words; the words of others. The sisters
and brothers of poetic thought who ought to be
feted. I am elated to have known you all.
Words find a way to fall onto the page,
sometimes on deaf ears and it is here
I have come to know them. I consider it
verbal violence when words are silenced.

Andrea Heiberg, your voice was a choice
I made an effort to hear, for it was here
I came to know you. Our paths crossed,
once in vile vitriol, but I had come to know
the soul that you had nurtured, a cultured
reach to beseech me to listen to every
glistening word, some of the best I had heard.
I think of you often, and I miss your words.

Vivienne Blake, you found a way to make
poetry seem like a beautiful waltz, a dance
that would entrance and soothe, with each
glorious word you’d use as a testimony of life
lived well & to the fullest. You were the best
at encouraging words to flow and allow us
to know the courage of your own words.
I think of you often, and I miss your words.

Dyson McIllwain, you verbose Scot,
you were not a flash in the pan.
Your words still stand as a testament,
meant to grace our hearts and souls.
Poetic thoughts united us, it invited us
to share the beauty of words with the
world and this world of words with others.
I think of you often, and I miss your words.

Today, I find Salvatore Buttaci has joined
his Father and Mother all in the embrace
of the Father who loved him, as Salvatore
loved his Blessed Father. His words expressed
in complete reverence, words of love
for his beloved Sharon, his cherished family,
his students of life who held to his wisdom.
I think of him now, and I miss his words.

I am at a loss. A loss of kindred hearts,
a loss of conjoined souls. You have all left
many holes that can never fully be filled.
I have been thrilled to have held you dear.
My words fail of late and the fate of them
hangs in the balance. This valance of life
hangs as well. My eyes swell with tears.
I miss you all. I am at a loss for words.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

 

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MONTY, MONTY, MONTY

You stand out in the crowd,
a turnip waiting for your turn
to earn the largess of life.
You start out with a good wife,
extraordinary daughters,
and a position you’d love the chance
to trade for what’s behind
door number two.
It’s you and the wheeler dealer.

You have one shot at this,
so make your choices wisely.
Things sail along smoothly,
but then one morning
you are rudely interrupted
with an abrupt life alteration.
Your station is untenable,
it renders you a lesser version
in this life’s excursion.

So here’s the offer.
You can have money in your pocket
and keep your current life
with all your issues
or you can exchange it for more
than what you’re able to bargain.
It’s selling your soul for
a Cuisinart and a new car.
You realized you’re better off by far.

Life is no game show,
and not a reality show.
There is no show at all,
just reality. And with all its banality,
it is the best prize
one can strive to acquire.
Just keep what you have and be glad.
This is the best you will feel.
Let’s not make a deal.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

Poetic Asides April P.A.D. Challenge – Day 10 – Deal/No Deal

CASE FILE: X-52

My rocket propels me;
speed of light excursions
into the darkness of deep space.
It is silent, serene and no one
can hear me scream.
My days blur into each other
and it effects my equilibrium.
A floating trash compactor
in the expanse of endless nothingness.
Major Tom has found his way home,
and ground control has shut down
leaving me to be the clown staying
weightless in a prolonged environment!
In spite of my woes: Case Closed!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day 4: CASE _____

 

A CASE OF ESCAPING JOY

Distant hearts do not grow fond of distance,
and our ability to embrace that joy
seems to slip from your hands as if those charms
become like road markers in your distorted side view
mirrors. Trying to milk human kindness
from the swollen teat of reality gets harder
as the lactate begins to dry up.
Joy seems so overrated in that moment
of ill-decision. Removing yourself
does not render a solution, yet
you walk away anyway. Maybe someday
you will come to know joy and rejoice,
even if it doesn’t smack you upside the head.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day 4: CASE______

THE CASE OF RELATIVE INSUFFICIENCY

The family is getting smaller, our numbers decrease.
Some because some had become deceased,
due to old age or other unrelated disease.
The kids have moved away and they stay in touch
but their absence is telling. It has me dwelling
on memories that bring a smile and a tear
and I sit here wondering when they had gotten older.
It gets a bit colder when I think about it.
I doubt it will ever be that warm again.
But then again, nothing lasts forever
except for unfortunate grudges that nudge at
your sensibilities. Neither side budges
and the chasm grows wider. Inside you
there’s a little bit of everyone who had gone
before us. It was for us that they existed
and persisted until Brother Death came to call.
We all fall down that abyss but sustain
that bit of brain that keep the family close.
A heavy dose of reality tells me we are all fated
to be ‘late-greated”, but until we are, I keep
the family that remains from getting very far.
It all starts in the heart.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

Poetic Asides April Poem-a-Day Challenge – Day 4: Case______

LOST IN A BLOOD RED SKY

The sun sets slowly,
growing in intensity and brilliance.
A waltz, a dance with the shoreline,
I find myself where the sky turns bolder.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come
to appreciate the gradations
from golden to molten,
to auburn to full burn.
To red sky at night,
this word sailor delights
in the sight of a blood red sky.

© Walter J Wojtanik

Poems of Garden Gnomes – April Poetry Month – Day 2

SLEEPING BEAUTY IN FLANNEL

 

There she sleeps,
all grace & charm at rest.

I watch the rise & fall of her chest
breathing in peace; a sedate rate
at best. Snugged up, blanket to chin,
holding within all the love
that she keep boiling as she sleeps.

The day’s toil sent lumbering
as she lays slumbering deeply
in dreams.

A hint of a smile
graces her face; a pleasant R.E.M.
moment that fades as swiftly.
Softly she snores (it is for sure
that she does) because of the
blockage that plagues her.

A murmur.

The coo of a dove.

I love it when she peeks for an instant
checking to reassure that I’m still near her.
I hear her breathing change again
as she is sure she has been heard.

My gentle kiss does not awaken her,
it has taken her to another dream.

It seems a given as there she sleeps.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018

FIRST MOVEMENT: PASSION OF COMPOSITION

“Life is like music; it must be composed by ear, feeling and instinct, not by rule”. ~ Samuel Butler

Throw the handbook out the window,
it serves no good purpose. No rule can dictate
what lies buried deeply within. The symphony
of existence becomes a cacophony
of a metered and melodic meander
through the movements we affect;
a direct and didactic work of art.
No instinct can be denied, for inside
lies the masterwork of The Maestro,
every note ingrained and paced only
by a loving heart and a feeling soul.
The music of life plays sweetly
touching the strings that bind us together.
You can feel the passion swell,
there is no mistaking its melody.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

“Meter” Poem

IN THE SHADOW OF THE MOON AN ANGEL TREADS

She walks in beauty, like the night,
dark and sultry, mysterious.
She is a curious blend of strength
and gentility with the ability
to melt my heart and soothe
a tired and battered soul.
With each metered step,
she treads in beauty, like the night.

She walks in symphony, like a song,
long and lilting, lifting spirits.
She is melodic as I hear it;
tempo and meter will not
defeat her confidence;
A sensuous affluence,
with each metered step,
she treads in symphony, like a song.

She walks in love. Like an angel,
she is ethereal and blessed.
She is an amorous heart
who will start to spark a lonely heart
with a beauty that exudes
a lyrical whisper laced with affection.
With each metered step,
she treads in beauty; in symphony; in love.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

“Meter” Poem