SOULFUL SURF

She beckons,
a seductress in a soft salty hush.
You rush to her embrace,
her spray on your face
and the glint of sunlight
slightly blinding you, yet reminding
you of her allure. You come
to her shore to adore and
worship, cast under her spell
and the swell of tides will not hide
her passion. Waves crashing
and her undertow grips you.
She slips you into her hand
and the sand softens your landing.
You are standing in her wake
and make no mistake,
she controls your soul.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

 

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WHO? WHAT? WHY?

Sir Edmund Hillary had it pegged. I scale my mountain of poetry because it is there. I write poetry because I can. I write poetry because I can’t sing or dance. I had given my voice a chance to entrance and entice others to emotion. I reach into my heart and write how it feels. It is as real as breathing. I am seething with the life force of words.

Who brought me to rhyme is a mystery. My history with words stemmed from a debilitating shyness in my youth. The truth is I would stammer and stutter, but my words seemed to flutter on the page. At that stage, it was my saving grace. I’d never lose face unless my words failed me. From romantic to farce to fantasy, I would fancy expressing my soul with words. Neruda thrilled me. Langston Hughes was my soul. McKuen and Lennon spoke in emotions I could only imagine. They were mentors all.

Sparrow whispers in sweet song
long after nightfall,
Mountain shadows slumbering

 

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

BETWEEN BLACK AND WHITE

Grey shades become a blur, they stir an uneasy feeling as they’re stealing the tonal cohesion, freezing your ear in unsavory ways. It plays on your sense of composition. Your condition does not translate well and you dwell on its sound. You’ve been around these keys enough to know you can throw a klinker here and there. But that is where it rests. Stay sharp and do your best. Roses are red. Love is blue. We all live in a yellow submarine. But shades of grey rule the day as long as I play.

Nature’s symphony
playing across the grey sky.
Dried reeds in the field.

dVerse Poets Pub – Beauty/Misery of Grey Haibun

 

GREY MATTER MATTERS

My cranium, once cavernous, is filled with such minutia, with words that flatter, my grey matter has turned the boldest fuchsia. And life events have taken space reserved for all my musing, I hate when they get in my face, and not through my own choosing. Those grand ideas that haven’t hatched will find a way to haunt me, they all look good on paper, but in action, are just daunting.

Events that hold a special spot, retained through repetition, birthdays, anniversaries, and the lot; to forget one is sedition. My head’s all clogged from writing blogs, my thoughts are one big jumble, if I would speak my mind out loud, I’d probably only mumble. Clarity has flown the coop, my logic’s hard to follow,
I get so flustered I could spit, but you’ll find that hard to swallow.

And TV is a mindless task, I’m not the biggest viewer, I’d put my mind up on e-bay and find me something newer. I think out loud, an endless drone, the humming starts to bug me, I wish that I could find a way, for someone to unplug me.

Grey silhouette stands
against the barren tree branch
thoughts take flight like birds

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018

dVerse Poets Pub – Beauty/Misery of Grey Haibun

CHANGE OF LIFE(STYLE)

I’ve swapped the bottle for a life
more prone to lifting than falling.
It was my calling to change my style,
be less a bear and share love.
And while I smile more, I’m taking
life more seriously. I wrap
myself in the comfort of family
which comes as quite the bargain.
In the end, I live longer knowing
that my weaknesses are showing.
But that’s OK. It just means I’m growing.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018

INFARCTION

It’s been a rough road;
I’m told that’s how the ball bounces.
Life is a strange frenzy,
and in the end we settle

our wayward hearts

to fall in love all over again.
The results are sublime;
to channel life;

a dedicated heart “attack”.

Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille #48 – Bounce (Whimsygizmo)

 

NIGHT SHADOWS FALL COLDLY

Night falls upon the lowly, as bright lights fade and shadows creep right before they slumber. Slowly, they fight their weary eyes to sleep and morning sits in vigil, silent; still. Winter’s moon and stars align at will, warning midnight sprites upon the hill that soon their lights will die, become nil.

Day will pass in its allotted time, while hay made as the sun shines, lingers. May the world know night’s toils in this rhyme, saying all that a heart desires. Fingers curl to grasp the cold and darkened shroud, frost descends to cover lovers avowed. Hurl the pall so all can call out loud, kissed by winter’s shadow so endowed.

moon set horizon
vanishes as mourning comes
night’s death brings on day

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

dVerse Poets Pub – Habun Monday: Winter Moon (Fuyu No Tsuki)

I BELIEVE. YOU?

I believe that rain will fill the clouds
and will fall to make everything look new.
I believe that flowers will grow
because that rain came to nourish their thirst,
I believe in the promise of every new day
and the way my heart starts with the sunrise.
I believe in the darkest night and the brilliant
show of a candle’s warm glow,
I believe in everyone who becomes lost
will find their own right way someday.
I believe in the power of lighting,
it is not so frightening if you respect it.
and it is reflected in the power of love.
I believe in the strength of a baby’s laugh
and it is true I believe you and in you.
I believe in the magnitude of the smallest prayer
and that it is heard somewhere out there,
I believe that He who always was and will be
will see and hear it through a thought, or a sigh,
or a whisper of sheer hopelessness.
I guess I believe in everything
there is to believe in for that’s where I begin.
I believe. You?

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides – Prompt #415 – I BelieveYou

Offered at dVerse Poets Pub – OLN #206

 

APPLE CIDER

Aromatic and sweet,
Purely a treat when
Pumpkins are prevalent.
Liquid love in abundance
Every sip makes taste buds dance.

Crushed and filtered,
In quarts or gallons,
Doughnuts come in tandem
Even apple pies will suffice,
Respite ripe for the pickin’.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: The Smell of Chrysanthemums