PIEBUN (A Pie Haibun)

Here’s the thing! If you’re kept away, or worse yet having a bad day, it’s easy to say that there is a great way to ease your soul. You need to take control, take a stroll down to the nearest coffee knoll and name your poison. Spy to see what catches your eye.

Give in to the urge, and be that guy that takes his leave from “something” pie! Comfort food the way mom made it, never a need to go and berate it, for a good piece of pie will keep me sedated! It would be well worth the wait to give my karma an instant hit; as I savor every bite I’ve bit, a la mode, for the hell of it. I’ll be in nirvana (or just South of it).

The wonders of pie will never cease. Apple or cherry gives me release. From the glass rotisserie, it will tease but that’s really how pie is. So give me some please.

Foisted with whipped cream,
pie looks great and gives me peace.
So, just leave the plate!

© Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday: Yummy!

THE RIVER RUNS

And it goes on and on, oh, watching the river run,
Further and further from things that we’ve done,
Leaving them one by one.
And we have just begun watching the river run.
Listening and learning and yearning.
Run, river, run.

~ “Watching the River Run” –  Lyric by Kenny Loggins

Life is a river.
Cut into the world
swirled through valley
and dale; pastures
and disasters; ever-flowing.
Going along between the banks,
charted. Finding a fissure,
it branches and chances
to break free, new adventures
to explore. Going on and on.
Leaving our past on a fast
current; leaving memories
in our wake. Forsaking all else,
Watch how it goes.
Watch how it flows. Listening
and yearning to learn all we can.
Life goes on
Run, river, run!

© Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: The River

 

OUT IN FRONT

Out in front
there’s a rickety porch,
rough hewn timbers with tree bark
still clinging to their fibrous skeletons.
Rocking chairs and a stump table;
shavings from a whittled branch
strewn about the weathered floor boards.

Out in front
there’s a tree; tall and stately,
a monument to the longevity apparent
since it was planted, a feeble sapling
much like himself – thin, gangly and weak.
It speaks of perseverance and dedication –
fulfilling its station to mark time and grow.

Out in front
near the tree, there’s a lake…
a pond, really. Reeds and lily pads
defining its edge. Sounds of crickets and croaks
of bullfrogs, cicada whines reverberate in the late
afternoon. Soon their sounds will be silenced
as the seasonal change lumbers into the valley.

Out in front
is a tire dangling, a rope looped over a branch
of the stately tree. Dirt dug out, a furrow where feet
dragging and kicking kept sticking the ground
with a new found ferocity. Gaining in height and velocity,
the children take turns launching, airborne to land
in a heap with a thud; sometimes blood appears, the poor dears.

Out in front
a wagon waits; flatbed secured, a hitch holding tightly.
On a brightly hued morning, and without much in the way
of a warning, grandfather had passed. The town folk amassed
in respect; paying forward what had come around on occasion.
Sadly in procession, he was carried from the house – a finality.
Placed upon the caisson, a solemn silence ensued.

Out in front
the porch remained; rockers swaying in the stiffness of a late breeze.
Birds nested in the tree and the pond continued with activity
and the sounds of life. No one sat on the pendulous tire as it
swung hypnotic. The front door was ajar, but it was in exit,
not as an invitation to enter. Out in back the fields had grown
unruly and left to sit fallow. But, out in front a good fellow has gone.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

Offered at dVerse Poets Pub – MTB: Impressionism

THE COMET

The Comet
Photo by M. Cusimano

For obvious reasons, it was called “The Comet”
since riding on her would cause you to vomit.
A high-rolling streak of yellow and green
would make you take notice when it was seen.
A wooden behemoth, one of the last of her kind,
this old roller coaster was my very “first time”.
On the Lake Erie shoreline of Crystal Beach Park
in Ontario, Canada. I rode on a lark.
A field trip from school had provided the occasion
that brought our young group to this Canadian station.
I eyed her from a distance, she held no allure,
she beckoned me softly, that son-of-a-cur.
But I just wasn’t biting, I don’t roller coast,
if I even got on her, I’d surely be toast.
I had that thing beat I was filled with elation,
I was proudly avoiding a bad situation.

Enter the girl. Her name was Terry.
She didn’t think coasters were the least bit scary.
She glanced to the top of this treacherous slide
then looking my way she asked, “Go for a ride?”
My plan had been thwarted, I started to panic,
I’d have much better luck going down on Titanic.
But, machismo kicked in and it said without shrinking
“Sure”, as my brain screamed “What the HELL are you thinking?”
So we stood in the line for the cars to come ’round,
(or we stood in the queue, if you’re true to the “Crown”)
And often she’d smile every time she would glance
while I stood there quietly crapping my pants.
We boarded the car, strapped the belt, crashed the bar,
as the pulley grabbed hold of the very first car.
Clack, Clack, Clack, Clack, the Comet did rattle,
we were just half way up, this was purely a battle.
Chuck, Chuck, Chuck, Chuck, she came to a stop,
Perched ever proudly at the very tip-top.

And then it happened. The pulley released.
(This was the part that I liked in the least.)
With her arms in the air, Terry gave out a scream,
which was just louder than mine (if you know what I mean).
It looped and it turned as it made a few passes.
And at the top of the next drop, I lost my glasses.
My mother would kill me, and besides, I can’t see.
And she was having the best time there could be.
I almost lost lunch as I tightened the strap,
and by some crazy miracle, the specs dropped in my lap.
The ride came to an end and Screaming Terry turned meek,
and she leaned up and planted a kiss on my cheek.
But just as it seemed I had made a new friend,
she said, “That was fun, let’s go do it again”.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Amuse me! Take me for a ride!

SWEET AND SLOW

The day that spring
appears we’ll cheer
and revel in celebration.
The days pass, slow not fast,
each in question. Any mention
of freezing leaves me
cold. These are the waitings
we are partaking. There’s no
mistaking, spring is taking
it’s sweet old time!

© Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille #28 : Spring

BE – AN EPIPHANY

The lesson becomes this. You learn by living. And you hope you’re allowed to apply all of these lessons before your living ends. The nest is vacated as of late, not quite empty but that’s just semantics. The girls have ostensibly evacuated, leaving my wife and me to “fend for ourselves”. We do OK. I cook. She cleans. I repair and remodel. She washes and gardens. I nocturnally smash my head into furniture; she resumes a battle against her dreadful afflictions. But, we do OK. The battles used to be shared. We were mutual combatants in a strained union, dancing precariously on the precipice of a bottomless free-fall. Somehow, the feet always seemed to avoid that finality. You come to be a student of your own mistakes, taking what you can salvage and leaving the unnecessary flotsam for the plankton. The fate has been tickled and in the thick of it, remains our sanity. So we chose to dance; to cling to a life for the prescribed better or worse and try to nurse this wounded beast back to health (or some semblance thereof!) We had gotten into the habit of letting life slip by. But, our new discoveries dictate that if you do that long enough, you die without living (learning the lessons). That needed to be remedied. After all, I repair and remodel, so fixing covers it.

The truth lies in this lesson: love, deserved respect, and forgiveness all seem to be equally important. These make a life well lived. I had lost sight of the importance of the life I had been given. I tried to strive for “poetic perfection”, bucking the system; thinking myself above the “flock”. I went on this journey to find a “higher plane”, without realizing “I had already arrived”. The time wasted trying to honor and glorify my abilities, skewed my sense of priority; it almost destroyed me. I became what I had always been, a small grain of sand on a vast lake shore, a speck in the early evening sky.

My wife and I had come to find something we had lost or forgotten a while back: love, respect and forgiveness. And in the tenderness and embrace of this moment, I fell in love with my wife all over again! And the lesson becomes this. You learn by living. And you hope you’re allowed to apply all of these lessons before your living ends. Whatever happens in this life, that moment belongs to us.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

Offered at dVerse Poets Pub – MTB: Prose Poetry

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

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