DIDYMUS

Seeing is believing,
and yet looks can be deceiving.
You can have your questions,
but it is laid out there for you to accept.
Except, you’re from Missouri
and you’re in a hurry to be shown.
You can demand proof and appear
aloof and arrogant. Some believe
although they have not seen.
You can have your doubts,
but without faith, you have nothing.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

“Faith” Poem

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WHEN I CARRY YOU

When your burden is heavy,
place them in my hands and continue your journey.

When your mind is troubled,
hand them to me and be comforted by clarity.

When your challenges are oppressive,
give me the chance to handle them. Be at peace.

When your heart is breaking,
remember I hold the capacity for eternal love.

When your eyes are unseeing,
know that my hand is outstretched to guide you.

When your confidence wanes and doubt resides,
be grateful my hands will wash yours, strengthening them.

When life seems arduous,
rest in my hands, and I will carry you.

When I carry you,
you will be loved.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge – Day 23: WHEN_____

ANGEL VOICES AT DAWNING

I hear it gently,
and I mentally
take note of the lilting song.
Angel voices sing
the soundtrack of Spring.
Their chorus is loud and strong.

Morning brings their sound,
and it is around
dawn’s first light that I hear it.
A poet’s heart sees
the living beauty
within euphonic spirit.

I begin each day
the exact same way.
I am thankful for this gift.
My whispered prayer
rises through the air;
as their harmonies uplift.

 

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Presented at dVerse Poets Pub – Meeting The Bar: Alouette

HAVE YOU NO EYES?

The soul has no windows,
as far as I can see.
But the truth has a heart,
and getting to the heart of the truth
takes a lot of belief
and a bit of faith.
Your ears will hear
what your eyes will not receive.
Do not trust your eyes,
for you realize that the soul
of a person rests in the eyes of truth.
Why didn’t I see that before?

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Poets Pub 5th Anniversary Day 5: Beliefs

DREAM IT, DO IT

“Have faith in dreams and they will come to fruition.”

~Hannah Gosselin

Dream, for dreams provide the visions of tomorrow.
Borrow your nightly thoughts and ideas and see
where you can go fueled by their fire.
They desire to take flight through the night,
second star on the right and straight on until morning.

Then when you’ve awakened and taken all you can
from your midnight imaginings, let them take wing,
for flight was once a fantasy turned to reality.
Life’s banality will flourish into all your dreams
can become. If you can dream it, by all mean…do it!

 

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015

 

Also from a quotation attributed to Walt Disney –

“If you can dream it, you can do it!”

THIS MOMENT

This is the day the Lord has made,
and in it, He has given a voice to our wondering,
and a choice to find happiness or wander
aimlessly and without much purpose.

But, this moment… this right now
is meant to be cherished and embraced
a happy place where love lives without
barriers. The scarier scenario places us

into spaces we think are beyond our scope.
But against all hope we know that we are given
all than we can handle… He gives us the
candle to light our way, today and everyday.

No moment is greater that the one we’re in.
It would be a sin to waste it on past indiscretions.
Through the intercession of Love we find our happiness.
Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

 

Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge Day 12 – Happiest Moment/ Saddest Moment

TIMEPIECE

“Tarnished and dented; a bauble from a bygone day”

Tarnished and dented; a bauble of a bygone day.
In a wooden cigar box; keepsakes both, with
little more function than that. The stem fused
to the casing, the workings have retired. But,

it has inspired me to find the link. The contents
of the box play like a road map; clues to unravel
the mystery that is my history. The key, worn and
encrusted with years of dirt and oils from feeble fingers.

It lingers in my hand for a moment, its uncertainty secured.
Papers, folded and bound with a frail rubber band
line the bottom of the box. A visa document,
possibly a first issue wrapped in a tissue to protect

what it meant to an old Polish immigrant determined
to become all that America had to offer. Naturalization
documents, meant to pronounce his acceptance
of a lifestyle long sought, and their acceptance of him

as one of the free and brave. The camera buried amongst
the treasures, bellows cracked and torn, a forlorn
instrument with which a part of his life had been preserved.
It all deserved a better fate, but it is too late to shed

a single tear from your eyes for its demise. The puzzle
is splayed before you, the detective of your past.
A torn swatch of a fabric, hues faded but shades
of blue and red and white pressed between pages.

Finally, one last piece remains. A photograph.
a dark and handsome young man; heavy jacket and
a fedora pulled down across the brow. Intermingled
with other similar folk unconcerned for their purpose.

But the subject stands tall. Proud. Posed to save
this moment in memory, and upon this daguerreotype
for long after. In the background, Lady Liberty stands strong.
In his hand an American flag clutched to his chest.

A chain from buttonhole to vest pockets and a key as a fob,
a cinch to keep his pride from bursting. It insinuates
the only part missing was the watch that sat tucked
close to his left hand. A trinket; a remembrance

of the father he had left behind in Igolomia, Poland
to claim his dream. It remains strong in your own heart
as the box that holds your Great-Grandfather’s declaration secure.
You are sure the timepiece marked his life as well as your own.

 

Presented at dVerse Poets Pub – OLN Week #104

LIGHT FROM A DISTANT SHORE

She sets herself; a life raft for wayward
sailors navigating life on a tumultuous sea.
Her beacon shines brightly,
a nightly sweep with eyes searching
and a smile that provides great light.
Lost souls find comfort there.
Every heart beats more sure;
no hazard is too great to bear.

Far and away she stands,
a gentle lady of a kind and nurturing soul.
Her goal remains within reach,
nature’s friend and confidant.
A mother’s caress never so sweet,
nor guiding hand so tender,
making a mental effort to present
her precious gift; melancholy’s true mender.

For she becomes the friend in which you place your trust,
the “embrace” in which you find comfort.
She is a beautiful soul,
a manifestation of every good thing.
She brings her smile to soothe your heart
and you start to believe in all of her charm;
a shield protecting and projecting
is the sanctuary disguised as her arms.

Secure in the shadows
miles from your eyes, you are wise
to rely on her heart being your rudder.
For the heavens give her direction
and her faith gives her solace.
Her face, an angel’s desire
and the smile she burns throughout,
with love’s unquenchable fire.

© 2012 – Walt Wojtanik

WISDOM FROM BEYOND

Our old house,
empty then after Dad’s passing.
We were on a quest to get the place
ship-shape before its much put off disposal.
A brother still in residence,
an upper apartment meant to hold him over
between divorce and reconciliation (both came),
with everything including faulty kitchen drain
(which in illness Dad never got around to mending).
I became the pretending plumber; my brother,
an apprentice, snaking the pipe every which way but clear,
when I hear “under the stairs!”. My brother fully unaware
as I stare incredulously at his claim of silence.
“I heard you say ‘under the stairs’” I insisted,
but he resisted the notion with negative nods.
Mere moments brought a familiar sound,
“Under the stairs” it would resound, catching me
off guard and slightly perturbed. It disturbed me more
when my brother was sure he hadn’t uttered a word.
My faculties were not on Spring Break, my wits
were full about me. I was left thinking “Had I been drinking?”
But I would swear on a stack of pancakes
that what had me quaking in my shoes was more
of “Boo’s” than booze. “Under the stairs” once again.
I shout, “WHAT! WHAT”S UNDER THE STAIRS?”
Surely, a younger sibling witnessing the dismantling
of his older brother’s rocker would be more concerned.
But he yearned for the ‘project’ to be over.
I descend the ladder and end up under the stairs
amidst the cobwebs and dust balls there.
All these years since, I no longer wince
at the sound of my Father’s voice directing me,
his heavy metal plumbers snake wedged under the riser.
A wiser man would have snikcered at my flicker
of insanity. But all of humanity would crave for
that sound one last time to etch firmly in mind.
My Father continues to keep watch;
me still listening for the wisdom in his whisper.