Notes falling in cascade, a flow tailor-made for days such as this. Pure bliss in the melody given, driven by nature’s call and all the breath a bird could muster for its swift flight A bird lives to fly. Bringing joy to this nature-boy. © Walter J Wojtanik – 2021 dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille - Swift
HERSCHEL HEARS A WHAT?
An elephant’s loyal one-hundred percent, but a hippopotamus
Not so much, and as such Herschel the Hippo kept
To himself and dreamed of returning to
Israel to plant a tree and wail at the wall.
Some of the other animals knew his
Elephant cousin (who talked to dust), but they never
Minded Herschel. They thought him different.
Instead of welcoming the hippopotamus,
They looked askance at the thick-skinned mammal
Inciting remarks of the cruel and hurtful kind.
Certainly, they knew that a Hebrew Hippo meant no harm.
Regardless of what Mel Gibson spewed
Everyone knew Herschel, though not loyal, was still a
Mensch. It did not matter to Herschel.
After all, he had heard that kind to hate speech before.
Remarkably, he did not go mashuga and rampage,
Killing the anti-Semites. He donned his yarmulke; boarded his flight.
There were five sides to every story,
in a place where glory was the prize earned
through valiant effort and selfless sacrifice.
It would have been nice to face your attackers,
but cowardly slackers destined to fail their main mission
sat in a position to cause as much damage as they could.
Would they have succeeded, we would have pleaded
for mercy. But we don’t play that way. The heroes
in New York and Pennsylvania had back-up
in the Nation’s capitol. On patrol and wresting control
back from the faceless assailant. Our own mission clear.
Do not lead out of fear. Defend out of honor and respect
of those who had given so much for the cause of many.
In any instance, there remains five sides to every story.
In honor and glory, they died for a cause,
earning our undying devotion and endless applause.
PSALM FOR FLIGHT 93: IN VERDANT PASTURES
He gives them repose; a long journey ended
and all who had risen to the occasion knew
their rest was well earned. Not how they would
have wanted, but God never asked them
what they wanted. He gave them what He knew
they could handle. And so, brave and stoic,
extremely heroic they were at peace with
the decision that was made. Honor in their way;
on their terms. A rest well earned
and on that day they learned their limitations.
Strong enough to defend their nation.
In control on the command, “Let’s Roll”.
In verdant pastures, the Shepherd
snatched them up to rest peacefully.
They needed and wanted nothing more.
CONCRETE TOWERS: THE SHADOW OF MEMORY
Late summer in NY. A day like
any other; New Yorkers loved
days such as th ese. The sky
was clear; the air was crisp and
life went on as it usually did.Taxi
cabs jammed in traffic, and some
commuters were too. Pedestrians
on the pavement heading to their
nine-to-5 enslave ment. A sense of
urgency had gone unnoticed but that
was business as it usually was. Men
and Women head ed to work, or to
drop the children off at daycare. Today
is September 11th 2001 and all is right
with the world. The sun rises, casting
the Statue of Liberty in seductive and
glorious silhouette; a shadowed sentinel
set in the harbor to greet all travelers to
the “Land of the Free”. Like those folks on
that inbound jet and others like it. It holds
the hopes and dreams of all aboard, as it does for all below. The airplane’s
shadow is cast ominously across the expanse of concrete, metal and glass;
a close pass to the constructed mountains above. Most unusual on this usual
day. Nothing changes on usual days. Usually, but not today late summer in NY.
REMEMBERING THE TWINS
Tall and proud they stood,
brothers from the same design.
One taller than the other;
he wore his hat to distinguish them.
Side-by-side, they kept watch
over the multitudes with attitudes,
near the harbor, they held no ill will
standing still while liberty had shown the way.
Until that day, their futures bright together,
their fates tied to their function.
But their compunction was well founded
when they were grounded. Encouraging to the last,
until the fast descent caused by one’s great fall.
The other followed shortly, two swept clear.
Ten years older if they were still here.
Tall and proud they stood,
brothers from the same design,
holding lives and dreams for all
concerned in the balance.
Under a valance of dust and rubble
there remains no trouble remembering the twins.
MY SOUL IS LIFTED
Lost in that maze of doubt and uncertainty,
you emerged from the shadow of long ago
to take a hold of my precious words and cling
to them as if they were the most important thing,
most cherished in your mind.
How did you find me here? Why do you raise me up?
How did you bridge this chasm between
thought and word; between heart and mind.
I had become a poet lost in the mire of a dwindling pyre,
left to smolder in the ash heap of emotion.
And yet, you read my words; you devour them,
filling your soul with their beauty, and lifting mine
with your support and encouragement.
My poetic soul has found nourishment in your devotion.
My muse has taken flight as it soars; to the clouds my soul is lifted.
There’s no escaping this life.
Despite the strife that this life will provide,
you can’t hide the fact that
the lives you touch, touch so many others.
You’ll have enough sisters and brothers
to populate this burg, and any urge you have
to roam from your roots will have you
shaking in your boots. You carry home with you,
and it carries you in its heart. When we start
in this life we are required one thing:
bring joy and comfort to your fellow man.
And if you can, you will never falter.
You may go far on dollars and cents,
but your recompense comes from the sense
of community; an eternal unity that is clear
in the end. No man fails who has friends.
Welcome home, George Bailey.
You own this town!
We wait for the wind
the air. Sometimes they struggle to lift off the ground,
and we run dragging them behind us. Stopping
a connection from our common
altitudes that defy