Find a secluded spot
near the lake,
under the tree,
and I’ll see you
there soon. There is
a full moon, for night
has fallen deep and I
am asleep dreaming
of your face
and that place,
and our race through
the long, cold night.
Right there, spread
your comfort and count
the seconds until my
arrival. It is for
survival that I seek.
I speak from the heart.
We’ve started this flame
and if it’s all the same to you,
I will fan your fire,
stoke your desire
and we will burn unbridled.
I have sidled up to you
and I see you leaning towards me.
Full and fine and fated,
you have waited for me
and this night to begin.
And it is indeed what I need.
Paradise and a nice night
right where your light shines
brightest. Who’d have guessed
that we’d be so blessed in Utopia?
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
He stood on the front porch with morning as a new promise.
The mist of dew’s bated breath hung above the grass
as sips of his molten brew stimulated his heart.
This was the part that took the most out of him,
for he knew the feeling that was vacant
could not be replenished or filled easily.
Looking out, he saw the tendrils of light lifting
over the distant ridge, a bridge between dreams
and heartbreak – and he aches a little with each
rise of his chest. He was a mess, and he knew it.
If he could eschew these thoughts he would,
but he also knew it would do no good.
The brilliance of the emerging sun possessed him
as much as her bright light held his passion.
It would eventually come crashing down around him
and yet, the memory of that flame fortified
the fire that burned dimly in his heart.
It was a start.
The birds were awakening, and there was no mistaking
their song. It was a strong prelude on this multi-hued
morn. It was born of love and hope, and he could cope
with whatever the day wrought. It ought to be good.
He would sip again and savor the flavor of lips
once pressed against this same cup, an interruption
most welcomed and desired. Again it stoked the fire.
A deep breath filled his lungs and he held it in,
remembering the scent of her as the same fresh
and exhilarating sniff. It was as if she was standing there
against his scarred shoulder, drawing her strength
from his worn and tired physique. But his psyche
needed mending because it was sending these signals
of glad sadness. An unbalanced madness festered
in love and disdain, an old refrain they had reconciled
years earlier. And in it, he just got more assured.
It was pure, these feelings, melancholy as they were,
for it was her who saved him. It was her whim that
resurrected him; it protected him in ways he thought
no one ever could or would. But she did.
She hid it well, much the same as the rabbits that pocked
the field across the way when they came out to play.
Their furry tenderness blended in well to stave off this hell
that festered and pestered his heart. She loved their
timidity and guarded adventurism, they explored
the way her heart had searched for its mate.
Guarded and tentative, a preventative to heartache
and breakage. She had staked everything by offering
her smiles and womanly wiles to his dark and brooding
moods. She became the sunshine that bathed his face
and lifted his spirits, and her voice as he’d hear it
in the trill of the sparrows at play. It was her day.
Valentine’s Day. A day when distant hearts reconnect
and reflect on lasting connections offered in breaths and sighs,
sunlit skies. Birds heard in the songs that lived within.
That silly grin when the bunnies leapt and danced,
and she had pranced through his life unabashed
and confident. She knew what it meant to be loved.
Cup nearly drained and a faint sound approaching
encroaching on this solitude, but not intruding.
He heard the door’s creaking yawn and his eyes were drawn
on the vision that graced him. Her face was angelic,
her hair thick and disheveled and a devilish look in her eye.
She offered another shot from the bottom of the pot;
a new cup with a bright red heart right below where
his lips kissed. In the morning mist they were complete.
She had re-awakened to his new day. He had nothing left to say
but a deep “good morning” and he watched her yawning arms
stretch to hug the world. This girl never strayed. She stayed.
Reminders notwithstanding, she had been quietly demanding
his attention, not to mention his love, for above all else, he did.
He loved her more each day. And today was her day: Valentine’s Day.
It’s been a rough road,
but I’ve been told that’s how the ball bounces.
Every ounce of life is a strange frenzy,
and in the end we settle our wayward hearts
and start falling in love all over again.
The results are sublime; a robust chance
to channel life in a dedicated “heart attack”.
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012
Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #67
Patiently she waits.
She knows I planned on going out;
I do every year. And it is here
that she waits. Her eyes still
twinkle after all this time
and I’m sure her smile will await me,
when I’m done globe trotting.
It’s not suspicion that keeps her
planted by the hearth; where else on earth
would she rather be? It keeps her as warm
as a big cozy hug, toasting her frigid toes
and melting her heart for my return.
The logs burn, and I yearn for my traveling
to cease and desist this all night party.
This North Pole girl is hearty; she loves the cold
and this Jolly Old Man, doing all she can
to keep me in this Christmas game.
She’s my missus; she call me Mr. “C”.
But to me, she gives my heart pause.
And it’s all because…I am Santa Claus.
Monday comes along, rainy.
Gloomy and overcast and all past
indiscretions overwhelm. At the helm
of the mastship, safely docked
in the harbor secure and warm, nestled.
Settled in from a long night’s journey
and yearning for a good and proper
good morning. No storm warning
is signaled, for danger does not prevail.
I set sail in your tranquil waters,
making my own waves come alive.
Passions churning, turning for port
time and again. Wrapped in the comfort
of a loving shore. The more the ship rocks
the more at peace we become.
The hum of the waters lapping,
the white caps rolling, rolling.
The wave crests. The ship finally rests.
Safe in the love of a good and gentle
woman, our day begins. Monday comes
along, rainy. Gloomy and overcast but
it does not cast a pall on the morning.
Loving each morning; every good morning.
No need for warning; the days begin.
Snuggled, huddled close,
Existing for this moment.
In an instance, the insistence
of my heart becomes
the only motivation I need.
It is indeed, and you are close
and wanted. Pulling you closer
still, my will takes over,
and desire is the fire that
smolders, but never burns.
My lips yearn for your flavor,
my eyes for your vision.
There is no division of a love shared.
My hand in your hair and soft caresses
brings your face thisclose and most
of our time is taken up in the moment.
It takes us, and surrounds us.
It becomes us and seasons us.
It devours our passion and regurgitates
even more passion. All consuming and
fulfilling. From moment to moment.
Until the next moment arrives.
A principle was attacked amidst
tears and destruction; a surreal snapshot
of a day worth forgetting. But no one did.
How do you forget the sight; the sound?
How do you forget the faces; the screams?
How do you diminish the sacrifice?
The word ‘impossible’ was tailor made
for this moment in time. Despair and
disbelief would be usurped by anger
and determination to not allow those who
put it all on the line, go quietly into that good night.
It became a fight to rise each day to face
the insurmountable task one brick at a time.
As many bricks as there were tears shed.
As many shards of glass as there were screams
of torment and terror. But the greatest error
made by a faceless ideology was assuming
we were broken and defeated. But the foresight
of three brothers of the fraternity most depleted
showed we were not defeated. Through the rubble
it stood in defiance. A naked flagpole planted
among the girders and debris. A symbol; our banner
raised high. A declaration loud and clear.
We are still here. We will not go gently.
Together we stand, a shield for liberty.
You took your shot and failed. An American Tale…
and the flag was still there! America had been blessed.
Lest we forget…
Many lives lost, affected and changed,
our perspectives forever askew, rearranged.
Our concern for humanity given new light,
ten years in the making, and it’s still not right.
Sacrifices made by the selfless and compassionate;
the brave and we’re still helpless.
Never to be far from our hearts and heads.
Buried within our souls instead,
explosive fire, never silenced,
thousand cries of anguish, never silenced.
One massive blaze unquenched, never silenced,
it still remains to burn in our common psyche all the same.
The eternal flame. Lest we forget.
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.