My heart envisions what my eyes refuse to see. ~Poet Walter J Wojtanik
“Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try!”
~ Jedi Master Yoda
Futile attempts are
when success comes not!
Become we do, what wish we,
but loss, arise it does, when
achievement flat on its face falls!
Satisfied be not, when accomplished
nothing is. Try not! Do
or do not. There is no try!
(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020
She has spread her cheer every year
for twenty-seven. Pure heaven with
her heavily dimpled smile.
One of the sunshines of my life
and she, the sunflower of same.
Her name is Andrea, and her bloom
brightens every garden
she sees fit to visit.
(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020
I was born the third child on the third day, the third Walter in the line of familial redundancy. Not a junior, not a numeral, and after my father’s funeral, the last Walter standing. No three-star General commanding multitudes of minions. Just a man with a penchant for poetry, be they tercets or haiku, I am true to the test of three.
A third birthday was ushered in by the death of three, rocking my world at an early age. Holly, Valens and Richardson – mother’s sons all, taking the fall in a stormy Iowa sky. I don’t remember if I cried, but the music died all the same. Later the same year we saw the first of three Walter’s perish and a cherished name was diminished by one, survived by two “sons”. Three seems to be my number, lucky or not, but it’s gotten me this far in the line of three.
The trinity guides
and provides me a purpose,
three steps onward
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2020
Thoughts keep rattling in my brain
in a flow of unconsciousness kind of way.
I feel the schnook, with page after page
of irrelevant rhyme padding my pyre.
Words flee in an escape toward clear through,
breaking the block that every writer fears
from time to time. It keeps me sane,
(at least for show) and I look for the window
that offers a way out. I can’t see how holding me
here serves a purpose. It mocks me.
What I gain in solitude, I lose when I throw
it out the gape, neither rook nor pawn,
just a tool to be worn and discarded.
Yet, poems are key to my survival.
And my muse is on the clock!
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2020
“And each one there has one thing shared;
They have sweated beneath the same sun,
Look up in wonder at the same moon,
And wept when it was all done,
For being done too soon.”~ Neil Diamond
We’re here for the briefest of eternities.
And as we see, every one of us
has the same life to share.
The sun shines on us all, warming our souls
and brightening our existence.
With persistence, we seek the lunar light at night
knowing soon that a new morning awaits
those of us who choose to embrace it.
Choosing to ignore our sisters and brothers
to seek another agenda, we’ll suffer the pangs
of our own misguided ignorance.
In deference to a shared unity, we shall
yearn for that sense of community that glows
within each of us for the short time we abide
upon this earth. But no bright sun,
nor any gilded moon remains eternal.
It is our infernal reality that we will all
expire before they do. We’ll not see it through.
We will all be done too soon!
(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020
POETIC BLOOMINGS – COVID-19 PAD – Day 22: Song Lyric Epigraph
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!
Barefoot on a soft meadow tract,
grass green as seen by eyes
blue as the skies. You, a breath of wind
to soothe me. My heart be still to find the thrill
unlike any seen, so true.
Grass green, sky blue; me and you.
(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020
1.
She makes time
for the time she has,
should she run out
she’ll wind herself up,
minute by minute!
2.
How many faces can she see?
How much time will she need?
It isn’t continuum greed!
The lady loves clocks.
They knock her socks off!
3.
Digital is all I command.
I can’t stand analog any longer.
The time is stronger in the dark.
4.
Three in the bedroom,
five in the kitchen,
three in the living room,
and my daughter’s room,
and the computer room.
The bathroom has one
in the shape of a toilet seat.
A shower gift from an aunt.
She doesn’t have the heart
to part with it!
5.
Her internal clock
keeps me awake at night.
Right when I think
I’m on the brink of slumber,
she wakes up alarmed.
I sleep with one eye open.
I know it’s coming!
6.
Does anybody really know what time it is?
Does anybody really care?
~ Chicago
She cares about time.
Rarely ever late.
Great at punctuality.
Even with the fragility of life,
my wife is rarely late.
But, one day we will all be!
7.
Every hour on the hour,
our hours are ours.
Every waking minute
I’m taking stock in our
continuous clock.
Tick-Tock,
tick-tock,
tick
8.
Time is fleeting,
it is eating away our days.
If it stays in sync
I think we’ll be okay!
9.
Passing the time
in her company,
I’m finding my peace
in every numbered face I see.
Is it me or is number seventeen
running a bit slow?
10.
I make time
for the time she has,
should she run out
I’ll fall apart,
minute by minute!
There’s no disgrace
in losing face!
(C) Walter J Wojtanik
A vacant nest,
the birds have flown,
on their quest
with nests of their own.
Seeing the world
with wonder and awe,
two headstrong girls
with nary a flaw.
Building their lives,
with plans for the best,
good loving wives,
a vacant nest.
(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020
My heart envisions what my eyes refuse to see. ~Poet Walter J Wojtanik
A Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild Site
"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." William Wordsworth
A.I. Art and Poetry
Poetry and More
Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul
Linda L. Kruschke's Blog
From my muse to your eyes.
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 
so walk as brisk as you’d like
go on, take a hike