FOREVER IMPERFECT AND UNCONDITIONAL

Traversing life, a path long and twisting.
Pitfalls and elevations filled with elation
and sorrow; each tomorrow unfulfilled
has not yet been given to bear.

It is there that the seed is planted. Sometimes
greed and selfishness become the power
that drives hearts and imparts the anguish
that becomes inevitable. A banquet table gone to waste

with nary a taste of life’s finest treasures.
Pleasures come with their share of pain
that burrows deeply, furrowing brows
and disavowing all promises once declared.

Forever becomes ‘right now’ and futures
are only nurtured in the last breath that is drawn.
Love is imperfection, a static direction
that does not follow dictates. It exasperates

and deflates, infiltrates this lighter-than-air existence.
It offers resistance to the natural order
of how it is thought to be. Never manipulated;
it can not be stipulated by demand

nor by expectation. Love is as love was meant to be.
Not possessed; only it can embrace.
It will not be molded; for it will just be…
forever imperfect and unconditional.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #392: Forever

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POEM STARTING WITH A LINE BY HERSHE MOORE

Take a walk amongst the flowers.*
STOP! The roses smell.
You can taste their bitter thorn,
worn and forlorn,

the aroma invades, your nose
wrinkles at its dismayed bouquet
an array of acrimony,
feet ceasing their progress.
You regress, digress and obsess

and STOP! The roses smell
like loss. The cost of love gone wrong,
of anguished love songs,
of lives snuffed

like candles in the wind,
they reek.
You seek to eradicate its intrusion
but it offers only confusion.
Her beauty loses its air.
Take a walk, a better use of time
unless you are six feet recessed
then pay no mind.
But, the roses smell.
STOP!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

*Line from Hershe Moore’s “Stop and Smell the Roses”

“Smell” Poem

 

NEW AND IMPROVED

I’m doing great!
I’ve lost some weight
and of late I’m finding my mojo again.
It hasn’t been easy (but then)
nobody said it would be.
I’m still the same old me,
only better. I’m back
to not sweating the small stuff.
It’s enough that I sweat
at all. Everything is small stuff.
I’m far from buff, but don’t
slough me off for trying.
I’m relying on my health
to be the wealth of me.
I am firmly in the groove,
not so new, but improved!

© Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides Prompt #389 – Improvement

SPACE IDIOCY

Peering out the window opening; leering
at the vastness of a vacuous void,
there are no life forms appearing
and I feel a bit annoyed.

Volunteering for a mission
is just another way of saying
I give you my permission
to be used as you see fit. Playing

hero (when martyr would suffice nicely)
and I know to get back from this place
I will need to get out of this space, precisely
what I did NOT want to do. In case

you aren’t listening, the sounds around
are vacant. In space no one can hear you
scream for Ice Cream (no matter how big the mound),
it would melt before the spoon got near you.

So, I don my suit, untried; untested,
and strap my boots to seal my feet,
If I wore this at home, I’d be arrested
but, on this planet, it can’t be beat.

I press the button to raise the panel
and nothing appears to transpire.
I press it again on this stupid panel
with no result but to fan my ire.

I need release, my mission is clear,
I need to step down to step on the soil,
I haven’t a clue how to get out of here
despite my training and years of toil.

I pound on the door with furied fists,
yelling at the intercom transmitter,
but this innocuous box, it surely resists,
frustrated am I, but I’m no quitter.

“Open the pod bay doors, Hal!” I scream,
but the response, it does not save me.
“I’m afraid that I can’t do that, Dave!” it seems
this spaceship has enslaved me.

I have no qualms about dying in space,
though this isolation is truly scary,
Besides, its memory is a disgrace,
I’m screwed. I’m not Dave, I’m Larry!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Written for dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: Fear

ABSENCE OF HEART

It can be said absence of heart
can breed a fondness most sublime.
All longing festered from the start,
is magnified in space and time.

Can love endure the test of will?
Does absent love bless lovers still?
Fate says time and distance will pass.
But hearts growing fonder? My ass!

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik

Other “absent” poems:

https://wojisme.wordpress.com/2014/11/12/heartache/

https://wojisme.wordpress.com/2013/11/03/his-city-was-gone/

https://wojisme.wordpress.com/2013/04/06/the-valedictory-of-an-auburn-muse/

RESURRECTED

The phoenix rising,
back from the dead.
Lazarus called,
he wants his life back.
Lost in the depths
of a broken spirit,
left in the lurch
with much more to say.
You stand in silence,
wishing for the return
of your sanity, and
your security, and
everything else you’ve lost
or leaves you feeling empty;
dead from the floor up.
The randomness of words
tossed together with ease
and flair, brings your voice
from deep within you and
gives cause to express
every heartfelt pang,
poem and passion,
delivering your work
to an appreciative audience,
offering peace and
confidence to your lifeless
rhyme. Infusing your heart
and soul with the breath
of a million soft sighs,
for the poet has found
his promise and drive.
Once again alive.
Resurrected.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

HEARTFUL SORROW

Oh, how I’ve hurt you,
not meaning to desert you.
I’m not unfeeling,
just reeling with what life deals.
But my heart never left you.

I love and I hurt
I flirt between embracing
or setting you free!
No doubt I am worn out, torn
and confused and feeling used.

My mind of regret
leaves me with heart felt sorrow,
for some tomorrow
you will love my memory,
leaving me longing for you.

You have given me
all that my heart has needed
and yet I’m unsure..
I do love you with a pure
heart. I do not want to hurt.

CRITICAL CONDITION

The results from the lab were in, but they could not detect any regret in my voice. It had been my choice to stand by you; friends together, a second chance for us to right what so often had gone  wrong, one last time. Taking note of your fragility and your need for constant rest, the best I could do was to care for you and be true to our connection for your protection and my own. My conscience would not allow me to make that same mistake, where I took leave of my senses and you. Translated: your illness made me sick.

The SUNDAY WHIRL -  Wordle #117
The SUNDAY WHIRL –
Wordle #117

Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik 2013

Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #117

Offered at POETS UNITED – Poetry Pantry #158

LAST MAN DEARLY DEPARTED

Loggia’s hands lay palm down on the slab.
Warned furiously to follow the detour
(which he didn’t),
his modest and boring life
got the best of his common sense.
None of his invited guests had placed
a value on his friendship
and the knot in their collective gut grew
quite large. Never the less, they were still
shocked and surprised when they had to
transfer Loggia’s lifeless body to the morgue,
in keeping with the aftermath of his demise.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

Words required to use: aftermath, transfer, shocked, knot, value,
guest, boring, modest, detour furiously, slab, palm

Written for MIZ QUICKLY’S IMPROMPTU POETRY – Day 24 Wordle

A VANISHING NEED

She had become his last rose of Summer,
and as her petals fell, he felt a gnawing
in the pit of his stomach. She’d be gone soon,
blown away like the million grains of sand
that powders the shoreline undisturbed.
This love they shared had shattered the locks
and shackles that bound them together.
They found themselves beaten down
by the staff of life. But their love wasn’t written in stone.
It was a remnant now; fragments of a lost memory.
The moon rose to its peak and after
the calls into the night echoed back empty,
he realized he was all alone.

 
 
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

102

 
Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #102