SEVENLING (OUR HEARTS GO OUT)

Our hearts go out to the victims of destruction
knowing reconstruction will be long and hard.
Our hearts are heavy for the losses they encounter.

We can offer our thoughts and prayers
We can give financial assistance.
but no amount of resistance will let us

ever forget, we are all in God’s hands

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poems of Garden Gnomes – Form Friday: Sevenling

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LOVE COMES HOME

He felt the weight of life’s chain,
each link forged from his misdeeds.
It was a sure sign of his humility
as the gravity of his actions
mirrored the draw it had upon
each metal link, pulling both downward.

The constant refrain in his life repeated,
it greeted his ears and heart
whenever he would start to forget
where it was both belonged. Home had a claim
upon his presence; a place to plant his roots to grow
tall and strong, invariably to stand alone.

But the weight of his despair played heavily
on each tenuous branch; every creak and crack
triggers a spray of memory to reign down.
He relishes the opportunity to make a new home,
feeling how her love swells within him
to grittle his passion; to flick his stubbornness.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides – Prompt #408: Second Home

 

CRAZY LOVE

Crazy love.
It will turn your head
and leave you for dead.
It will lay in your bed
and toss and turn
while you yearn
for a gentle touch
that you need so much
to nurture and such.
But crazy love is a crutch.
you rely on its support
from cohort to cohort,
and it is a last resort
for a crippled heart.
You start to stumble,
feel less humble
and you stammer and mumble
familiar words she had heard
that are sour like curds
of rotten cheese.
Puts you to your knees
begging pretty please,
as you cough and wheeze
(and whine and sneeze)
thinking her bees knees
will shake your trees.
I’ve heard it said
we’d be out of our head,
or that’s what I read
(or just what you dread!)
But, you think I’m too lazy
and this is crazy.
Crazy love.
It will give a thrill,
then make you ill
(and there is no pill
to kill this bug)
No kiss, no hug,
nor roll on the rug,
just a steady tug
on your heart strings,
a true heart attack
It will always bring you back.
Crazy love!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poems of Garden Gnomes – Put a Little Love in Your Heart

DELIVERED

“Every time I told you I was just passing through
What my heart didn’t know was all roads lead to you.”
~ Chicago – All Roads Lead To You Lyrics

Not a young man, yet my heart still tends to roam.
Follow my heart. The truth is found within
something beautiful and more precious than gold.
I behold your beauty and it caresses my heart.
You, an angel transfixed; a mixture of light and shadow,
a soothing vision;
a memory that lives within me.

‘When did you strike my heart?’ my mind asks!
I delve into the depths of these thoughts, a
fraid of where they lead and I turn away.
But this voice from the inner sanctum of my spirit
frees me and my mind sees.
Your beauty lives in the sideways glances
of tired eyes burned into their memory,
Your light travels beyond your womanly realm.
In dreams of wonder you rest.
I desire your heart, a most cherished dream,
passionate and determined.
The dream I dream is a journey,
I yearn to fill the space beside you as you sleep.

I am contrite,
a man not ashamed to soil his hands,
never one to rest,
doing his best to satisfy.
Willing to die for the love he bears.
I do not dare deny any man his share.
Over the distant miles, you touch me.
Your whispered prayers grace my ears.
I carry my heart to you, the one from whom I withdrew.
It is there where I belong.
My steps beat a path, rising and falling; a steady pace.
Every place I seek it, my heart confirms it is true.
All roads lead to you!

© Walter J Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: Musical Muse

 

MINE TO DISCOVER

I hover high above the promenade.
It is odd I hadn’t thought this
before. A Peace Tower bore
a gift of miles for me to view.

The sky was bright.
A bit of a chill but I was alright
to view this Ottawa city
on this August morn.

I was not born here,
but it is clear I could belong here.
An international capital
of great expanse,

I am in a trance, mesmerized;
beauty and tradition mark her
and sparks her allure.
I am sure I could belong here.

Allegiance is strong here,
Canadian seat replete
with history’s retelling,
pride swelling deeply for this place,

genteel and as real as I can tell,
a nice place to dwell as well
as visit. Is it the True North beckoning?
I am reckoning that this is

The start of another great foreign affair.
My daughter will soon be there
to take up a life as a wife.
And between us two, it is true.

I could belong here.

(c) Walter J Wojtanik

MAKING ROOM FOR WHAT MATTERS

A house full of one time dreams
and all the minutia gathered over the years
of cheer, fears and heartfelt tears,
becomes a nearly empty nest at best.
And deep in my chest all the “memories”
assigned and attached to each book or toy
are now being packaged for a new girl
or boy. Photographs serve to preserve
all the moments in cascade,
a parade of smiles tinged with sadness.
Another box taped and secured,
carried to the car, for the recycle bin,
for reuse or (for trash); no cash
value for one man’s trash
(once held as treasures)
no pleasure in fixing what has needed “repair”
It is there where reality resides,
it hides in every pang and tug
on a b-flat heart string,
it brings me to this: once I dispose
of these bins full of slightly worn clothes,
I’ll know the girls are truly gone,
dispatched to hatch memory preserves
of their own making, taking a small seed
to nurture future purging like this.
The realization says this place is becoming
too big for just two. It is true you can’t go home
again. But would it kill you to visit a bit more?

A ROUND OF REIKIKU

Pain and suffering
leaves one wondering,
does buffering
spell relief?

**

Oh, my aching back!
A rear end attack.
Can I have mine
realigned?

**

Two hearts drift apart,
further from their start.
Can you rewind
ties that bind?

**

Hear the child cry,
needing to be heard.
Comfort comes through,
mother’s love.

**

Clouds like smoky plumes
traverse the gray skies.
As they part ways,
the sun comes.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

SMILES OF A SUMMER NIGHT

I walk along the shoreline. Evening has lowered her veil showing her sumptuous soft features laced by her endearing charms. Darkness sweeps the horizon as if her arms had become heavy and fall slowly to her side. I slide my hand into hers when she would allow it and we steal soft whispers and the most delicious tender kisses, a bliss unknown to us so far. And as the stars find their spaces,
our faces are graced by a glow so bright it can be seen for miles and miles of smiles of a summer night!

waves washing away
the harshness of  summer days
as the night smiles

© Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun #40: Summer

REIKIKU (A POETIC FORM)

I had received a reiki treatment recently for some various aches and ailments I have been experiencing. Reiki is a therapy often described as palm healing or hands-on-body healing in which a practitioner places hands lightly on or over a patient’s body to facilitate the patient’s process of healing. Reiki combines the Japanese and Chinese word-characters of “rei” (spiritual or supernatural) and “ki” (vital energy). A basic idea held by those who practice Reiki is that this vital energy can be channeled to support the body’s natural ability to heal itself. However, there is no scientific support to these claims that this so-called vital energy actually exists, or that there is conclusive evidence Reiki is useful for any health-related purpose. That doesn’t mean it’s a harmful practice.

As Ann Baldwin, (a professor of physiology at the University of Arizona and a trained Reiki master, or practitioner) states “Reiki can do no harm — the worst thing it can do is nothing.”

In spite of all that, I felt better after my treatment. Relaxed. I felt no stress and no anxiety so for me, that “nothing” was something.

***

Reiki as a poetic form? In homage to the haiku, I envision the Reikiku in that vein – a seventeen syllable channeling of energy or spirit to ease one’s heart, stress anxiety or emotion. Untitled,  is written in four lines with a 5,5,4,3-syllable count. Any rhyme incorporated is purely discretionary. It begins with the trouble you look to ease and works toward that end.

My example of Reikiku:

Weariness of heart
Finds its peace through love
Within oneself
Peace will come.

© Walter J. Wojtanik