My heart envisions what my eyes refuse to see. ~Poet Walter J Wojtanik
Like a box of chocolates, mama said,
that’s what life was like.
Like floating around on a breeze, mama said.
Mama said we all have a destiny,
but I don’t know about that!
You have to do the best, mama said,
with all God gave you. Do the best.
Mama said stupid is as stupid does.
I’m not a smart man.
We’ll live ‘til we die. Mama said,
dying is a part of life.
That’s all I have to say about that.
(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019
**A Found poem from “Forrest Gump”
My daughters are my pride and joy. I got just what I wanted; I never “wished” for boys. As different as night and day, they both have a way of working Daddy around their finger. The feeling lingers. Melissa holds a seven-year advantage, in time spent and shared. There were many a glad moment when she “met” her grandmother, my mother, spending her last nine months together. But as short lived, they were moments I cherish in my heart. The part that staggers me and saddens this old Dad’s demeanor was that my youngest daughter Andrea had never known her grandmother. I have no doubt that Andrea would have had Mom’s special favor. She has Mom’s smile.
I recently dreamed about Andrea meeting her grandmother. Any other dream would have faded quickly in the early morning light. But this dream had the feeling so real that I could feel Mom’s gentle hand leading me through the mystic midnight vision playing in my sleep filled mind. For thirty-one years she’s been gone, but ever-hopeful, this “one more day” played like it was video taped for posterity. The sincerity of Mom’s smile while she embraced our baby – fully grown and who has only “known” grandma by photos and oft-told memories which she had come to cherish as much as we had in making them. But, there they were a generation removed and settled into the groove that should have had the chance to flourish. It would have nourished both hearts in the lifetimes they would have known. Cuddled close conversing about futures planned and wisdom handed down; secrets shared between two of my favorite “girls”. But all nights do end and dreams do sometimes find conclusion. One final photo, a keepsake to take to my waking moments and beyond. In my dream, my daughter found her missing peace!
It warms my heart, but saddens me that on Andrea’s fast approaching big day Mom an only be there in spirit. But I am assure by the memories of that dream that will be beaming my with such love and pride. Another of her “babies” makes that step fully into adulthood. That shared smile will rule the day!
Daughters find their way
even in dreams they can feel
moments in their heart.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2017
Skinned knees and elbows,
and a face sliding along a graveled
street, bounding up the curb
and rattling a few molars to the core.
Cuts and burns and bloody noses,
all treated here; without insurance cards,
or appointments. Emergency room
always open, with Tender Loving Care
and a bottle of Mercurochrome.
A gentle hand pulling pieces of stone
from the face her “handsome” boy,
wincing with me and holding back her own tears.
Always at no charge and with the healing powers
of a tender kiss on the repaired injury,
in time to get dinner on the table
when her work had finished.
Doctor Mom was always in.
My earliest recollection was a connection with my mother. Soft, nurturing sounds that calmed and soothed. What did I know from words? There was something there that made me think…I like this sound. Humming. Singing. A language I would come to know as Polish, spoken from my parents to her immigrant father to communicate. No translation came; all the same it seemed strange all those years ago.
The static hum of something… shrill and powerful sounding, surrounding that little room in the basement where Dad carried in wooden boards and removed the most beautiful wooden things. A carpenter by skill, I learned the thrill of his obsession by the sounds his tools emitted. I came equipped with siblings, and they came with secrets whispered and demands shouted. Tearful emissions and admissions of fear and longing, the same as I had!
There were calls of “Hey Walleee!” at the back door of the house. Neighborhood kids spending childhood running wild, every child a brother or sister. As every one was someone’s daughter or son. And every mother was mom! Each connected to the other. A father’s whistle piercing and urgent. We all went running when that alarm went off! Or when the street lamps came on! Met by the sound of an open hand cutting air when we didn’t.
Alcohol laden tirades invaded on payday. A shot –and-a-beer mentality with all the vitality of a rampant bull in the china shop that was my adolescence. We waged battles and rebellions to save my mother’s psyche and my sanity. The vanity of thinking I could save the world. And iron rails, tracks bringing from there and taking from here and clear across the country, encircled my world. The sound of some steam and much diesel was pleasing to my ear. That clackety-clack brings me back every time I hear it. It was clear I had a passion for trains.
We welcomed the clank of pots and pans when my mother began to prepare our evening fare. It was there that the issues of the day played out. We were never without that blessing until that one Christmas Eve when her self-fulfilling prophecy came true. “One of these Christmases I’m going on a long trip and I’m NOT coming back!” The house was much quieter after that.
The neighborhood was as well. I can tell you when we had all grown and gone and Dad was left behind, I find my saddest memory lingers. Swollen fingers and legs and a cancer that begged for finality came at another Christmas time. Dad would soon follow mom and from then on, silence prevailed. The sound of the tumbler the last time the door was locked is my final recollection. Home became just a noisy memory then.
we hear sounds of love
wafting through our hearts and minds,
memories of home.
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016
NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day #18: “The Sounds of Home”
I come to the grounds of your rest;
the best I can do to be with you today.
The sky is unsettled, and dreams long
since dreamed land clumsily shattering
like glass. I rub your stone; an image
of your name in charcoal remains,
stains of a heart broken, this small token
of the life you gave me. I listen and murmurs
blown though barren tree branches
whisper, waiting for the axe to fall.
And all at once it vanishes. Memories
of a mother departed still close to heart.
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
THE SUNDAY WHIRL – WORDLE #160
“So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do…” ~John Mayer
Blessed with beautiful blooms,
flowers that have graced my vase
from the day we first met, and yet
there is so much more beauty to bare
and time is a fleeting companion.
Two of you have grown without really knowing
you’ve helped me to grow in my heart.
And times I have known that it didn’t quite show,
I hope you two know that I have from the start.
Eight years divided and it was hard to hide it
the fact that the gap has been spackled and closed
and now you both share the love that you bear
in your hopes and your dreams
(and sometimes in each others clothes).
You have melted my heart, shaped and reformed it,
raised in the love that your mom and I gave;
no greater love than the love you both have,
and in our close circle, we all have been saved.
Daughters are certainly love!
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
Suggested by POETIC ASIDES Day 23 – Love/Anti-Love
A day remembered over the years
marking our time; a time to begin.
Two in love starting a life joined
and going the distance, a lasting union.
You have passed, but your legacy
continues in our hearts and minds.
Never truly gone when recalled
with love and respect. You are missed!
***
In celebration of my parents who would have celebrated their 62nd Anniversary today (4/21/2013)
This sad smile has come honestly
from trial and error, and every glaring
mistake, was one made in
denial of all that I could be,
this ersatz writer; poetic-wanna-be.
But, if it’s in me, it must be true.
And these ears appear to me
to be oversized and the wisest explanation
comes from the frantic tug
by the nuns in school; a rule of thumb
and forefinger, and the lengthening
seems to linger longer, the stronger they were.
This chin has seen its share
of craggy facial hair and crass pokes
with close fists; a glass jaw
that any southpaw could crack
and still lack the seven years bad luck.
The jawbone of this ass was not meant to cushion.
The protruding proboscis is not worth a damn.
The only thing this nose knows
is how to sniff out the business
in which it did NOT belong. The road less traveled
is straighter and more true in comparison
to this garrison of snot and sniffles.
But the one attribute I possess that I cannot despise,
is the sight I’ve seen through my mother’s eyes.
With every vision and cry she expended
in her unending heart, I start to appreciate
the gravity her shoulders carried; the gift
she bestowed on me at birth. Everything I see inspires me.
All that went into me as far as these eyes can see
are all the things that bring an albeit sad smile to my face.
And in case you wonder, that is purely me!
Written for WE WRITE POEMS – PROMPT # 108 – FACE UP TO IT
My heart envisions what my eyes refuse to see. ~Poet Walter J Wojtanik
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From my muse to your eyes.
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 
near your stone in the mourning mist,
whispers of a voice ne’er forgotten
still echo in wisdom, a generation
since we stood at Christmas on your frozen ground.
photos of you splayed in memory, kept
close to heart and the soul of you penetrates
all of us left to recall and to be kissed
by your love long after your passing. the sound
of your lost lullaby fills our sad eyes;
tears in torrents to drown our aching, wept
jointly as these visions we shared through you
dissipate over the course of years. Still the joy of you abounds.
a mother long held cherished,
in heart and mind and soul you have crept.
(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2014