PRELUDE TO PROMISES

She embraced him with gentle caresses,
limbs surrounding hearts so cautiously
that their steps failed to leave prints.
Cheeks tinted with the flush of true love
seasoned by the prelude to promises.


His words flow in waves, drifts of foamy spray
offering vivid reminders that rest on the tip
of their tongues, where “I love you” repairs them,
echoing, never sounding tinny or hollow. Following

hearts that take their lead in the prelude to promises.

Eye to eye they fix their gaze;
in the nick of time they are mended.
Insidious intrusions of love’s determined dart
splitting hearts to be rejoined again as one,
heartbeats of passion in the prelude to promises.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides Prompt #394: Repair

THE FIX IS IN

Let me fix you up with some coffee
good and hot to jump start your heart .

Let me fix you some juice
freshly squeezed just to please.

Let me fix you an English muffin
or if you rather, toasted bread and jam instead.

Let me fix you some bacon,
(you always love when I’m makin’ bacon!)

Let me fix you some eggs,
sunny-side up or scrambled, and when you get up

Let me fix you up for a lifetime
of many more pleasing breakfasts such as these

Let me fix the bed and you
can rest your head beside mine.

We’ll be fine. Let me fix you.

 

© Walter J. Wojtanik

 

TO MEND A BROKEN HEART

Heartaches and confusion
lost in love’s illusion,
the fusion of pain and longing,
a deep burrow into a soul so burdened.

Learning that the end of loving liaisons
coincides with the death of that phase
of a life dedicated to an amorous fait accompli,
from your knees it looks insurmountable.

But, how to make the tables turn?
You learn that love never dies, it burns
smoldering internally for eternity,
a lingering and lurid ember aglow.

You come to know that every end begins
and every abandoned heart wins
another chance to dance unbridled, never idle;
always keeping lethargic feet in motion.

On the odd notion that love will never more
grace your open door; never soar to the heights
once aspired, and only be mired deep within,
choose to begin, find a common bond of which you’re fond

and reach out for the hand that helps and
heals heaped up hearts and sorry souls
tinkering with the broken and battered matter
until a distinct beat is discerned. It is then

you will have learned to love again.
So remain as a friend, open to the possibilities,
with the responsibilities to just repair;
a valued new direction for your heart waits there.

©  Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides Prompt # 394: Repair

THE OPERATING TABLE

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.

PIECES OF PABLO

(or I’M NOT BEING RUDE, I’M READING NERUDA)

I find a voice in my poet of choice,
I am conversing with Neruda.
The dude had a style, and while
I admire him greatly,
lately I find much of him in me.
I am no Neruda, no poetic Buddha,
but Pablo’s odes and sonnets are honest
presentations (never lost in translation).
I have become a student of him,
on a whim and not by surprise,
this guy’s poems move me.
It behooves me to find bits
and pieces of Pablo to blow
my mind, to remind me that poetry
has a purpose to communicate,
to elated, sometimes sedate
and placate a burdened heart.
From my start I have been ensconced
in this need to read Neruda.
Please, don’t find me rude.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #393: Piece

LIFE IN BITS AND PIECES

We live in bits and pieces,
a junk drawer full of memories,
moments held close to heart
that start to fray on the ends
and sends you careening into fits
of rage and bits and pieces.

It never ceases these bits
and pieces of fleece that smell
like her perfume all these years
here after. Shards of laughter
stuck in the rafters of a mind
in which he would come to find

words and scraps of paper,
pieces upon which he had written
skits and bits of humorous falderal!
Post-its hosting numbers and names
gone up in the flames of a pathetic pyre,
a fire that was once desire and is now

not long for this world. A dervish of a girl
spinning in a whirl of dust and debris,
and me ready to steady the tumult,
a Walt at the ready to repair what was
laid bare, a life rife with a smattering
of tattered thoughts and ideas, pleas

for a quick end (please give me a quick end)
and a friend with which to trade barbs
and count carbs as the passage of time.
Lengthy rhymes that were once big hits now spread
as bits and left in pieces of peace
praying for a new lease on these bits and pieces,

or a bigger junk drawer to hold this shrapnel
well meant to be moments held close to the heart.
Always a good start. We live in bits and pieces.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #393: Piece

Offered at dVerse Poets Pub – OLN #196

FOREVER

I stand on the edge of this field,
& I can sense his presence here.
Living is easy, but with eyes closed
he can misunderstand a lot.
He has not seen thing clearly
in nearly thirty-seven years.
Nothing is perceived as real,
& it’s hard to be someone else,
when the who you are is no longer a star.
I know it’s a dream; it’s not too bad
& we’ll remain sad for the loss of you.
No one was the boss of you.
It’s all wrong but it’s nothing.
Don’t get hung up, let me take you down.
Strawberry Fields.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik (with a little help from my friends!)

Poetic Asides – Prompt # 392: Forever

THE TWELFTH OF NEVER

You ask me and I’ll tell you,
there may come a time when I’m
in no position to know
or show the affection that I sent
in your direction every day!
I could say I love you incessantly,
and presently, I do. But you
may come to a point where the point
will be moot, and you’d dispute
my verity or seek clarity of my
existence. There may be a resistance
on either of our parts where our hearts
will no longer feel, or can no longer
feel what we know is true.
So until you or I can no longer commit,
I will admit as I always do (as do you!)
I will love you until the twelfth of never!
(And yes, that’s a long, long time!)

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #392: Forever Poems

FOREVER IS TODAY

We’ve decided it’s time to seize the day
it could slip from our grasp so easily!
In spite of all the warnings they’ll say,
we’ve decided it’s time to seize the day.
Take life as it comes, come what may
and enjoy this moment ceaselessly.
We’ve decided it’s time to seize the day.
It could slip from our grasp so easily!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #392: Forever

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