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/

SAINT ELSEWHERE

Pray thee I find within me
gentility or some other saintly wile.
A comforting smile devoid of style
yet full of passion
and compassion.
I have been de-frocked, mocked
and ridiculed –
yet I’m fueled by this fire,
a desire to serve
as an example,
a sample of how-to,
to view the magnificence
in others; sisters and brothers
in this life as it was given.
Living each day in a way
that honors my Maker/Taker,
a real deal breaker.
Pray thee I find him within me
or in failing, find him elsewhere.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Saint / Saintliness

PUBERTY

Living a Baker’s Dozen in years, I noticed a change.
Genetics seemed to rearrange my wiring,
and I was firing like wild synapses in a manic fashion.
My passion for words found its grounding, sounding
mildly poetic in a lyrical sense. My voice
kept cracking, stacking the cards against me.
Acne was the cruelest joke, poking through;
epidermal eruptions stealing what little appeal
I may have had. It was a bad year to be
so unclear about my future, life sutured together.
I crushed on the girl next door but couldn’t get her
to know I was alive. All that jive was not too keen.
God, no one knew how I hated being thirteen!

(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
Poets United – Midweek Motif: The Number Thirteen

GIRLS AND BOYS AND GULLS

I sit along the shore, mesmerized
by waves in their cyclical samba
rolling and trolling on the lake
of hopeful dreams. Screams of children
playing in the surf, scattering –
chattering in an endless drone
screeches and squeals, peels
of raucous running and splashing,
flashing sunshine from their gleeful
eyes. Skies, blue and reflective
subjected to the whimsy of wide-eyed
wonder under the spell of tides.
There comes a lull, children
amassed like seagulls, charging &
retreating. Bleating like sea birds,
indistinguishable in their spirit.
You can hear it in the children’s joy.

(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

POETS UNITED – Midweek Motif – CHILDREN

RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT

 

A spark inflamed released and tamed
through the brilliance it had provided.
He couldn’t hide it under a bushel basket,
since deciding to bask in the glow
of other like lights sparked by the same flame.
Fire will consume all while it is fueled.
But it will eventually be extinguished,
in a very undistinguished fizzle,
doused by a drizzle of tears and jeers,
anger and indignation; any placation
to render an ember to remain to warm
the hearts and minds of those who
remember through to December and beyond.
And in the darkness of days, the dying light
will glow in every soul touched by his words.
The sun will set on a mind well endowed
from whence poetry flowed. But love
will continue to grow where its seed is planted.
For even love long lost, is still love.

Presented at POETIC BLOOMINGS – Life Is a Beach – Sunset

Poets United – Poetry Pantry # 161

EX MARKS THE SPOT

She flashed a life briefly
chiefly to reassure
that her ability to rebound
from profound sadness
would quell the madness
of his intense expression.
Each session of their tryst
would make her eyes mist over,
and before she was covered
in clover, she would know
where their hearts were buried.
She remains to be carried
in the hollow of his chest,
the best place she could be.
She possessed it; caressed it,
claimed it, marking the spot.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

Presented at Poets United – Poetry Pantry #159

STAY HUNGRY

Life is an acquired taste
and we waste so much of it
going through the motions
with no notion of how to thrive.

Each day is a new adventure,
another chance to dance unbridled.
The table is set and you can get
your fill; the next new thrill. Stay hungry.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

 

Poets United: Verse First – Appetite