Category: Rest In Peace
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
ANGELS CRIED AT CHRISTMAS
Overwhelmed with emotion since the Sandy Hook Elementary School tragedy, thoughts and prayers for the victims and families have held a dominant place in my heart, which came flowing out as the lyrics of this song. The melody flowed as easily. I will attempt to record it to possibly post a video (or at least an audio clip)
ANGELS CRIED AT CHRISTMAS
Melody and Lyrics by Walter J. Wojtanik
Hearts of joy,
Playing in this world of love and happenstance.
Little minds,
Wanting just to learn of life’s glad circumstance.
Standing on the brink of years,
Standing tall in spite of fears
with open eyes.
Gentle souls; their mothers’ dears,
rained upon with angels tears,
oh, how they cry,
I’ll tell you why…
Another day,
Never knowing what’s in store, so unprepared.
Not the way
Children’s lives are supposed to be; confused and scared.
No one could have guessed their fate,
Mercy came, but much too late
for little ones.
So much love within their hearts,
Just waiting for their lives to start,
Oh, how we cry,
Tell me why.
The angels cried at Christmas,
Hearken angel voices sing a new refrain.
Now every year at Christmas,
Angel tears will fall again in sorrow’s stain.
Come now Angel, it’s okay,
Let love wipe your tears away
though your smile is gone.
Here now Angel, it’s all right,
Every new star shines so bright,
like your love, your light lives on and on.
Your Momma knows,
Deep within she feels your hand upon her heart.
And Daddy knows,
That even though you’re gone, you’re never far apart.
Babies when you left that day,
Angels now where angels play,
All looking down.
Missing Grandma’s warm embrace,
Grandpa won’t forget your face,
So, dry your eyes.
Please, don’t cry.
The angels cried at Christmas,
listen to the angels sing a new refrain.
Feel our love at Christmas,
Angel tears will flow with love ‘til we meet again.
Come now Angel, it’s okay,
Let love wipe your tears away,
though your smile is gone.
Here now Angel, it’s all right,
Every new star shines so bright,
like your love, your light lives on and on.
The angels cried (please dry your eyes)
The angels cried (a tearful sigh)
The angels cry,
Yes they cry at Christmas.
© Copyright – Walter J. Wojtanik 2012
FEBRUARY 5, 1930
A daughter born; a daughter torn.
Life coming and going in an instant.
One daughter coming into the world;
my mother born into the “comfort”
of their hearth and home,
two doors down from where her grandmother
had passed away on the same day.
A sadness unparalleled, a living hell.
My mother, the infant cleaved to
my grandmother’s breast in the upper window,
watching my Great-grandmother’s funeral
process past them in silence to the church
up the street. Victory and defeat fleeting.
A daughter born; a daughter torn.
Life coming and going in an instant.
100% MY FATHER’S SON
He was Walt as I am Walt,
and his father was before him.
We shared so much, our ways
and such, as I carry on today.
He, a man quite good with wood
but didn’t say a lot.
Me, a man quite good with words,
but as with wood, quite not.
He taught me things,
he bought me things,
he wrought me with his demons.
And I was swell,
and I rebelled
and inherited his demons.
But, there was a man, despite his flaws
loved his family just because
we gave him joy. Every girl,
every boy, and Mom the glue
that mended us, nurtured and befriended us
and protected us ’til we knew better,
she’d make him a saint if we had let her.
But, Dad was rather quite assured
that mistakes he made would not be cured,
we learned to live within his world
until he up and left it. And now,
bereft it we hold onto all he gave.
I got his eyes, artistic style,
I got mom’s nose, her sighs, her smile,
I got his skill and sad addiction,
I embrace her warmth, his dereliction.
But all-in-all, one helluva guy
in his workshop in the sky.
I have his name, I have his fun,
100% my father’s son.
LUCA BRASI (Rispetto)
A boorish brute, loyal to the last.
a henchman, evil and brutal.
He’d seal your fate with one quick blast,
begging for your life was futile.
Don Corleone was your boss,
protect his life at any cost.
Brasi, your death was quite messy.
Luca, dorme con i pesci.*
* Sleeps with the fish
SILENCE OF THE NIGHT
It seems that sleep is elusive,
a sometimes thing that fights my will.
It’s disruptive and effusive;
but wide awake, the room is still.
I listen to the lack of sound,
a gentle respite all around.
The silence of the night soothes deep,
I do not hear it when I sleep.
DEAR TO MY HEART
You were the one my heart had known,
now this emptiness is painful.
And all compassion I had shown
had made this task more disdainful.
These days do pass in bitter dreams,
my soul is tearing at the seams,
And you still live here in my heart
forever pierced by Cupid’s dart.
A HEART NO LONGER MINE
The trail stretches, amidst the barren trees and forgotten hollow where we used to spent our time. A hidden place, where hearts were given, exposed to the solitude that nature provided. That’s where we would hide all secrets shared and passions exchanged in pangs of wanton desire. It was a fire long smoldering that kept us safe and warm, safe from harm, execpt from that of each other’s love. Above us the clouds would converge sneeking peaks at our private world; infatuate guy and fragile girl. I held you in your fright through an unsure night, offering assurances that the light of day would return to you as long as my shield stay unpenitrable. Here in this venerable place; our sanctuary with nary a nay said to our escape. But, I was exposed as a charlatan, unable to save you from your attacker, your riddled body. It became a waste of time to watch you waste away. The decision to stay was all mine, and I assumed you were fine with it until my banishment. Your declaration that I was to remain unseen and hidden, alone much like that place that heaven envied and no one else knew. It was always just me and you, and that was true until the silence of your pulse rendered yours a heart no longer mine. Time will pass. Days will linger. Your memory will fade. But, apparently not today.
…AND THE FLAG WAS STILL THERE
A principle was attacked amidst
tears and destruction; a surreal snapshot
of a day worth forgetting. But no one did.
How do you forget the sight; the sound?
How do you forget the faces; the screams?
How do you diminish the sacrifice?
The word ‘impossible’ was tailor made
for this moment in time. Despair and
disbelief would be usurped by anger
and determination to not allow those who
put it all on the line, go quietly into that good night.
It became a fight to rise each day to face
the insurmountable task one brick at a time.
As many bricks as there were tears shed.
As many shards of glass as there were screams
of torment and terror. But the greatest error
made by a faceless ideology was assuming
we were broken and defeated. But the foresight
of three brothers of the fraternity most depleted
showed we were not defeated. Through the rubble
it stood in defiance. A naked flagpole planted
among the girders and debris. A symbol; our banner
raised high. A declaration loud and clear.
We are still here. We will not go gently.
Together we stand, a shield for liberty.
You took your shot and failed. An American Tale…
and the flag was still there! America had been blessed.
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 
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