THE MASK WE WEAR

“Well we all have a face that we hide away forever
And we take them out and show ourselves when everyone has gone” ~ Billy Joel

We think we know who we are,
molded into this “someone”
we would like others to see.
But it is we who are duped
into thinking that hiding behind
the person we aspire to be,
will keep us from becoming
this parody of who we are.

“To thine own self” falls by the wayside
and we hide the flaws and imperfections
for the protection of our egos. Feelings
will be hurt no matter, be glad in who
you are at the moment. Embrace
the face in the mirror, and hear the cries
of non-deceiving eyes. In all fairness,
keep your awareness focused,

the joke is on you.
Acceptance comes from within,
it is a sin to think otherwise.
Remove the masquerade and parade
yourself in your finery. The Emperor
may be naked, but there is no mistaking
he hides nothing from the world.
Midnight strikes and the ruse is over. Unmask!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

“Object” Poem

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BEGINNING ANEW

Starting from here;
going on from now.
A fresh start is at the heart
of all that is to come.
A brand new year
came to call, and all
that transpires grows
from the seeds planted
in those twelve month prior.
That fire in your belly
spurs you on, a prodding
giving the nod to better things.
A fresh start is at the heart
of perfecting your art.
It all up to you
to begin anew.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides PAD 2017 Day 4: Beginning/Ending

SELF-IMPOSED EXILE

What’s the difference? Running to or running from, the shortest distance between two points is still an escape in any book. Separating oneself from the fray plays upon your angst and ire. This poetic fire in your belly leaves a smelly taste in your mouth and there’s no way out except up. Corsica has sent her eviction notice; malcontents are not welcomed! So remove your hand from your waist-coat and smoat the day you decided your muse was more important than the process. A beg of forgiveness and a sharp wrist slap, every mishap screams for release. Exile is as puerile as you may not have imagined. Standing on the periphery serves no purpose. Escape from your ego. Take off to your refuge. It is the textbook “No Lose” scenario written for a poetic Lothario!

why hide away words?
your actions speak just as well.
Tell the world you’re here!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day #27: “Take off”

SHOES OF THE SEER

A poet sees things; wears many shoes.
Traipsing across the linoleum,
this visionary meanders, wandering
with eyes set on a plan. He doesn’t stand
for blind gazes clouded by mindless phases
and lapses of reason. ’Tis the season
to bring your best idea to the table and retain
your stability, for the ability to see
lies within. Pick up your chin and grin,
it is great to have a plan for all mankind;
it takes a clear mind to be a visionary.
Leave your agenda at the door; the floor is yours.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day #23 : “Footwear”

INTERVIEW WITH CLAUDETTE YOUNG

I had the extreme pleasure of being interviewed by Claudette Young on her webspace, CLAUDSY’S BLOG. In it we discuss life, poetry and other journeys into worded wonder. Thanks Claudette for this opportunity.

http://claudsy.wordpress.com/2012/05/07/interview-with-poet-walt-wojtanik

IN SPACE NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU DREAM

The void is deep and expansive,
and I sit in a pensive mood.
No good can come out of
wild fantasy and schisms,
mystic midnight visions
that play with my psyche.
It might be that when I drift,
floating by my tin can, I am
Major Tom. Slightly clueless:
a mess with little control
of my faculties, or my course.
I cry out, but no one hears,
and my fears of irrelevance
though unfounded, are drowned out
by the silence of the heavens;
a cosmos that deafens.

Written to fit the POETIC ASIDES “vacuum” prompt and WE WRITE POEMS #104 – “Loneliness” prompt!

FEBRUARY 3, 1956 – 10:42 A.M.

I was in no position to be born,
in the breech; feet first, a fresh “face”
coming to the fore on that frozen February morn.
Until then, my days on earth up to the day of my birth
were a placid float, suspended in muted serenity.
But, the anguish of my poor mother would serve
to provide shocks to propel me into action,
gaining traction in this field of my amniotic shield;
a permeable hideaway of liquidity.
But damn the masked man in white, he startles me;
a sharp slap sets my ass to flame and a tearful wail to my lips.

 

Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #41

PRECIPICE

The crossroad ends at this juncture,
a puncture to you psyche; a stab to
the heart and soul. Toes straddle
the point of no return, it is up
to you to discern your next best move.
Not long ago, you held your groove
slotted for success. But lest you forget,
you are now in a rut and your voice
cannot hoist you out of every predicament
you encounter. The pressure mounts
and you can count on one hand every stand
you had ever taken; shaken to your core
and wanting more. The chasm is wide.
Can you afford to ford its expanse?
Then again, can you afford not, too?

STEPPING OUT

Out of the darkness

where you’ve hidden your muse
in the shadowy thicket, bringing
it into the bright daylight.
No matter how you fight
to keep your ideas fresh and new,
your view had been used; your vantage point
has been abused. So, you slant
your rant in a slightly twisted way,
bringing forth a new version of the things you say.
Breathing a sigh of relieved contentment,
you discard resentment and go through the paces,
filling the empty spaces with bits of your wit
and finally getting “it”. One foot after the other,
Brother. You’re back in business.
You’re stepping out. Welcome home,
you’ve emerged a better man for it.

APPROACHING WINDS (A Sestinal Cascade)

The winds of change blow; they come and go,
everything in its wake is subject to an upheaval.
The retrieval of all usurped is best left for when the winds die;
unsuccessful tries will be your score until the winds are no more.
Ride out the storm, keep yourself warm, with visions of better times ahead,
there’s nothing with which to concern yourself.

Your one charge is you. Yourself.
From the day you were born, you were always on the go.
Not sure where you were headed, but it was full steam ahead,
causing your ruckus; an unspoken upheaval
that gave you a hunger for even more.
The retrieval of all usurped is best left for when the winds die.

On the day you will have died,
will people speak as highly of you, as you refused to do of yourself?
Or, will they shake their heads and lament your potential to do more?
Take your acclaim as you go,
and continue your poetic pyrotechnics despite the expected upheaval.
Ride out the storm, keep yourself warm, with visions of better times ahead.

Express yourself with more aplomb; show you are more than a heart and a head.
Carry through with worded wisdom, whether you stand and fight, or quietly die.
No one will blame you for the casualties of your upheaval,
for in the end, your passion will make them better poets, in spite of yourself.
Leave them to embrace you, or to scratch their heads as they go.
Unsuccessful tries will be your score until the winds are no more.

And if you just happen to leave them wanting more,
then get out of bed, because once again, it is full steam ahead.
The direction we all choose determines how we will go,
for life is to be savored, despite its labor, until we die.
Don’t live in delusion, you’ll find you need them as much as you deny yourself.
Everything in its wake is subject to an upheaval.

So, take up your armor daily, determined to up heave all
that tries to force your hand. Take a stand. Give them more!
You’ll find the confidence that has eluded. Treat yourself
to the accolades of which you are most deserving, and ahead
of all else, ride out the storm until the day you die.
The winds of change blow; they come and go.

As the prevailing winds go, the only obstacle to their upheaval
dies in the face of a strong will and words of a more direct nature.
Forget the nomenclature. Forge ahead. There’s nothing with which to concern yourself.