SEVENLING (OUR HEARTS GO OUT)

Our hearts go out to the victims of destruction
knowing reconstruction will be long and hard.
Our hearts are heavy for the losses they encounter.

We can offer our thoughts and prayers
We can give financial assistance.
but no amount of resistance will let us

ever forget, we are all in God’s hands

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poems of Garden Gnomes – Form Friday: Sevenling

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SAY THE MAGIC WORDS

A poetic word magician
performing feats of fiction.
amazing micro poetry,
ponderous prose prestidigitation,
pulling rare bits from a hat,
tricks and gags, and all of that.
Alliterative illusions illustrated here,
as I make bawdy limericks disappear.
Literary magic, that’s my deal,
I’ll be here all week, try the veal.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: Magic

JOBS WEAR NO COLLARS

Eager to Create Blue-Collar Jobs, a Small Business Struggles

I love to work.
But, it is always work.
Hard, demeaning,
satisfying, trying,
seemingly endless.
Cutting like a hot knife
through spoiled cheese;
stinking to high heaven.
I’m thinking about how my father
would come home from his clerk
position at the steel plant roll shop.
Yet, I can’t recall if his collar was
white, or blue or chartreuse,
(there’s no use thinking too deeply)
All I knew is we were never without,
food, or clothing or shelter
from his sometimes helter-skelter inebriation.
This was our life station. Children
of a once-steel town. Not down on our luck,
just lucky to be. We could see up from there
and that became our fervent goal,
to leave my heart and soul to the hometown
and expecting to escape with the rest of me intact!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Quickly 9/5/17 – Write Hard

Poems of Garden Gnomes – Getting to Work

RED SAILS AND SUNSETS

Broad brush strokes of Alizarin Crimson and amaranth, American Beauty Rose is a miss that lusters like a ruby in the noonday sun. Auburn tinted leaves leave little to imagine, but the grin that spreads from ear to ear is clear. Brick and mortar are not built for speed, indeed they are solid; a structured foundation upon which lives are constructed. We’ve tucked our collars up and the skies remain changeable. Unstable weather not withstanding, Fall is handing us a sneak peek at the peak of the season. There is no reason to stay sequestered, it has festered for as long as you’ve been marooned. Soon the Cardinal will perch on barren branches and the chances are slim that Winter will delay.

All fruited hints of a tint so rusty; ruddy and bloody replacing candy apple and cherry, (although grapes make great claret; burgundy) and we see the sun diminish at the finish of day. Unfurled, our canvas sways and stays billowed like a skyward pillow capturing the breath of Him. Scarlet spinnaker shadowed in silhouette, you have yet to pull anchor, thankful for this moment.

A descending sun
back-lighting the horizon,
transitions to fall.

© Walter J Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday: Komorebi

DRAWN TO THE WATER

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky  ~John Masefield from “Sea Fever”

I am drawn to the water,
a sanctuary dank and deep,
where Neptune’s sleep is unsullied
and tranquil. I will go there

where a sailor’s son should roam,
a second home for a weary traveler,
a reveler in life’s safe harbour.
Looking towards horizons and distant

places, of  foreign faces that grace these places
and dreams of adventure of which there are many.
Anyone who is so drawn is a son of the sea,
a welcomed one who is asked but one thing,

“What will you bring to the sea?”
for treasures that abound are found deep within,
and in their discovery we find ourselves.
I am ever-drawn to the water

a sanctuary dank and deep,
where the son of a sailor finds eternal sleep.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides – Prompt #408: Second Home

Sea Fever

 I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

LOVE COMES HOME

He felt the weight of life’s chain,
each link forged from his misdeeds.
It was a sure sign of his humility
as the gravity of his actions
mirrored the draw it had upon
each metal link, pulling both downward.

The constant refrain in his life repeated,
it greeted his ears and heart
whenever he would start to forget
where it was both belonged. Home had a claim
upon his presence; a place to plant his roots to grow
tall and strong, invariably to stand alone.

But the weight of his despair played heavily
on each tenuous branch; every creak and crack
triggers a spray of memory to reign down.
He relishes the opportunity to make a new home,
feeling how her love swells within him
to grittle his passion; to flick his stubbornness.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides – Prompt #408: Second Home

 

SAPPHIC STANZA IN POLISH POETRY

Through my heritage I’ve come to find myself.
There is no book here that sits upon my shelf,
it was tradition through which I have been found.
It’s been handed down.

Many customs come from our Old Country home,
brought to bear here where my grandparents had come.
Assimilated and fated to be free
in their new country.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #408: Second Home

** I’ve been searching for a poetic form that could be considered “Polish” in nature. Apparently many classic Polish poets have adopted the Sapphic Stanza which contains four line with syllabic counts of 11(5+6), 11(5+6), 11(5+6), 5 and a rhyme scheme of a, a, b, b. Variations and further analysis can be found here.

CRAZY LOVE

Crazy love.
It will turn your head
and leave you for dead.
It will lay in your bed
and toss and turn
while you yearn
for a gentle touch
that you need so much
to nurture and such.
But crazy love is a crutch.
you rely on its support
from cohort to cohort,
and it is a last resort
for a crippled heart.
You start to stumble,
feel less humble
and you stammer and mumble
familiar words she had heard
that are sour like curds
of rotten cheese.
Puts you to your knees
begging pretty please,
as you cough and wheeze
(and whine and sneeze)
thinking her bees knees
will shake your trees.
I’ve heard it said
we’d be out of our head,
or that’s what I read
(or just what you dread!)
But, you think I’m too lazy
and this is crazy.
Crazy love.
It will give a thrill,
then make you ill
(and there is no pill
to kill this bug)
No kiss, no hug,
nor roll on the rug,
just a steady tug
on your heart strings,
a true heart attack
It will always bring you back.
Crazy love!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poems of Garden Gnomes – Put a Little Love in Your Heart

SMALL STUFF

 “Don’t sweat the small stuff!”

It’s all small stuff.
All the bits and trifles
could go off like rifles if we let them.
Applying a spark to our powder
would only make our words louder,
but what we mean can be seen
in the smallest of terms.
Until we’re food for the worms,
we will get through what we need to do.
We’ve been giving sweat and tears for years,
but enough is enough. Don’t sweat the small stuff!
It’s all small stuff!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poems of Garden Gnomes – The Truth About Gnomes

DELIVERED

“Every time I told you I was just passing through
What my heart didn’t know was all roads lead to you.”
~ Chicago – All Roads Lead To You Lyrics

Not a young man, yet my heart still tends to roam.
Follow my heart. The truth is found within
something beautiful and more precious than gold.
I behold your beauty and it caresses my heart.
You, an angel transfixed; a mixture of light and shadow,
a soothing vision;
a memory that lives within me.

‘When did you strike my heart?’ my mind asks!
I delve into the depths of these thoughts, a
fraid of where they lead and I turn away.
But this voice from the inner sanctum of my spirit
frees me and my mind sees.
Your beauty lives in the sideways glances
of tired eyes burned into their memory,
Your light travels beyond your womanly realm.
In dreams of wonder you rest.
I desire your heart, a most cherished dream,
passionate and determined.
The dream I dream is a journey,
I yearn to fill the space beside you as you sleep.

I am contrite,
a man not ashamed to soil his hands,
never one to rest,
doing his best to satisfy.
Willing to die for the love he bears.
I do not dare deny any man his share.
Over the distant miles, you touch me.
Your whispered prayers grace my ears.
I carry my heart to you, the one from whom I withdrew.
It is there where I belong.
My steps beat a path, rising and falling; a steady pace.
Every place I seek it, my heart confirms it is true.
All roads lead to you!

© Walter J Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: Musical Muse