DECORATION DAY

My sincerest appreciation for those who gave their lives for our country, and their families:

Democrat to Republican

Evangelical to Atheist

Conservative to Liberal

Officer to Private

Reform to Libertarian

Americans, ALL

Tea Party to Progressive

Independent to Green

Objectivist to Prohibition

National Heroes, ALL

   
Marie Elena

HAIKU (For Uncle Jim)

You were a leader
Who never let followers
Feel less than partners

Marie Elena

Note:  Today's Writer's Digest Poetic Asides poetry prompt challenged us to write about leaders, followers, or both.  How can I hear the word "leader" without thinking of Uncle Jim?

NOT FADE AWAY

Cool it with the Charles noise,
I'm just one of Ella and Larry's three boys.
Call me Buddy, everyone does,
I don't know why; they tell me "Just because"

     I found my voice by the age of five,
     recorded songs from before I was alive.
     Music lived in me; it filled me, obsessed me,
     I'd even say that "demon" possessed me.

Along the way they screwed up my name,
yet in their mistake, I found my fame.
Finding my piece of pie in the American Dream,
when I gulped and hiccupped onto the scene.

     Rock and Roll was in its early stage,
     but I knew it would be the rage,
     I assembled a band, that was the ticket,
     and with me to lead, we were the Crickets.

Oh Boy, what a time! A thrill of my life,
It's so easy to get into this life.
The drums were the heartbeat, and I knew what to do,
If you love Rock and Roll, I'm gonna love you too.

     It's great to rave on with these words of love,
     Below it was blue days, black nights up above.
     But, something touched this brown eyed handsome man.
     If you saw her smile, maybe baby, you'd understand.

I found true love ways, in Maria Elena's smile,
she gave me my heart, it gave me my style.
Love at first sight, I asked "think it over",
she said "Yes". I was rolling in clover.

     I went on the road, she stayed home expecting,
     her sad Spanish eyes were surely reflecting
     the raining in her heart, she appeared to be coping,
     while she sat by the phone crying, waiting, hoping.

Clearlake was rocking, the music insane,
a late winter storm as we boarded the plane.
"I hope your plane crashes", Waylon Jennings would say,
In my bright Holly smile I said, "That'll be the day!"

     "And the three men I admire the most,
     the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost,
     well, they caught the last train for the coast,
     the day the music died." ~ Don McLean (American Pie)


Walt

INTERVIEW WITH A POET LAUREATE

Robert Lee Brewer of The Writer's Digest Poetic Asides interviewed 2010 Poet Laureate, Walt Wojtanik.  I couldn't be more proud! Way to go, Walt! Click here to read the entire interview.

Marie Elena

POSTCARD TO IGOLOMIA, 1905

Father,

I have come to America.
We are huddled here, masses
of peoples from many places.
Polish, German, Irish, Italian.
Swedish, Nordic, Austrian, Czech...
Slowly, we are processed to be free.
Men, women and children; both strong and infirm.
Some are detained; but I am lucky.
The lady of liberty says,
"Welcome to America, Jozef".
I am free.

Your son,
Jozef


Walt

WE WERE CONNECTED

Growing into adulthood, I like to think I have set myself up to be a role model for my daughters and the young minds with which I would come in contact. I hoped to be an example of what striving for a dream meant to my own life; and demonstrate the value of commitment that had become a lesson well learned. This emotion has its root in my childhood.

We grew up, four brothers with varied temperaments and interests. A span of six years from youngest to oldest, our battles were legendary around the block - a rock 'em, sock 'em tandem fighting for dominance. But that discrepancy would all but vanish in the celebration of frozen ice on a backyard pond. Lackawanna, New York, a suburb of Buffalo, was home. It may as well have been Victoriaville, Quebec. Hockey had quickly become king in Western New York. A short jaunt over a Peace Bridge was a weekly pleasure, a treasure of our puckish youth and this ice time a rag-tag group of hockey wannabes could secure at un-Godly hours at the Fort Erie Arena. In 1970, the old "Pepsi" Logo of the American Hockey League Buffalo Bisons was replaced by the charging bison above crossed swords of the new upstarts of the National Hockey League, Buffalo Sabres.

The Sabres became the glue that bound us. The team leveled our familial playing field; gave us a common ground that rose above our unique personalities. The loyalty bred through that association remains lasting. The proof in this muddled pudding came in the acquisition of three very talented players.

Gilbert Perreault (Pare-o) was THE original Sabre. The most coveted player coming out of Junior hockey that year, he was the equivalent to a Sidney Crosby of today. The majority of his first year was spend as the main attraction for an entertaining, albeit struggling expansion franchise.

Richard Martin, a teammate of his with the Montreal Junior Canadiens, joined Perreault the next year. Where as Perreault was grace and finnesse, Martin was pure power. A natural goal scorer with a knack for finding the opening from all over the ice, their chemistry flourished with the Sabres.

In short time, the Buffalo team had acquired a journeyman forward from the Pittsburgh Penguins in exchange for Eddie Shack, who at the time was my favorite player. The young winger, Rene Robert (Ro-Bear) stepped on the Buffalo Memorial Auditorium ice and quickly endured himself to the Sabres fans (myself included). In his experimentation, Joe Crozier, who had replaced the legendary Punch Imlach as coach of the fledgling team, combined the three on the same forward line, which would become one of the most prolific combinations in the leauge. They were dubbed the "French Connection" after the player's French Canadian heritage and the popular movie of the same name.

The three youngest of the Wojtanik boys, brothers Tim and Ken and myself, would attach their aspirations on the rise and fall of their favorite players. Tim was the miniature version of Martin who became his idol. He possessed a hard shot and an acuity for scoring goals. An injury kept him from a tryout with the Binghamton Broome Dusters minor hockey league team and pursuing his dream of playing professionally.

Ken was a graceful skater and a very heady player. He had a touch with the puck as well, but was more of a playmaker. He took his cue from Perreault and followed his career with interest.

I was a big fan of the game, but my skills were less developed than my siblings.
Let's say I could hold my own. As aforementioned, Robert had found his way into vision.

With those allegiances, we became the French Connection. We were Perreault, Martin and Robert, on a lesser scale. But that bond brought a unity to a family of our fractured fraternity that remains to this day. We are brothers first and foremost, and "teammates" for life.

Why do I rant? Richard Martin died yesterday in a one-vehicle crash, apparently caused by a heart attack he had suffered prior to losing control of his car. The news touched me deeply. I thought back to his playing days in Buffalo, and his unknown influence on a band of hockey playing brothers. It saddens me that a part of our youth, our very fabric, had been taken from us. I think of my brother Tim, who idolized Rick Martin to the extent of wearing his number 7 throughout his playing days. I worry for his health. With a family history for heart maladies and his more rambunctious lifestyle, I'd hate to see him suffer a similar fate.

A man died Sunday. In all, Richard Martin was a husband, father, friend, teammate, and hero to thousands of Buffalo Sabres fans. And in his passing, once more a group of brothers became connected. Rest Peacefully, Fallen Hero.
Walt

HERE'S TO MORE BUSINESS!

We feel like we’ve lost you too soon,
but just when we’re needing a boon,
we’ll look up and smile:
in true Powers style
you’ve platinum-plated the moon.

Marie Elena

Inspired by my cousin, Carrie Powers-Miller.  Thanks for the idea of Uncle Jim and Punk platinum-plating the heavens! 

Also inspired by my son, Brandon, who was inspired by his Aunt Peggy (my seeester), who was inspired by Truvy, who reminded us that "It's all right. Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." Truvy (Dolly Parton); Steel Magnolias. 

The edit of this credit was inspired by Peg, who read it, then reminded me that it was *she who told my son to get it.   

Phew!

WE ALL HAVE HEROES

Psalm 139:16. … all the days ordained for me were written in your book

before one of them came to be.

James E. Powers, Sr.

April 21, 1931 - January 28, 2011

On August 7, 2010, I wrote the following to honor my Godfather, Uncle Jim.

At 12:45 this morning, he lost his battle with leukemia.

My parents and I went to the hospital as soon as we got word, where we found a room filled to capacity with his wife, daughters, sons-in-law, daughter-in-law and grandchildren.

Noticeably present was Jim, Jr. (“Punk”), his only son, business partner, and best friend,
who left us on November 19.

Written on the patient whiteboard was Uncle Jim’s goal for today:
“Golf with Punk.”
That brought a smile to my face. Goal met.

Thank you, Blessed Father, for allowing Punk to be there to escort Uncle Jim into Your presence.

Link to "Crossroads,"  A sonnet for my cousin:  http://aleerily.blogspot.com/2010/11/crossroads-sonnet-for-my-cousin-with.html

TRIBUTE TO MY GODFATHER
(Originally posted August 7, 2010)

Generosity, personified
Outstanding uncle
Dedicated


Father-at-the-ready
Admirable
Trustworthy
Honest businessman
Enterprising
Respected by all


Uncle Jim is a man to be admired. In 1977, he bravely started his own precious-metal plating company here in Toledo. It was a 1200 sq. ft., father-and-son business. Once business took off, he employed many over the years. He offered free education through a tuition reimbursement program, full healthcare coverage, and respect for everyone from part-time housekeeper to chemist. As is the case for too many small businesses, the economy has taken its toll, and he has had to downsize severely.

He is a loving father to his own children, and father-at-the-ready for me. When I was a little girl, I feared nearly everyone … including (unfortunately, and for no reason) my own father. When I was approximately four, I decided my dad was an okay guy after all. One day in our kitchen, I decided I was going to tell him how I felt about him. I climbed up in his lap to give him the very best compliment a man could ever be given: I told him that of all the "men" I knew, I loved God first, Uncle Jim Powers second, and him third. Poor Dad. I was such an evil child. Sincere, but evil. I've never lived that one down.

Too often, we wait until it is too late to express our love and admiration for people in our lives. On this side of the Lake, I have many.

And I’m not waiting.


Marie Elena

SO WE DECIDED TO GO DOWN TO TRY AND GET AUTOGRAPHS

Even from high in the bleachers

he looked mammoth.

Broad shoulders and legs
strong, churning, crushing.
Eight years old
and I was hanging close to my Dad's knee.
I knew the name. Cookie Gilchrist.
Before I knew all my prayers. Cookie Gilchrist.

Cookie ran for the Buffalo Bills
on this cold afternoon November of 64.
I sat riveted, watching my idol
steamroll over opposing linemen,
linebackers and the odd zebra or two.
Dad laughed as it was
"Cookie this", and "Cookie that"
He knew a boy needed his heroes.

The Bills could have won without him,
but Gilchrist made it special.
"Thanks Dad" I remember saying,
"He's my hero"
Dad smiled a smile
that continues to warm me to this day.
We grabbed our gear and headed out.

"This way, Sonny" he instructed.
And I followed in obedience.
Ramp, after tunnel, after stair
to a ramp. We found ourselves
in the lowest point in the "Rockpile".
A swarm of screaming kids blocked the way.
Standing above the throng...
Cookie Gilchrist.

Dad leaned in and whispered to me
and I nodded in compliance.
In my loud eight year old voice
I called, "Mr. Gilchrist?"
He stopped. And glancing our way, he smiled.
Cookie pressed past the crowd
to the place where my father and I stood.

This mountain of a man
reached for my program.
He smiled even more broadly
and he plied his signature
onto the glossy crisp page.
In awe I stammered,
"Thank you very much, Mr. Gilchrist!

One last smile graced his face.
"No son, thank you!"
I came to understand
his gratitude as the years passed.
For in a simple gesture,
my father taught me a great lesson.
I learned respect.

I had the opportunity to thank my father
before he had died.
"No Sonny, thank you!" he said.
With that the lesson was completed.
A boy has to have his hero.



Carlton "Cookie" Gilchrist died today from a recurrence of Cancer. He was 75.


Walt

OF LOSS AND REMEMBRANCE AT CHRISTMASTIME

Years pass.
Christmas never changes.
In the exchange of gifts and greeting
there is a meeting of hearts and it starts.
Thoughts of voices that have been silenced
and smiles that have faded into misty memory.
Melancholy peeks through the windows
of a heart broken soul; a token show of
love for loved ones long vacant.
At some point you anoint these recollections;
a status of legend and immortality takes hold.
We remember Christmases of long ago as if
they are visions of a changeable future.
It nurtures us and give our sorrow rest.
The tomorrows are the best when our steps
are guided and propelled by the lessons learned.
Through our losses, we remember the wonder of love
and we will be healed by it; the gift of Christmas.


Walt

A FATHER'S LOVE

In a battle for his life,

Leukemia disassembles his cells,

One by one.

So,

When did counting breaths take precedence

Over counting cells?

When his son’s diseased lungs

Began sucking life

Instead of oxygen.

Marie Elena

TELL ME WHY YOU BELIEVE

                                                                                                                 I
                                                                                                             have
                                                                                                         done this
                                                                                                  for many years.
                                                                                       Tell me why I’ve never
                                                                                    noticed before. Why is it
                                                                            even the naughty ones get nice
             at                                                     this time of year? I don’t mind, since
           it                                                  means they want to get on my good side.
        Tell                               me why that is? I understand that every child, woman
     and                            man, don’t always believe in me, but I can see the good-
    ness in                    every person. I really do know. It’s a talent passed down
     from                   generations of Clauses. A telepathy maybe, or a knack. A
      crick in my back, or a tingle in my fingers. It lingers throughout the year
       and I hear a voice in my head that fills me instead with a compassion.
         I fasten my belt and get down to business. And my business has al-
          ways been Christmas. On the Eve of my big day, the elves load all
   of                                    the                                 gifts
  in                                      to                                   this
 sl                                         ei                                    gh.
  Then it’s up, up and away. Tell me why you still believe? I am Santa!!!!!


Walt

ER

 

Silently she sits,
vigilant, ever-concerned.

More trouble than a Good

and loving soul should stand.

Making a grand plea for peace
for a troubled daughter,

an aging father, and
a mother-in-law that is

as Good as her name.

Just the same, she'd rather

cuddle on the couch,

contemplating poetry
and wearing her "Buckeye Pride",
while inside there is
a sentinel, a guard of her sanity

and her heart. Always that Good man

near to keep her well-rounded,

grounded in her faith; relief

in every belief on which she was raised.

Praise to He who is deserving,

never swerving from her heart.

But for now, she sits.

Silently. Steadfast.

Good to the last.

Walt

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

I was drawn to their son.

The kind blue eyes

That softened, and crinkled in the corners

When they dared make contact with mine.

The broad shoulders,

That beckoned me to lay my head

Against the chest they framed.

The unassuming demeanor

That spoke volumes to me

Of how he was raised.

But my heart had been wounded.

My trust had been broken.

My spirit was guarded.

Until I met them.

And I saw

The kind blue eyes

That softened, and crinkled in the corners

When they made contact with hers.

The kiss placed tenderly on her head.

The hand that gently stroked her cheek.

The whispered prayer that honored her.

The heart that took in

Every word she spoke,

Every breath she drew.

And I knew

Their son,
Who was stealing my heart,

Could be trusted.

Marie Elena

Photo by Ron Gries

To Mom and Dad Good, with much love and great respect.

HAIKU

As we consider
Nine-Eleven of ’01,
God, what have we learned?

Marie Elena

GODFATHER

Generosity, personified

Outstanding uncle

Dedicated

Father-at-the-ready

Admirable

Trustworthy

Honest businessman

Enterprising

Respected by all

Uncle Jim is a man to be admired. In 1977, he bravely started his own precious-metal plating company here in Toledo. It was a 1200 sq. ft., father-and-son business. Once business took off, he employed many over the years. He offered free education through a tuition reimbursement program, full healthcare coverage, and respect for everyone from part-time housekeeper to chemist. As is the case for too many small businesses, the economy has taken its toll, and he has had to downsize severely.  

He is a loving father to his own children, and father-at-the-ready for me. When I was a little girl, I feared nearly everyone … including (unfortunately, and for no reason) my own father. When I was approximately four, I decided my dad was an okay guy after all. One day in our kitchen, I decided I was going to tell him how I felt about him. I climbed up in his lap to give him the very best compliment a man could ever be given: I told him that of all the "men" I knew, I loved God first, Uncle Jim Powers second, and him third. Poor Dad. I was such an evil child. Sincere, but evil.  I've never lived that one down.

Too often, we wait until it is too late to express our love and admiration for people in our lives. On this side of the Lake, I have many.

And I’m not waiting.

Marie Elena

HAIKU

so utterly blessed
to have found this connection
that stirs and buoys

Marie Elena

Announcing: 2010 Writer's Digest Poetic Asides Poet Laureate!

Congratulations to my Partner-in-Rhyme for earning this prestigious title. Believe me, this comes as no surprise to me. Walt has an innate passion and talent, is well loved by not only the PA poets, but the poetic community as a whole, and is a consistent encourager of his poetic peers.

As you know, Walt, it took a year longer to be recognized in print than it did in my own heart. That’s okay, though. Victory earned is victory earned … no matter the wait.

So proud of you. 

Your friend and partner, across the lake

… AND TO THE *REPUBLIC FOR WHICH IT STANDS

*Responsible, Empowered People; United By Liberty, Independence,

and Civic virtue

Marie Elena

IN MY FATHER'S HANDS

Life.

Held in the balance,
held in high regard,
held in my Father's hands.

Held within my heart,
held in respect,
held in my Father's hands.

Held in loving embrace,
held with reverence,
held in my Father's hands.

Held for a lifetime,
held in fervent memory,
my Father, the hands that held.

Life.


Walt