A GATHERING OF HEARTS

A celebration.
A wake of sorts.
On the death of a Father,
a gathering of hearts
to herald the lives of parents
who had epitomized love
in that ancestral home.
A large sitting room;
a large dining room.
But, a cramped kitchen
was chosen to host that fete.
A conjoining of siblings
long removed from that hallowed ground
to rediscover the essence of them
in the presence of their spirit.
Do you hear it? Faint whispers,
contented sighs. Finally.
Brought together again for a cause.
A joyous pause regaled in lore,
lost in raucous laughter
after a long and painful struggle.
An atmosphere she would have loved.
A festive reunion he would have led.
One last communion: a Last Supper
given in tribute to the Mother who
bore and fed them, and a Father
who wore more hats than they knew.
Tried on for size, but never filling
his shoes. They could live with that.
In the presence of their spirit,
in the place that was home.

Walt                                                                                                              Photo by Walt Wojtanik

HANDIWORK

We arrive at the lake and you emerge to stand upon the wave swept shore,

the loving beauty of my heart and of my dreams.

And you stride in the quiet confidence

borne of your grace and of your style,

lake breezes waft a playful hand through your hair,

a gentle caress for your tresses so fair.

Halting, you study the vastness of the lake.

and gazing in wonder and awe you stand,

soon, crouching to pluck

a solitary seashell that had attracted your eye,

your heart’s true vision in the glimpse of an infinity.

For of all of the crustaceous wonder long buried

amid this endless sea of sand,

you chose this singular grain for its’ unspectacular beauty,

and its’ endearing charm, holding it to your heart.

For in it’s simplicity, you saw the handiwork of God.

Now, years long removed, I often return to that shore, searching

for the faint reminders of you, the loving beauty of my heart and my soul.

The waves, in their persistent cycle, have swept your footprints away

and the eternal sands have been eroded, losing their once golden shimmer.

The wind blows colder and the song of the seas birds

is now the sound of an endless dirge of regret.

I cease my meandering and send

a heartened plea across the vastness of the lake.

For although covered with years of drifted sand

I have rediscovered the beauty that still surfaces,

having long ago been hidden within my heart by you,

that solitary shell.

And in that exact moment, I am enlightened, knowing

you had chosen me for the beauty within me; my tender nature,

and you held me to your heart.

For in my complex simplicity, you had touched the heart

of the handiwork of God.

Walt                                                                                              Photos by Walt Wojtanik

THE PHOTOGRAPHER

A picture paints a thousand words,
of this it's been agreed.
He captures vision's, the best he's seen,
with his photography.

From aperture to f-stop,
and all stops in between,
He'll focus on his subjects
to immortalize each scene.

He used to load with rolls of film
and wait for what developed,
but digital has eased the task
and all that that envelops.

With pocket cameras, SLR's
camera phones now the rage,
a postage stamp sized chip for "film"
can fill a hundred pages.

So he'll compose the shots he wants
and file them away,
He'll point-and-click, to his memory stick,
to view some other day.

  
Walt

YOU DON'T REALLY HAVE TO BE SQUIRRELLY TO GET NUTS (But it helps!)

Furry little forager,
I think it's really neato,
that you would don your "Groucho" nose
and go deep incognito,
looking for some sustenance
to store within your cheek,
trying hard to figure out
how to get it past that beak.
The neighbor dogs just stop and stare,
at your peculiar gaff,
They sense there's something funny there
but none the less, they laugh.
It's not that you're so humorous,
there are no "ifs" or "buts",
so don't ask them for the secret word
because they'd have to say it's "nuts".


Walt                                                                                                                      Photo by Walt Wojtanik

THE TOUCH OF SUMMER

The soft summer sunset

places our silhouettes against the sky

and the cast of evening magic in your eyes.

The crash of the lake at our feet

is like the single sound of two hearts beating.

You, the gardener of my soul,

I am lost in the music of your laughter

and your gaze robs me of simple speech.

I love you with the truest love,

it is nothing compared to an eternity.

I find myself riding the red-eye to morning,

because you have charmed the love right out of my heart.

Your influence permeates everything I touch,

and the blessing of you has been a well dealt hand in my life.

I live every waking second in loving reflection of you.

Walt                                                                             Photo by Walt Wojtanik

BUFFALO HARBOR LIGHTHOUSE

A lighthouse stands,
sentinel to the Great Erie.
A beacon bright, glowing at night,
to the wayfarers adrift on the cold chop.
It signals distance.
It offers direction.
It provides solace.

Shining out across the mighty waters:
the Niagara River to the North
where it spills in a cascade of thunder,
to Fort Erie on the Canadian side,
over the vastness, a dim glimmer
to the West toward Toledo,
diametrically opposed, bookends.

Sailboats swing by to visit,
and raise a friendly hand,
half in greeting, half in stoic salute,
totally in agreement that the beauty
of her silhouette against the declining horizon
expresses her import to all who navigate
in her harbor. All is well. Shine on  Buffalo Beacon.


Walt                                                                                                     Photo by Walt Wojtanik

THE SANDMAN

Hiding in the milieu

Of still and shifting sand,

there lives a silent sandman,

working on his tan.

Munching on a biscuit,

standing on its side,

he comes out when the surf kicks up,

playing in the tide.

Walt                                                                                                  Photo by Walt Wojtanik

WELCOME!

I'm Walt. A funny thing happened on my way to an April Poem-A-Day challenge. I found the intestinal fortitude to post a piece of my work on line for the world to see. Just an anonymous poet without delusions that I was any good at what I was attempting. Three days into the challenge, I was ready to leave my rhyme in my wake, and go back to filling my rusted filing cabinet. But, that all changed in a single afternoon. Another poet liked my work. She would be keeping an eye on my muse, she said. Her support and encouragement helped to form a bond that continues to this day. Oh, by the way, she writes a pretty awesome bit of work herself. So here's to the collaboration of two kindred spirits; partners in rhyme. Thanks for helping me believe Marie! And it all happened across the lake, eerily.

Walt

* * * *

I'm Marie Elena. A funny thing happened to me on my quest to become a children's writer. I unearthed a new passion: reading and writing poetry. It began with an internet post, declaring April as "Poetry Month," and including an invitation to write and post poems to daily prompts. Write and post a poem each and every day. The entire month. Who does that? I shook in my shoes as, on April Fool's Day (appropriately, I thought) I wrote and posted a poem for the first prompt. To say that I was intimidated by the amount and quality of poems posted that day is a gross understatement. This was not only outside my comfort zone, but way out of my league.

Several days into April, I read an endearing poem written by a proud Polish gentleman. To me, this stood tall among the outstanding. I went back to read his earlier posts, and I was hooked. From that moment, I daily searched for his name. I stuffed my heart with his laughter, wordplay, love, and loss. I let him know that he had become a must-read for me. His offerings never let me down. Several more days into the challenge, I discovered a post in which he praised my work. I couldn't wait to share his encouraging words with my husband. What a thrill it was for me to receive affirmation from not only my own husband and parents, but from a truly gifted poet. It put me on a high, from which I haven't wavered.

To flip Walt's words, his encouragement helped to form a bond that continues to this day. And, hey, while I'm stealing his words, let me also say that he is "the best friend I never met." Thanks for helping me believe, Walt.

Marie Elena                                                                                                               Photo by Walt Wojtanik