SONNET FOR AN APRIL MOON

The final April moon will soon take leave.
Contentedly, he navigates the sky.
He knows not that his passing makes us grieve,
Nor hears the tone of our collective sigh.

For thirty eves, the moon has cast his spell
Releasing inspiration from his core
Yet, now has come the time to say farewell,
As April’s moon will strum our hearts no more.

No gathering beneath his fetching smile,
Nor once-upon-a-timing ‘neath his glow.
Though next year, he will once again beguile;
Inspiring prose and verse to daily flow.

Our melancholy hearts will melt away,
For there will be a new moon come what May.

Marie Elena

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

THE GIFT

                                                                    Silent                                                                                        

                                                                  and still,

                                                                 the way a

                                                                night like this

                                                               should be. All have

                                                            retired, they surely look-

                                                            ed tired and worn. They’ll

                                                           be better in the morning, they

                                                        have earned their rest.   They did

                                                            their best. I’d be resting too, but

                                                                it’s just that I’ve still too much to do.

                                                 There’s   that list; a new quick check for updates,

                                                reprieves from me in a stretch.   A call to the stable,

          assuring                           this latest chapter of the fable goes off without a hitch.

       The        suit                        is pressed. The boots shine next to the white fur, setting

     the    brig       ht                     crimson ablaze; a staple for the Holidays. Am I crazy, or has

      De   cember   co                 me more rapid than eagles? It feels like it to me. Time flies

      wh   en I’m hav ing     fun.        I scan under the tree with a twinkled eye, spying the

   presents displayed. Every          brightly wrapped package becomes the best prize, never

    taking away from the next, at        best joining each box in wonder and richness. But,

   there is one gift that draws my attention. Did I ever mention my total love of Christmas?  It

     is in that spirit that I take up this Gift so incons       picuous, yet so utterly necessary   for

     this day. For in my hands, I hold perfection. At    closer inspection, I am certain. No giftof 

Christmas was ever so right; so accepted. So loved.   Remembering the verse, “…and the
greatest of these, is Love”, my heart swells, a telling    sign that Christmas lives within me.
 This                            Gift      so needed, fills my hands with its girth, and makes my heart
    wor                        thy                through all that it espouses. It houses purity, and sanct-
         ity.                It                       represents love. The Truest of All Love. And so it is
             with      this                   First Gift of Christmas.              I bow my head; a silent
                 prayer                         prepares me for my jour           ney. “God so       loved
              the       wor                      ld that he gave his only            son…”              and
          I ret             urn           The Babe to His manger, the love of Christmas fills me. I raise
       from                     my      knee, coming to stand near the tree. I am Santa Claus, chosen to be an icon of the season. I am humbled to receive “The Gift” I represent Who gives it a reason.          Walking in silence and reverent thought, to a waiting sleigh and a day of love.

Walt

HAIKU

Caught up in Challenge.
Come and see for yourself, at
Poetic Asides.

Marie Elena

Check out the rough drafts of many talented poets (some new; some veteran):  Writer's Digest Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer .  Maybe you'll wish to try your OWN hand at poetry!

CLEVELAND ROCKS!

Tutankhamen need not apply
to that "pyramid" by-the-by,
under a sunny Cleveland sky.
He's not the guy; he's not the guy.

Enough kings there to fill the role,
the best of R&B; soul,
the Kings of Pop and Rock and Roll,
tops of the poll; tops of the poll.

If you can wield your "axe" with pride,
if you may or may not have died,
your music will get you inside,
enjoy the ride; enjoy the ride.

As part of a group or solo,
your legend will shine at the show,
Rock & roll; the right way to go
to make your dough; to make your dough.

As Halls of Fame go, this one rocks!
The names inside will knock your socks
so hop, and rock around the clock.
Cleveland does rock; Cleveland does rock!

Walt

AS I WAS SAYING, TOO!

Take me back to sixty-nine,
the year, not the...never mind.
I keep reverting to that time,
when life was simpler; sublime.
In the throes of puberty,
feeling music course through me.
Songs of the day,
artists of the time,
albums of the year,
in my mind, they all shine.
For music was where I found my "voice",
those melodic poems were my choice,
when I ran out of notes, the lyrics popped,
(and for a span of twelve years I completely stopped).
But back with a vengeance I came roaring
to hear my poetry take flight, now soaring
beyond all expectations, my fait accompli;
my celebration of mind, and words and me.
If I had to pinpoint where it began,
'twas the "Summer of Love" kick-started this man,
and so as I venture to continue in rhyme,
I toss my once-upon-a-mane to Nineteen Sixty-Nine!

Peace, Brother!


Walt

*THE MANY VOICES OF WALTER WOJTANIK

The title beguiles -- implies many styles,
and begs him the question, “Am I in possession
of voices, innumerous: poignant to humorous,
heartrending, moving, inane?”

He ponders the thought, as his mind becomes wrought
with the pieces he’s fashioned, from lax to impassioned,
from terse to soul-baring, enticing, or daring,
outlandish, bizarre, or mundane.

His voices are many, approaches aplenty,
inducing emotions while conjuring notions
of various kinds that may play with our minds
to divert, stir, or just entertain.
 
Marie Elena
 
*Originally titled "The Many Voices of Lauren Hill," in response to a Poetic Asides prompt; written to honor my PArtner.

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

HAIKU

Somewhere inside me
a child peers out a window
pining for puddles

Eerie Lake

A Great Lake,
connection betwixt Toledo and Buffalo
an Eerie bond.

On the shore
ripples of waves come crashing,
lashing the sand.

Children run freely,
splashing in the rising foam.
Roaming in surf.

Sea Gulls swoop
down to the water's edge,
dredging swimming morsels.

At evening's end,
the sun seeks refuge below,
amidst orange glow.

Erie finds rest,
to arise anew and refreshed.
Summer in Buffalo.



Walt

THE MEANING OF TOMORROW

"There is no medicine like hope, no incentive so great,
and no tonic so powerful as expectation of something tomorrow"
~Orison Swett Marsden

Tomorrow.
The promise of a new day,
wrapped in a verdant wish.
A day to which we look forward,
with the anticipation of a child
on Christmas Day. To say
tomorrow is only a day away,
is to say our future is limited.
Given the depth of the cycle of life,
we look at every new day as a tomorrow.
Expand your horizon; seize this day
and every day here after. Lace it
with laughter and joy, for tomorrow
holds life in its hands gently.
The promise.
Tomorrow.

Walt

GIVING LIFE MEANING

It's how they raised me;
my background; genetics.
A frenetic romp through
those formative years,
a shyness relegating me
to a tool lacking function,
but with a passion to learn.
Lessons of knowledge,
lessons of compassion,
lessons of ability.
Honing the skills that
took me years to realize I had.
A way with music; a way with words,
saying what I mean; meaning what I say.
Far and away the sole purpose
of my art is to start expressing
all my heart had been silent to speak.
In each golden moment, a new reason,
a change of season to carry the year,
and it is here that I belong.
Poetic poser full of song, a head
full of ideas and pleas to the Power
that is, that what I feel is real,
and every life I touch is accepting.
A cleansing of all misdeeds,
and a need to make a difference.
Having been given the gift of life,
it is up to us to give it meaning. 

Walt

NATURE OF DESTRUCTION

Deep in the night
Before morning’s light
Copious flashing and c
                                       r
                                           a
                                               s
                                                  h
                                                      i
                                                          n
                                                               g

            Sirens, incessant
            And lightning, fluorescent
            Buildings now taking a th
                                                                         r        a
                                   sh
                                                                                               ing

                        Satellite image
                        Suggestions of scrimmage
                        It’s nature against all mankind

                                                          Clodhopper grace
                                                                 Leaving much to replace
                                                                       And the turmoil of lives redefined

Marie Elena

Top photo:  Lake High School

Bottom photo:  Lake Township neighborhood where my cousin-in-law's twin brother lives.  Such devastation.

Photos copied from Facebook.

LUNE"R" LOVEMAKING

Erie shores awash,

kissed by the raging tide. 

Quick wet ones.

Walt

SUMMER AND BUFFALO ARE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE

I love the summer season
when it comes to Buffalo.
I couldn't give a reason,
I love the summer season.
It's not akin to treason,
I'm no big fan of snow,
I love the summer season
when it comes to Buffalo.


(But I much prefer the fall!)


Walt 

AND SUDDENLY THE ROOM FELL SILENT

Labored and shallow,
a respirator kept the last vestige
of breath on a regimented pace.

Inhalation and exhalation mechanized;
kept the plane of life still in view
for eyes closed and mortified.

All sense of pulse was just
a faint memory, and suddenly
the sound of a father's voice was hard to recall.

The strength of it nestled in a heart
so deeply that it defied fibrillations.
The ashen hue of his drawn cheekbones

made the vision of him indistinguishable.
Erratic and broken now, each gasp begged
to be his last. A faint squeeze

of a clutching hand flashed the image
of your "hero" walking you across the street
for the first time. Now as he crossed,

it was your grip that led the way.
There came a gurgle; a guttural gag.
And suddenly the room fell silent.

Walt

WRITING POETRY

Writing poetry;
thoughts conceived in the heart.
Finding life
in every emotion,
notions of words to express.

Walt

AN APRIL MOON

The final April moon will soon take leave.
Contentedly, he navigates the sky.
He knows not that his passing makes us grieve,
Nor hears the tone of our collective sigh.

For thirty eves, the moon has cast his spell
Releasing inspiration from his core.
Yet, now has come the time to say farewell,
As April’s moon will strum our hearts no more.

No gathering beneath his fetching smile,
Nor once-upon-a-timing ‘neath his glow.
Though next year, he will once again beguile;
Inspiring prose and verse to daily flow.

Our melancholy hearts will melt away
For there will be a new moon come what May.

Marie Elena

My last poem of the 2010 April Poem-a-Day Challenge.  Phew!  I truly don't know if it is acceptable to end an otherwise solemn sonnet with a bit of humor.  (?)  It's been a sometimes grueling, but always pleasurable experience.  I've learned much once again from the talented poetic community at Poetic Asides. 

Welcome, May.

APRIL'S BLUSH

Another April has come to an end

Whereby thirteen months were consumed

Pondering thoughts we’ve collectively penned

Grateful this poetic friendship has bloomed

Marie Elena

Photo by Keith R. Good

HAIKU

Now these three remain:
faith, hope, and love. And of these,
the greatest is love.


In a sense, this is a "found poem."  1 Corinthians 13:13.  Who knew the Bible lent itself so well to haiku?
 
Marie Elena