EXPRESSION

I write of love for my family, friends, and home. Yet, ink halts the flow of emotion to page when I attempt to write of my love for you. The deep sentiment I feel translates tritely to the page, while my soul yearns to write lyrics for the love song my heart endlessly hums. Listen, then, to the silent lyrics penned in tender eyes and gentle touch, for it is there that my heart’s song is rendered.


Happy 20th Anniversary to Keith, the love of my life. 

Marie Elena

TURNABOUT IS FAIR PLAY

Congratulations to my poetic partner Marie Elena Good for her poem "Crossroads", a top 10 finish in the Poetic Asides Sonnet Challenge. Her beauty in words lies in the Sonnet and Haiku forms. Great job Lady!
Also, kudos to Bruce Niedt for taking the top spot. Very Well done, Jim would be very proud!


http://aleerily.blogspot.com/2010/11/crossroads-sonnet-for-my-cousin-with.html


Walt

THE BIGGEST PICTURE

From here I can see it all,

why can't they?

It was they that brought me here

to hang and suffer,

to act as their buffer

from here to the here after.

From here I can see it all.

From here I can see my friends cower

they lower their eyes

and despise all who do me harm,

something warm flows into mine.

Blood as a testament,

an unrelenting reminder from my Father,

I search to find her. My Mother,

from here I can see her,

sad and heart-broken and salvation

is one small token in response.

My brother John beside her,

comforting and consoling,

extolling praises on Him who had sent me.

She is his now. Here is your Mother.

From here I can see the soldiers and rabble

gambling over my cloak and robe,

no compassion is theirs, but they are still heirs

to this sacrifice in which they are complicit.

They proffer their rancid vinegar

to quench my thirst. I offer my blood

the flowing water of eternal love.

From here I can see the elders and supposed

people of wisdom and scripture

witnesses to my demise. Forgiveness I offer

for their ignorance. Hypocrites all.

Their stature falls with every second

I am aloft. Their stance does not soften

but they will be haunted often by this.

From here I can see the criminals who

suffer the same fate, it is too late for them.

One does not feel remorse and his course is clear.

The other will share a paradise straight from here.

I will assure you he will. And still

my blood will cleanse him as well.

It is hard to tell who deserved this fate more.

From here I can see the skies darken.

I harken to my Father, "Eli, Eli"

but his will I do. Thunder rumbles and

the rain tumbles from these black cloud.

I cry out loud as I am near death.

They see me as a man hanging from a tree,

but from here, I can see the big picture.

Walt

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

HAIKU

cradling tenderly
a cherished friend’s aching heart
in hands that can’t hold

Marie Elena


My friend, I'm at a loss. I did not make it to FB, PA, or Across the Lake yesterday. On FB this morning, I saw that many of the dear souls at PA were posting words of comfort on your wall. I visited PA to see what was happening.

There is nothing harder than watching in vain as your child struggles with pain that is unfair, out of your control, and inconsolable. My heart is with you and your wife, Andrea, and the family of this lost soul. May he be at rest now in the arms of Jesus.

Your heart is aching for your sweet Andrea, her classmate, lost family, and lost love … it is too much. God give you strength and comfort, Walt. And may He remind me throughout today to hold you all in prayer.

PARTNERS IN RHYME

Poetic justice presented as a nudge,
an effort to budge me from my malaise.
It's been one of those days
but in times as these, I find it pleases
me to think of the friendship we've amassed.
Marie Elena Good, a perfect monicker for one
so open of heart, and giving of warmth; an angel.
Set before me for the reasons only He knows,
but she truly grows on me daily. It is safe
to imagine that the gift of Marie becomes one
that continues to give; her nature and upbringing
dictate it. We can debate it as much as we want,
but I can't claim my laurels without thanking
Him who made me, and she who made me continue.
Supportive, comforting, but with a swift kick
when the need demands. The hands that hold
family and friends so dear, the hands that hold
her darling Sophia, stretch across the lake,
eerily touching the heart and soul of one
usually in control. We do no more, no less.
The "Best Friend I ALMOST met".
I thank God for the reason. And I thank Marie
for three seasons of poetic prodding,
always nodding in her Good way.


Walt

INGLORIOUS BASTARD

I know you; we've met
in the darkened shadows,
where you cower, and reign

your power and terror upon
the ones I love; or have loved.
A black fisted glove clenched in victory.

A thief in the night,
strikes as horribly in mid-afternoon,
or April Sunday mornings, without warning;

a plague most verulent. Never repentant,
nor indiscriminant, an ignorant disease
bringing to their knees, all hopes and futures planned.

Your wish and command stands defiant,
and reliant on the grief and sorrow of those
that will someday follow, by your "hand" or

some other insidious grip. No radiance
or chemical drip can clip your wings for long;
your grasp is strong. Buying time, but never enough.

Many things left to say, but tough!
As lives in the balance dangle to mangle
and devastate; a wicked fate. A silent coma,

from this carcinoma. The victor.
Life's restrictor. Never paints a flattering picture.
Inglorious bastard.


Walt

LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER

Isolated,

an island out-

post hosting a

beacon bright;
scanning the night,
offering sight 

to wayward
wayfarers. 

He stands on 

watch, keeping 

the lamp sweep-

ing the water.Buoys 

bob in the darkness,
harkening the bells 

with the swell of each 

wave. Deep bellow-

ing horns cut the evening

fog, leaving a long echo 

from harbor to shore. A 

solitary ex-sailor never fails 

to offer security; a sentinel 

sure and silent. Alone in the night, a beacon bright.

 

 

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

A YOUNG MAN'S FANCY (1949)

A sailor, on leave back at home

from his deployment on the USS Borie,

this story has been told by many old

salts of his day. Along the way she

attracted his eye; fetching, catching

his heart off guard. It wasn't hard to see

the attraction, and her reaction to him

was cool at best. But, at his request

she relented, and that sent the gears

into motion. Navigating without an ocean

but steered by the stars in her eyes

his skies became clear. It was the strangest

thing when a young man's fancy turns in Spring!

Walt

FISHING FOR SPRING (Cinquain)

Blue skies

Welcoming sun

A high of thirty six

Brave souls angling for the love of

Walleye

Marie Elena
 

Photo by Keith R. Good

A SPARK OF MEMORY

She lays confused, lonely, cold
in a world where warmth was never
her strongest point. But she waits

unknowingly for the synapse to fire
a brief link to past thoughts;
sparks of memory to catch and ignite

the life she has lived. It gives
her as sense of self that lasts
sometimes for the blink of her eye.

She cries at the futility.
Tears, the utility of every broken heart
start to stream, teeming within red and tired eyes,

a life as seen through her vision
sits in contrast to her existence.
Days numbered and passing unnoticed.

She sees her young neice as an old friend
from a neighborhood that had died years ago.
A photo of the girl's father, her brother,

sparks a smile with the recognition.
Then her condition takes control and
her stroll down memory lane ends.

Each day starts and ends in darkness.
Every moment in between holds
a murkiness of its own. Aunt Jane lingers.

Fingers curled and fisted, clutching
prayer beads, or maybe the last moments of life.
Her memory fades and she does not remember.


Prelude to:

"She Does Not Remember" by Anna Swirszczynska

Walt

HAIKU

Eerily flaming

Rising into Earth’s night sky

Rare parigee moon

 

Marie Elena

Photos by Keith R. Good

Keith captured these vastly different photos of the March 19, 2011 "supermoon" above the Maumee River.   

NEAR THE ERIE TRACK (The House With None of Us In It)

I do not venture there anymore.
The old homestead near the Erie track
stands in an unrecognizable state.
The tales I’ve been told of our old house are tragic.

The house is empty, a haunted house bears more life.
The sharp contrast cuts like a serrated knife,
shredded, tattered edges and shards of memory
laid to waste and leaving a bitter taste in our mouths.

Generations stacked three high would cry
a collective tear if they went near the Erie track.
In fact, many more would shed when the fact enters their heads
that there’s nobody in the house worth a mention.

I cringe with a strain; a tension winding my spring
until I release and cease to be rational.
A right and traditional home; a suitable sanctuary,
it is scary how quickly it has fallen. It is hard

to imagine a manicured yard and bountiful garden left barren,
I wouldn’t care if the years of my making weren’t taking
their toll on my memory. There is nary a day that goes by
that I do not try to recall her as our domain. All that’s left is pain.

Indeed, she offered us all that a house should, it was good
that warmth and shelter were felt in her embrace.
We played no part in her disgrace; this place is no longer
ours to concern over. We’ve grown stronger in our absence.

I do not venture there anymore. That place,
that house with none of us in it. I do not look back.
　
　
Response to:

"The House With Nobody In It" by Joyce Kilmer


Walt