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IT WAS SUMMER

Pool days, Daze of youth.
To tell the truth I miss that time.
I felt fine; felt alive, running with good friends,
relaxing on the shore late nights by the lake.
Memories take me back. It was summer.

Bare feet or flip-flops, we were non-stop,
under blue skies. We had our fun
where the green grass was emerald,
and the sweet tea was refreshing.
Life was hot! It was summer.

Star gazing as moonflakes shimmer
on the rippling surge of Erie’s offering.
Near the bonfires of passing time,
feeling as if I’m on permanent vacation.
This was my station. It was summer.

Neighbor kids had lemonade stands,
red solo cups filled with sunshine
elixir, a mixture of tart and sweet.
A nice retreat from the heat in the shade,
this day was made for it. It was summer.

Late lightning and thunderstorms,
fireworks of nature’s provision,
star-crossed hearts start each evening
with the hope of true love to coming to call.
All was all right at night! It was summer.

Backyard barbeques, sweet peaches
and watermelon. People sellin’ their stuff
as yard sales pop up along the street.
Mr. Frosty’s ring jingle made you tingle
for ice cream. A young man’s dream. It was summer.

Pool days, daze of youth.
To tell the truth I miss those times,
I felt fine. Mom and Dad were still alive.
Life was perfect despite our flaws,
all for the cause of family. It was summer.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

 

Added words: Lake, moonflakes, heat, shade

 

Written to Poetic Bloomings “An Entertaining Summer” – Day 22: WORDS, WORDS, SUMMER WORDS

Offered at dVerse Poets Pub – OLN #176

FRONT PORCH, AS THE THUNDER APPROACHES

End of day plays Jekyll and Hyde,
it’s a bit warm to remain inside.
A hasty retreat is beaten to the cover
of awning with a rainstorm dawning.
Deck chairs edge closer; the center
of the porch as ground zero.
Clouds dance, lightning brightening
the horizon. Hearing in the distance,
rumbles tumble, a cacophonous cascade;
nature’s serenade played in tympanic
tumult. Nearer the furor approaches.
Rain showers encroach on late spring.
A brilliant display on the front porch at the end of day!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015

THE TELEPATH BETWEEN US

I follow my shoreline
it leads me to you,
a trip traveled
in this unraveled mind.
No distance too great,
no thought too small,
for through it all
we count on all we’ve
encountered. Slow and steady
we pace, and face our
obstacles with confidence.
Let it be known, we have grown
in friendship poetically
and without a frenetic stance,
this mutual “roamance” of words
brings us to the same place
in thoughts familiar
and somewhat familial,
my survival depends
on us as friends till the end.
Follow my shoreline.

Walt

THE DANCE BY MOONLIGHT

Skyward, I watch the moon ascend,
the end of day is near. And here,
I stand cup in hand and wondering
if the shine still stretched to Maumee.
I see the stars twinkle and I have
and inkling that we gaze together,
a step in the reunion long awaited.
Never outdated, the words meld into
the one thought we always shared.
There is music in this night.
and the lightness of our steps
assures the chance that this dance
begins again, poets and best friends.
(meeting would be defeating our purpose!)

Walt

SEASONS CHANGE

The air is chilled.

Clouds in a hue of blue

that feels frigid, making

exposed digits ache and stiffen.

Autumn sweeps through

and it’s true that fall is only days old,

but the cold will have you believing

that looks are deceiving. Summer is gone;

can Winter be far behind?

I find that this respite is a diversion,

an excursion through the year of seasons.

No reason can suffice to quell

crimson leaves and ice .

 

Copyright © Walter J. Wojtanik -2012

BE: WALTER LIVINGSTON SEAGULL – An Epiphany

The lesson becomes this. You learn by living. And you hope you’re allowed to apply all of these lessons before your living ends.

The nest is vacated as of late, not quite empty but that’s just semantics. The girls have ostensibly evacuated, leaving Janice (my wife) and me to “fend for ourselves”. We do OK. I cook. She cleans. I repair and remodel. She washes and gardens. I nocturnally smash my head into furniture; she resumes a battle against her dreadful afflictions. But, we do OK.

The battles used to be shared. We were mutual combatants in a strained union, dancing precariously on the precipice of a bottomless free-fall. Somehow, the feet always seemed to avoid that finality. You come to be a student of your own mistakes, taking what you can salvage and leaving the unnecessary flotsam for the plankton. The fates have been tickled and in the thick of it, remains our sanity. So we chose to dance; to cling to a life for the prescribed better or worse and try to nurse this wounded beast back to health (or some semblance thereof!)

We had gotten into the habit of letting life slip by. But, our new discoveries dictate that if you do that long enough, you died without living (learning the lessons). That needed to be remedied. After all, I repair and remodel, so fixing covers it.

“Let’s take a drive” I suggested, not expecting the response I received.

“You know, I’d like that.” She said with as much joy as I’ve heard from Janice in a long while.

So, I packed a picnic basket and took the long drive along the Lake Erie shore. We shared a place, a beach from our respective youths that was as far removed in years as the difference in our ages. Not an outrageous endeavor by any means, but something we just didn’t do anymore since the girls were younger. I believe I needed this as much as she did. Janice had earned this, as she did every prize her heart held dear. It was something I had owed to her that in some small way covered an installment of an overdue bill.

Late afternoon when we arrived, finding an open area with tables and a grill, and an unimpeded view of the slightly choppy surf. She settled into her lawn chair and I performed my function as the hunter/gatherer/fire starter. My wife and I dined, amidst a warm lake breeze, 60’s classic rock on the iPod and a conversation that was twenty-seven years in development. We cleared the table  and headed for the sand.

Down the pathway it became apparent that the guards were no longer on duty for not many people remained on the beach. Also rather obvious was the multitude of seagulls that carpeted the shoreline. It was their meeting place; a sanctuary. We set off to the clearing and left the birds to their Sunday service. Janice spread the blanket; she and I settled onto the sand and watched the waves.

Did you ever listen to the crash of waves? I don’t mean have you ever heard the sound of waves. Did you ever LISTEN? The sound is very different that the perpetual crash against the battered shore. The hiss fades in and out, and at its peak, it is a raucous roar. It is as if the roll of wave feels uncomfortable to insinuate itself on the placidity of a sun-drenched day, but in its own exuberance, it explodes to share its joy.

The sun continues a retreat toward the horizon and the color of the clouds is of a spectrum of new and vibrant hues. I choose to wander with my camera (promising not to shoot photos of my wife in her state). I focused on the gulls and walked a line directly through their assembly. The din was voluminous, and the every which way scattering of birds filled multiple frames. And I caught a solitary bird in flight with the settling sun as its backdrop.

“Nice shot, Jonathan!” I said inwardly suddenly thinking of Jonathan Livingston Seagull from Richard Bach’s novella of the same name.

At this moment life made sense to me. This moment made sense to me.

~*~

If you do not remember or have not heard of Jonathan Livingston Seagull, here is a brief synopsis:

Jonathan Livingston Seagull is a seagull learning about life and flight, and self-perfection.

Young Jonathan Livingston is frustrated with the meaningless materialism and conformity as well as the limitations of the seagull life. He is seized with a passion for flight of all kinds, and his soul soars. Eventually, his lack of conformity to the limited seagull life leads him into conflict with his flock, and they turn their backs on him, casting him out of their society and exiling him. Jonathan is not swayed and continues his efforts to reach higher and higher flight goals, finding he is often successful but eventually can not fly any higher.

Jonathan transcends into a new society where all the gulls enjoy flying. He is only capable of this after practicing hard alone for a long while. In this other society, real respect emerges as a contrast of the coercive force that was keeping his former flock together. The learning process takes on almost sacred levels, suggesting that this may be the true relation between humans and God with each believing that humans and God, regardless of the all immense difference, are sharing something of great importance that can bind them together. Jonathan understands that a seagull is an unlimited idea of freedom, an image of the Great Gull.” He realizes he has the freedom to be himself, his true self, here and now and nothing can stand in his way.

The last words of Jonathan’s teacher resonates with him. “Keep working on love.” Jonathan understands that the spirit is earth-bound without the ability to forgive. Jonathan returns to his former flock to share his newly discovered ideals and the recent tremendous experiences. The ability to forgive seems to be a prerequisite to the “passing condition.” The truth lies in this lesson: love, deserved respect, and forgiveness all seem to be equally important to the freedom from the conformity of the rules just because they are commonly accepted.

~*~

Love. Deserved respect. Forgiveness. These make a life well lived. I had lost sight of the importance of the life I had been given. I tried to strive for “poetic perfection”, bucking the system; thinking myself above the “flock”. I went on this journey to find a “higher plane”, without realizing “I had already arrived”. The time wasted trying to honor and glorify my abilities, skewed my sense of priority; it almost destroyed me.

I became what I am, a small grain of sand on a vast lake shore; a speck in the early evening sky. And a song from the soundtrack of “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” by Neil Diamond played in my head. On a search for forgotten lyrics, I was humbled and caught by surprise:

BE

Written by: Neil Diamond

Lost
On a painted sky
Where the clouds are hung
For the poet’s eye
You may find him
If you may find him

There
On a distant shore
By the wings of dreams
Through an open door
You may know him
If you may

Be
As a page that aches for words
Which speak on a theme that’s timeless
And the one God will make for your day
Sing
As a song in search of a voice that is silent
And the one God will make for your day

And we dance
To a whispered voice
Overheard by the soul
Undertook by the heart
And you may know it
If you may know it

While the sand
Would become the stone
Which begat the spark
Turned to living bone
Holy, Holy
Sanctus, sanctus

Be
As a page that aches for words
Which speak on a theme that is timeless
And the one God will make for your day
Sing
As a song in search of a voice that is silent
And the one God will make for your day

We had a perfect day that God had made for us, my wife and I. We found something we had lost or forgotten a while back: love, respect and forgiveness. And in the tenderness of a mid-summer’s sunset, we made love in a sense – fully clothed, watching the sky transition into new beauty, but totally in the embrace of this moment. The moment I fell in love with my wife all over again!

And the lesson becomes this. You learn by living. And you hope you’re allowed to apply all of these lessons before your living ends. Whatever happens in this life, this moment belongs to us.

© All photographs by Walter J. Wojtanik

EERILY SILENT, ACROSS THE LAKE

Since its inception three years ago, ACROSS THE LAKE, EERILY has been the home for poetic nurturing and witty banter for two wayward poets trying to find their muse. Many words and emotions have been bandied about, many joys and tragedies were shared and in the process, two total strangers have become great friends and poetic compatriots…and they still NEVER have met.

But things change. Situations dictate a re-prioritizing of time and talent. And it is sadly that, MARIE ELENA GOOD and I have decided to discontinue ACROSS THE LAKE, EERILY.
Unfortunately, there were too few hours in the day to accomodate all the projects we have under way. It is time to pursue other adventures.

The joint assembly at POETIC BLOOMINGS will remain intact. This was a bigger labor of love in our poetic minds because it included all of the friends, who like MARIE ELENA and I, have found great comfort and support in each others collective muse. Thus, it was the logical choice to be left untouched.

MARIE will continue to contribute her poetry throughout the blogisphere, advance her Children’s Literature writing and be in a front row seat to watch her little ball of sunshine, Sophie, illuminate the world.

I will also continue my postings at the various site I have adopted as “homes away from home” foisting my poetics and flash fiction on the suspecting public whenever I can. Music is always a great love as is the theater and my desire to complete my musical AND my screenplay (we all have screenplays!) can only benefit from this respite. Collections of poetry are in stages of assembly and my blogs THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET’S HEART and I AM SANTA CLAUS will be keeping me off of the highways. My association at FLASHY FICTION will also be unchanged. I only pray for the time to allow me to live to see it all through. So far, so Good. So, this is not goodbye by a long shot. It’s a “Until we get a chance…”

(However, I will be keeping this sight, renamed EERILY SILENT, ACROSS THE LAKE for the assembly of similar poems and stories in keeping with MARIE and my objective, the influence of this rather special neck of the woods in which we live. Who knows, maybe …)

So, for the time being, this will be the end of a great first step into the world of our own creation. Poetry lives on long after we’ve stopped writing. “Say Goodnight, Gracie!”

 

Walt

 

Goodnight, Gracie.