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REQUESTED (Izzy’s Sonnet)

Day 2 holding her pacifier

ISADORA KATHLEEN (“Izzy)

 

God graciously gives gifts that prove His love,

And this time used a cherished little one

Whose precious face is reminiscent of

The one who caused my heart to come undone.

Another set of prints upon my soul

Has made her presence known, and it’s sublime –

Just like a piece that makes a puzzle whole,

Or syllable that finishes a rhyme.

Upon three years of practice on my part,

You’d think by now it might have gotten old.

But every day brings wonder to my heart,

And now my joy has multiplied twofold.

Delivered straight to us through Heaven’s door –

The one her sister earnestly asked for.

 By Marie Elena Good

(Welcoming our newest little grandtreasure, Isadora Kathleen, born April 12, 2014.  We are all over the moon, including Sophie, who fervently wanted a sister.  Not knowing ahead of time whether they were having a boy or a girl, Sophie’s mommy and daddy tried to prepare her for the possibility of a brother.  Sophie seemed to know better, and unwaveringly kept reminding us all that she “asked for a sister.”)

 

Link to “PRINTS” (Sophie’s Sonnet):  https://aleerily.wordpress.com/?s=sophie%27s+sonnet

HOMEGROWN

I like it here.
It’s where I belong,
where I’ve longed to be.
Days of my youth held closely
mostly reminders of what molded me.
It holds me in its arms cradled, and days of
now and then make me the man i hoped to be.
Words and music flow from a soul nurtured and raised,
praising He who made me. Blessed with a heart and seeds of
love fully sown, I’ll be glad to be known as someone that is homegrown.

Walt

1969

My voice changed.
That fact defined the year which brought me
to the precipice of adulthood.
Unsure of foot and teetering
on the weak knees of youthful thought.

All of thirteen, a bit green
and ignorant to a changing world.
I found myself transforming into
someone I barely knew, realizing
I would find myself soon enough

as long as I tuned in, turned on
and dropped out of the norms of a
distilled upbringing, wringing my hands
at authority and standing up to the “man”,
still yielding to my mother to take out the trash.

Short on cash and stature, and the nature
of the beast was the least of my concerns.
The females in my realm of thought
made funny things happen to me.
My hands shook, my stomach churned,

and I learned that they were the cause
of my voice fracturing every time they came near.
I had a fear of the war lasting forever,
and having to learn to speak Vietnamese
or Canadian, knowing I’d look bad in fatigues.

Why is it we could put men on the moon,
but couldn’t keep guys like John
and Martin and Bobby safe from hatred.
Isn’t anything sacred anymore? Did we even know the score?
But one thing always delivered the goods. Music.

Music did it for me. I know that now.
We were lighting fires for Morrison,
while Hendrix did fine all by himself.
Mick was gathering no moss, and the price
of freedom was very high, but worth every cent.

And if anyone would tell me that in a year the Beatles
would argue and break up over an avant-garde Ono,
I would tell them the were crazy. I stopped being lazy
in ’69, ever since I found this thing called “muse”,
and how expressing it, gave me and those around me

joy, power, peace; a good release in a lyrical sense
under the false pretense of ever really being
in love yet above all else, music and words lived in me
(but I was just too ignorant to get that clue).
Besides, my voice changed.

Walt

Presented at WE WRITE POEMS – Prompt #166 – What’s it like to be your age?

WHERE OUR HEARTS BELONGED

Home.
It is where the heart is.
We had left her years ago
but our hearts remained; an empty shell

where the essence of us resides.
They can cover her in vinyl,
but in the final determination
the combination of sunny yellow

and a mellow burnt umber trimming.
had her brimming with love.
A two-family dwelling with
full cellar. A fellow could find sanctuary

with nary a care; there was always family there.
A room paneled and trimmed
(all on the carpenter’s whim)
Bunks and captain’s beds,

where we were born and bred.
It remains in my heart and head,
where my memories come.
I’ll always her call home.

© – Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

FEBRUARY 3, 1956 – 10:42 A.M.

The Sunday Whirl – Wordle #41

I was in no position to be born,
in the breech; feet first, a fresh “face”
coming to the fore on that frozen February morn.
Until then, my days on earth up to the day of my birth
were a placid float, suspended in muted serenity.
But, the anguish of my poor mother would serve
to provide shocks to propel me into action,
gaining traction in this field of my amniotic shield;
a permeable hideaway of liquidity.
But damn the masked man in white, he startles me;
a sharp slap sets my ass to flame and a tearful wail to my lips.

 

Walt

Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #41