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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

MADE OF THE MIST

Maid of the Mist

Maid of the Mist

The air below churns and yearns
to dance in the foamy wake.
It takes a circuitous route
as cascades crash, smashing
against the rocks below. Thunderous
wonder of the world. Your winds
swirl as your micro-droplets
collect. On a boat so close
you can taste Niagara’s mist.
This is the epitome of awe
and wonder. Under the rainbow,
a new world transcends
below the mighty falls,
down where the Niagara River ends.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015

For Phoenix Rising July P.A.D. Travelog – Destination: Poetry – Niagara Falls

 

TO THE SEAS

Men must go to the seas.
Sailor and wayfarer share this desire.
Mired in rich tradition, a mission
of heart; determination.
In ships and boats
floats and dinghy and rafts.
Any water-tight craft will serve.
Grey cummulo-ominous clouds
churning, yearning for release.
A treacherous chop,
the surging surf of a spiraling sea.
A dangerous dilemma,
way off shore and a combative oar.
Wishing to not become debris,
men must go to the seas.
God help them all!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015

MAUMEE

Maumee, Ohio.
Never been there.
Never met her.
Never heard of her,
before poetry placed her in my heart.
From the start, she became a place
that held a face most familiar.
Never seen her.
Never met her.
Won’t forget her influence
and support. A poetic cohort.
She knows my skeletons
by name. All the same,
Maumee, how I love ya, how I love ya!

 

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

POETIC ASIDES APRIL P.A.D. – DAY 12: CITY

SHADOW OF YOUR SMILE

From west to east you reach me,
for years you chose to teach me
a lesson shared; of poetics, and life,
love and respect. You always reject
any notion that our devotion was
a chance happenstance, we were 
meant to “meet” in whatever form
that would take, and make no mistake,
I know you as well as is possible
without ever exchanging glances.
And on the odd chance that we ever could
share the same space, I will remember
your face by the trace it will leave on my soul.
Your voice, your grace, your style all live
forever in the shadow of your smile.

Walt

LISTEN WITH YOUR HEART

When love speaks, it speaks softly.
Aspiring to lofty things, of how hearts sing
in harmony that warms and soothes.
It moves them to a pinnacle
that other cynical people cannot attain.

When love speaks, it speaks softly.
A language that needs not word,
nor intention. Or any mention of past
indiscretions. Love expresses in a way
that says all it ever needs in a breathless sigh.

When love speaks, it speaks softly,
o’er the expanse of time, o’er the length
of distant miles. O’er fathoms of seas and lakes
it takes a tender thought to conjoin two souls
across an eerie connection in poetic perfection.

When love speaks, it speaks softly,
When love speaks, it is heard loudly.
When love speaks, knowing hearts believe.
When love speaks, nothing else needs to be said
when love speaks.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

Taken from “Love Speaks” by Marie Elena Good

THIS MAN

This is a proud man.
Proud of his family heritage.
Proud to carry on traditions and values of his parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents.
Pleased to pass this heritage on to his daughters.
Yet, also pleased that he is able to recognize, admit, and sift out
that which should remain in the past.

This same past which brings him such pride is also a source of concern.
The kernel of fear that resides deep within, usually kept at bay,
Sometimes swells to make itself noticed,
causing at times anxiety,
at times melancholy.
This is because the kernel of fear is coupled with a bent toward perfection,
and desire to halt unwanted addictions.

This is a man of ethics.
Blue-collar work rightfully does not intimate him,
and in fact is another source of pride.

This is a man of faith.
He believes in God,
and wishes to hear His voice more often than he does.
He seeks God’s guidance and forgiveness, and is pleased
when he truly senses His presence in his life.
Being a man who has experienced immense loss, I can only imagine
there is some anger toward God that surfaces from time to time.
Being a man with great respect for his Creator, he swings
between expressing that anger,
and stuffing it deep.
He struggles with misplaced guilt for the disappointment he feels
in this Giver and Taker of life.
When he chooses to express his faith through the written word,
the deep love and respect for his God become plainly evident.

This is a man of wistfulness.
Nostalgia means a great deal to this man.
He experiences at times a strong yearning for yesteryear.
There is a longing to take the wisdom gained through the years with him to his past,
and thrive therein.
He is a man of simple pleasures,
and drawn to a simpler era. He finds contentment
in reminiscing the delight of his youth, and pouring memories
onto the page.

This is a man of poetry and passion.
He is rightfully proud of the weight and beauty of his words.
In his heart, he recognizes the power he holds. Yet,
a diffidence that he has battled all his life vies for his conviction,
rendering this recognition fragile.
Although more than capable of working on his own,
his best surfaces when someone of great worth in his life
sees the treasure in his words.

This is a man.
A man who would unreservedly give his life for his family
or a stranger in need.

This is a man.

Marie Elena