WRAP MY WORDS AROUND YOU (by Daniel Bedingfield)

In the night, you approach.
A wafting wind to warm me,
a gentle hand to soothe my anguish.
I am inspired by your beauty,
a vision to feast upon,
a voice to quell an angel's sigh.
And I, merely a mortal man,
a word monger striving;
surviving this life through verse.
Sometimes this blessing is a curse,
a perverse ability to seduce
the mind and heart. I am an upstart
in search of the phrase that will
open you, longing for the rhyme that will
infect your spirit with an unending love.
Find solace in my wile;
take comfort in my words.
Warmth and security emenate
from within my verbose blanket.
To you, I offer the rendings of my heart.
Wrap my words around you.

WALK LIKE A MAN (Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons)

Striding, head held high,
a strong classic chin leading,
your breeding shows, and she knows it.
You smile, pearly whites, bright they are,
each a shining star in your oral galaxy.
Broad shoulders and a chiseled boulder
for a chest. You're doing your best
to display the package; a knack you've had.
It doesn't make you bad as you nod,
an acknowledgment to her passing.
A beauty in her own right, you fight
the urge to speak; a mysterious smile
guides your wile. You look back
and as she strolls away without fail,
you exhale. Your chest drops
as does your belly, lapping your belt
like a bowl full of jelly. Short and labored
is your breath as you struggle to retrieve it.
Who'd have believed it...that you still
thought that act would get you noticed.
You trudge away, another day in anonymity.

SAIL

Unfurled, my canvas tightens,
taut and rigid in the strength
of a gale force wind. Beginning
and ending with the gusts
prevailing, sailing into the waters,
uncharted and unsure. It is purely
the epitome of self-sufficiency;
this proficiency so star-guided
provides me with the direction I crave.
In it, I am saved, a navigator of
life's currents. Wave after wave,
I am coaxed toward shore, for sure
more open waters await me.
My sole journey continues undeterred.

WHEN WE WAS FAB

 
Do you want to know a secret?
I want to hold your hand.
It won't be long, just eight days a week.
I wanna be your man, but I'm happy just to dance with you.
Girl, tell me what you see. I want to tell you, I need you.
Yesterday, or the night before...any time at all,
I will carry that weight. I want you.
I've got a feeling, Martha my dear,
that we can come together. Don't let me down.
In my life, this boy knows, all you need is love.
Oh Darling, good night.

P.S I love you.

 

NOT ABOUT THE BLING

Level headed, keeping eyes
close to the vest, at best.
Not drawn to the sparkle,
left in the "dark" for the most part.

It's a start when beauty is beheld,
a wealth for the eyes, as it decries
all that glitters. Never a bitter glance,
askance or other wise, it flies

in the face of reason. Coveteous I am
not, a guy blinded by bauble or bead
does not succeed. It distracts and retracts
from the grounding found in youth.

Finding wonder in a mystic smile,
Venus de "Milo" meets memory,
and all that he can see, inspires.
Fires of passion seek repose in poem.

And there beauty resides.
It hides in the shadow of worded rhyme,
in time it finds the bright light of day.
Not blinded by the bling; allowing hearts to sing.

WHERE ARE YOU NOW?

Lyrics by Walter J. Wojtanik - © 2011

Sitting here I watch your picture on the wall,
dancing to the gentle strains of melodies we knew.
Memories we've shared; the times that showed we cared,
fade away in thoughts of you.

All alone at night I wonder where you are
and I wonder if you think about me now and then,
thoughts inside my head are better left unsaid
since my heart fell from your hands.

Where are you now,
now that I need you?
Where are you now,
wishing somehow you still need me too,
the way you used to do.

Looking in your eyes was like a dream come true,
feeling all the little things I learned so hard to need.
But, now I look around and realize, I've found
just how much I need you still.

Where are you now,
now that I need you?
Where are you now?
I just don't believe in love anymore
since you've walked out my door. Now you're gone.

ONE OF THESE DAYS

I'll finally be the man I've aspired to be,
one of these days.
Happy in my station, a perpetual situation,
one of these days.
An unconvicted, man of conviction
one of these days,
who is as adept at poetry as at fiction.
One of theses days,
my wife and I will find comfort in the nest, and
one of these days,
when my daughters find their joy, it'll be the best.
One of these days
the aches and pains will be tolerable, less taxing
one of these days
I'll find time for relaxing.
One of these days
I'll walk my daughters down the aisle, and
on those days,
I'll sport a sad tear and a smile.
One of these days,
all of the projects I've started will find completion, and
one of these days
I'll finish my novel, a fine first edition.
One of these days
I'll run out of things to do, before I run out of time.
One of these days
when people say my name, they'll say "He was fine!"
One of these days.

WASTED TIME

Seconds tick.
The tympany of lost moments
left to linger in the anteroom of thought.
In the expanse of eternal existance,
we offer resistance to the passing of days,
hoping to delay their demise; returning with
each new rise of the sun. But, when we are done,
will we be remembered for all we strived to be?
Or will we be forgotten in the unmarked grave
of obscurity? Our procrastination is telling.
Time's a wasting. There's no tasting success
until we kick up our heels and initiate.
Tick, tick, tick,...

**For micro poetry's prompt, "AND I QUOTE..." - "If we wait for the moment when everything, absolutely everything is ready, we shall never begin." ~ Ivan Turgenev

MUSIC HATH CHARMS

Melodic memories, triggered by random turns
of phrase, a new page in your book of dreams.
It surely seems that a mind can be shaken or stirred
into a whir of activity. You possess a proclivity for
drawing upon the past long enough gone
to notate upon the staff of your life;
it is a song composed with ethos and verve.
Steeling your nerve, thrown caution becomes windblown
and all are shown the power of your voice.
A flash-back to a day when music was an ally
to rely upon, a trigger for thoughts nurtured
in the womb of your fertile mind. Gestation,
born of elation for all your songs relate;
it is never too late to write your score.
The more you remember, more tender the melody.

POETRY AS ART

Another honor bestowed upon me thanks to my association with Robert Lee Brewer and the absolutely amazing poets of the Writer's Digest.com/Poetic Asides group. I have been riding high on my laurels since Robert had named me the 2010 Poetic Asides April PAD Poet Laureate on his birthday. Fittingly, my chapbook, "Worth a Thousand Words" has been selected as one of the top seven finalist for the November Chapbook Challenge a day before mine. The top honor, and deservedly so, went to Uma Gowrishankar for her chapbook, "Inhale".

I had submitted two manuscripts for the challenge. The first "Chronicles of the Traveling Red Suit", was a collection of my "I Am Santa" poems. A rough draft of a future work for sure. I am proud of this one in its own right.

But, "Worth a Thousand Words" is a compilation of some of my concrete poetry. Concrete poetry is a visual representation having a direct connection to the poetry proffered. Each "picture", although not nessessarily comprised of a thousand words, conveys the work in an artful way. From Snoopy, to a fishing pond, to an electric guitar, each was a unique challenge in itself. If I am ever questioned about poetry being an art form, I will place "Worth a Thousand Words" on the table and answer with a resounding "Yes!"

Along with Robert Lee Brewer and his gracious wife Tammy (Thanks Tammy), I must also express my gratitude to the following people:

Marie Elena Good, a good and loyal friend and wonderful poet as well. Marie has supported these efforts, while provoking and nurturing the works, along with offering her own takes on every piece. A great partner with whom I am happy and proud to share the blog "Across the Lake, Eerily".

Sara Gwen, another of the Poetic Asides contributors you helped reveal the "secrets" of spacing in relation to the PA site.

My daughters Melissa and Andrea who have been my biggest critics and supporters. I love that they share my interest in the written word, being partial to poetry as well.

And thanks to all of the fantastic poets I have encountered on this incredible network called the Internet.
You have all added a small piece of yourselves through your works and words.