THE FISHERMAN

Afloat.

On life’s lake languid,

lost in contemplative moments

of nature’s whispers and the ripple

stirred by each minuscule motion.

No nibble besets his anticipation,

but visions of a soul dancing freely

upon every sun glinted wave,

show the change inherent in each

breath of a restless and longing heart.

Nothing else matters. A bad day fishing

Is the best good day life offers.

The line stretches taut as

serenity soars. A fisherman,

lost in the moment.

Afloat.

IN THE SPOTLIGHT

All the heat of a million suns
baking; no mistaking your influence.
For in the confluence of words,
the only thing heard is the sound
of a heart beating, greeting the stares
and glares with a clear head
and a passionate fire. It has been your desire,
to progress in talent and scope,
a sincere hope that success comes
with all the trimmings. Skimming your heart,
stepping out of your comfort zone, alone.
Taking your place on stage finally,
tempering your sanity and fighting
off your critics not ready to release you.
It pleases you that they hold you tightly,
but rightly, you have more stages to grace
in search of your rightful place.
Taking the world by storm and being warm.
In the spotlight, never let them see you sweat.

BASEBALL DREAMS

‎                                                  

"The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. ...this game, is a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again. Ohhhhhhhh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come." 

~Terrence Mann (James Earl Jones) from "Field of Dreams"

Just a game.

A thread in the fabric

of Americana; ranks with

Mom's apple pie,

Dad's Chevrolet.

But we'd play for hours.

Breaking windows,

crushing flowers.

On youth's field,

yielding the promise

of a future bright.

In the light of Doubleday,

we'd play. No visions 

of Cooperstown or

World Series heroics,

just a stoic jaunt through

a dirt infield. Days past,

and present futures strong,

I long for the days to play.

We built our dreams on

that field. If you build it,

dreams will come.
And they did.

                                                                                                                     Photo by Walt Wojtanik

WOODLAWN BEACH

On Erie's shore
just south of Buffalo;
in the shadow of Bethlehem Steel,
Woodlawn Beach languishes.
Sand strewn with drift wood,
seaweed interwoven between
seashells and toes; rocky layers
stubbing and protruding, eluding
them was a battle.
Passing years brought stench,
abandoned Steel Plant stands,
an ominous reminder of the decay.
Dead fish and gulls where children played,
now they stay off shore. No more
escaping or scraping memories out of
her unkempt shell. Just as well.
Woodlawn Beach is closed again.
This Year. Every year.

GIVING LIFE MEANING

It's how they raised me;
my background; genetics.
A frenetic romp through
those formative years,
a shyness relegating me
to a tool lacking function,
but with a passion to learn.
Lessons of knowledge,
lessons of compassion,
lessons of ability.
Honing the skills that
took me years to realize I had.
A way with music; a way with words,
saying what I mean; meaning what I say.
Far and away the sole purpose
of my art is to start expressing
all my heart had been silent to speak.
In each golden moment, a new reason,
a change of season to carry the year,
and it is here that I belong.
Poetic poser full of song, a head
full of ideas and pleas to the Power
that is, that what I feel is real,
and every life I touch is accepting.
A cleansing of all misdeeds,
and a need to make a difference.
Having been given the gift of life,
it is up to us to give it meaning. 

IN MY FATHER'S HANDS

Life.

Held in the balance,
held in high regard,
held in my Father's hands.

Held within my heart,
held in respect,
held in my Father's hands.

Held in loving embrace,
held with reverence,
held in my Father's hands.

Held for a lifetime,
held in fervent memory,
my Father, the hands that held.

Life.



Walt