Category Archives: Lesson

AT FIRST SIGHT… – PROMPT #72

Somewhere along the road of life, someone catches our eye. And in the blink that follows, your life seems changed forever. It could be a smile, a well turned phrase or just “something” that tells you that your first instincts are correct.

“HOW DO YOU VIEW your life? – POETIC BLOOMINGS MEMOIR PROJECT

Part 7: AT FIRST SIGHT… Write about falling in love for the first time. You can change the names if you feel more comfortable, or not even write of the “other half,” just tell us what the experience was like for you.  It’s your first inklings of love that we seek. What antics did you both engage in? What kind of things did you do on a date?  Tap the memory banks for this one. And then write it.

MARIE ELENA’S JOURNEY:

1974 – 1989

New state,
New town,
New high school.
My sophomore year, I spot you.
I say to my new friend,
“Someday, I will marry him.”

I recall my mother telling my sister,
“Use your eyes, Peg.”
And so I “use” my eyes.
Is that what caught your attention?
I can’t say for sure, but it seemed to me
You used your eyes as well.

We walk Naples beach.
We hold hands,
Play football in the sand,
Sit close on the band bus for “away” games.
We talk, and laugh, and hug
And can’t say goodbye.

My senior year, we marry.
We enjoy each others’  company.
We enjoy our three children.
Just shy of thirteen years,
We say that goodbye.

One of us needed no one else.
One, apparently not.

© Marie Elena Good

WALT’S INFATUATION:

WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT…

From across the pond you beamed,
a bit too perky with that quirky smile.
Full of style and wide of eye,
I’d spy every fawning glimpse I could.
I should have known I’d be shown the door
to your heart. This was our start.
Long before anorexia depleted you,
years before cancer defeated you,
we shared what true hearts share.
Hidden in that soulful stare,
I found you and had discovered love.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012


WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS – PROMPT # 69

So, we’ve dispelled the saying, “You can’t go home again!”  Our poets offered a wonderful mix of memory and angst about their origins.

Many things and people influence our lives, be they our parents, siblings, mentors, role models… they all have one thing in common: the ability to affect change in others just by their presence and wisdom.

“HOW DO YOU VIEW your life? – POETIC BLOOMINGS MEMOIR PROJECT

Part 4: With a Little Help From My Friends – Again, we are putting restrictions (darn restrictions!) on your muse. Family members, although influential, will play a special role down on the list of prompts. Today, write about someone who is or had been a great influence in your life. How did they affect you, what important lesson did they impart? It could be a neighbor, a teacher, a close friend, a group of them or a total stranger. If there was a lesson to be learned there, they’re fair game.  Thank them for giving you a hand up.

MARIE ELENA’S GODSEND

Might You Be A Poet?

She once was told to write about someone influential in her life –
someone with no family ties.
So she set aside for a moment the fact that they are surely
twin cousins, separated at birth,
growing up in an eerily similar life and time.

She focused instead on the shared yellow brick road
to poetic solidarity.
It took no effort on her part, as her pen gushed
camaraderie
harmony
laughter -

then abruptly stopped.

She coaxed it gently, conceding the feeling
something was missing.
It began again – this time slowly, softly,
in watercolor.
She watched as it whispered

t e a r s

p r a y e r s

g r a t i t u d e.

Ah, yes.

She capped her pen,
and smiled warmly eastward.

© Marie Elena Good – 2012

WALT’S LIFE MASTER:

GO WEST, YOUNG MAN

Cast bread upon the water,
manna for the mind at a time when
his words mattered, but never found their voice.
He had a choice to make -
take his cache of word hash home,
or drop crumbs into the water;
laced with cadence and nuance
which would lead him back to where he belonged,
ripple after ripple, broadcasting in the beauty of words.
Westward he gazed, where her admiration bathed
his tired and tepid soul; a grasp for control
of what lived within him. Encouragement came
in comforting tones, impassioned pleas
to please the one who found purpose in his prose;
piety in his poetry. For no notoriety
would come without words that spoke to hearts,
or thoughts that touched souls,
or one who would allow him into both sanctuaries.
His lessons came in the belief in his convictions,
the gratitude for his gift, and a strong hint of humility;
in his attempt to share his world with all who wanted
to cast their bread upon the water alongside his own.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

I had written an alternate piece for this prompt:

ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE

Long after the rage and the death of two,
I was given the chance to enhance
an amazing tribute; a salute to four
so “Fab” that it became part of their name.
And I was adorned as the “stiff one”;
dark suit and striped tie, sweating bullets.
Happiness is not a warm gun when nerves
kick in. I begin each “really big shoe”
with my arms folded and mouth turned down -
half frown, half – I’m going to lose my lunch.
A great bunch of entertaining musicians;
they were equipped with replica guitars
acting like the stars they were. Getting by
with a little help from my friends.
Mr. Sullivan, on stage alone
until the words I intone, “Ladies
and Gentlemen, the Beatles!”

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

Process notes: I had been asked to do my impersonation of Ed Sullivan to open and introduce a Beatles tribute band on stage. I had NEVER had the grapes to do it in public, let alone spotlighted on stage before a packed house. My shyness and fear of public speaking died that night. Lesson learned the hard way. I am grateful for that opportunity!

“really big shoe!”


BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS – PROMPT #59

Water possesses great power to soothe or destroy. That was very evident in the sight I had the great fortune to witness last night as I caught the mist in the air and the inspiration of a man following his dream. A great amount of water played into it and the power of  Niagara Fall provided the backdrop to history. Nik Wallenda, an incredible spirit and man of  great faith doing what he was meant to do. As are we poets. And so our rewards are great. Thus, we choose our BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS for the week that was water!

MARIE ELENA’S PICK

“Water” opens a floodgate of possibilities, doesn’t it? ;) Many of your responses spoke to my heart, or filled my head with fabulous imagery. Yet, one little 8-word,  easy-to miss piece overflowed with truth and sentiment. My Beautiful Bloom goes to Michelle Hed’s little gem.

one tear drop
can cause ripples
miles away

WALT”S CHOICE:

Apparently Marie and I have made our choices which could be considered the “long and short” of it.  Taking on that seemingly insurmountable challenge (mentioned above) brought me to choose Mary Mansfield‘s ambitious Sestina, “Shadows on the Water” – very apropos for the event that has shaken me in a profound way. Mary, here’s your bloom!

SHADOWS ON THE WATER by Mary Mansfield

I ventured through the mud and stones
Until I reached that special place
Where the lingering shadows
Of willows trembled in the dying light,
Cooler of cold Corona in hand
And memories of you in my heart.

Seeking salvation for an aching heart
Is much easier here than in a field of stones
Shaped and engraved by a mournful hand,
Finding comfort in a familiar place
Where we watched divine light
In its endless dance with the shadows.

I truly understand those shadows;
They now occupy my heart,
Their darkness choking away your light,
Brushing across the stones
And desecrating this place,
Dusky phantoms melting in my hand.

I cup water in my hand
To wash away the shadows
Yet they remain in place,
The stubborn stains of a wounded heart,
One martyred by Death’s stones
But still seeking the redemption of the light.

As night approaches, the light
Crawls across the bluffs, God’s hand
Stroking color across the stones
But not banishing the shadows
That now haunt my heart
Every moment in every place.

I’m merely a vessel floating in place,
Unable to move into forward toward the light,
The loss of you a nail through my heart.
I take another bottle in hand
And make a toast to you, to shadows,
To lost heroes in a sea of stones.

Here in this place I feel you close at hand,
Your spirit now a part of that dance of light and shadows,
Bringing just a bit of peace to a heart battered by stones.

Congratulations to the “M&M” girls, Michelle and Mary for their work this week. Thanks to all our poets, who inspire in their own exemplary way!


COMING HOME – PROMPT # 55

Marie discovered the geography of our contributing poet/gardeners revealing some interesting locales. So for this prompt, we are going home. We’d like to play up the international flavor we’ve developed here. Write a poem about or inspired by your home. It could be where you were born, your hometown, the country from which you originate. Teach us a bit about your origins, or customs and plant yourself firmly into the fertile poetic soil of our garden and ultimately root deeper into our hearts.

MARIE ELENA’S HOME:

Northwest Ohio

My Buckeye roots extended northeast
to the “Center of Steel Production,”
now known as the “Rust Belt.”
Following a short southern plunge into the Gulf
of Mexico, they rummaged northward again,
and have deeply rooted themselves
into Northwest Ohio’s flat terrain.

Not a hill to be found,
it clambers to give the eye something
on which to feast.

Myself, I relish the curve of the Maumee,
Eerie temperament of a storied great lake,
the stately Buckeye,
flowering Dogwood and Poplar,
scarlet Sumac, Redbud, and Sycamore.

A Spring palette of fair pastels
and equally fair temperatures
transforms to Summer’s
Petri-dish, and
brightly flamboyant panorama,
followed by a plunge in temperature, and
Autumn’s rich jeweled hues.

Soon, bare branches are laden
with dazzling white snow, that
glitters on moonlit evenings,
flaunting the crimson Cardinal.

Yet, the best is this:
Each time we pull into the drive
of our humble brick one-story,
I hear my voice say,
“I just love my home.”

WALT RETURNS TO WOOD:

LACKAWANNA

Oh, steel town why did you steal my heart?
Our family had flourished as you imparted
your gritty resolve upon us all. Generations
of ancestors learned the lessons burned
into their minds and souls. The home made of
and built upon Wood was a good place to grow.
Aunts and uncles and cousins, scores of
neighbors watching and looking out; caring
for the common ground we shared, no fences
commenced to spring. The unity of this close-knit
community was all the security we needed.
Greed and avarice did not exist where the
Dutch-Elm ravaged and desecrated, leaving us
wood-less. But, I guess for the time and age
it was the perfect stage upon which to perform.
Courtesy and respect was the norm, aid and comfort
flowed as a fountain of goodwill and love.
But Wolfe’s treatise rings true. The place has changed.
It is starkly deranged from my memories,
and it’s a sin. You can’t go home again.
Gladly, I carry as much of it with me;
I leave the rest to fester and decay.


MORAL OF THE STORY – Prompt #42

Poems touch, teach and entertain people of every size and age. This week we will ask you to write a children’s poem that teaches a lesson. But, the lesson is meant for the parents or the responsible adult. The moral of this story is have fun and learn a little something about ourselves.

Marie Elena’s Poem:

I SAID TO ME
(positive self-talk for middle-grade children)

Today I think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed,
‘cause everything is mixed up in the brain inside my head.
I couldn’t seem to get things straight. There’s nothing I could do.
But then I told my dad, and he said, “Son, that’s just not true.”
My Father said, “Can’t never could, ‘cause can’t will never try.
But can works hard to get it right. Can helps us to get by.
Don’t ever tell yourself you can’t; that you don’t have the skill.
Just say ‘I can,’ and try your best, then certainly you will.”

So, I said to me:
“I’ll make it be.
I’ll try with all my might.
I’ll do my part,
I’m plenty smart,
And things will be alright.”

Now when I start to say “I can’t,” I hear my father’s voice.
It tells me “Hey – you know you can. Just simply make that choice.”

 

Walt’s Poem:

UNTIL YOU WALK WITH ME AGAIN

Daddy, can I walk with you?
You go so far and I can’t keep up.
Help me, mommy says supper is ready
and I can’t catch my breath.

Daddy, will you walk with me?
I can’t cross the street
and my ball rolled over there.
I’m scared until you hold my hand and take me.

Daddy, will you be there when I walk
across this stage in my flowing gown?
My mortar board keeps sliding off of my head,
and I’d rather let my tresses flow instead.

Daddy, will you walk with me,
on this day  that I become a bride?
I see it in your eyes: the pride
and love and sadness when you get me there.

Daddy, I’ll help you walk.
I’ll be right here to show the way as you did.
Every day I’ll take your hand and stand besides YOU.
I will be here to guide you. Until you walk with me again.



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