Sunday, January 4, 2026

A Rhapsody of Praise

A Few Thoughts: Sunday morning: A Rhapsody of Praise! (As always, a work in progress)

   A Rhapsody of Praise 

I may not be sitting 
Beneath the pulpit this morning 
But I got plenty of spirit 
Flowing through my veins
In a rhapsody of praise
Brings back memories
From out the gutter
Ghosts from my past
Sorrows and heartache
Once tamed the fire
Held captive my soul
But I found him again
My Savior my, King
From the deepest holler
To the highest mountain
I hear the screaming
My soul's desire
To be free of the pain
To be one with the Father
In the steps of his son
Bruised from battle
The world gives us pain
But we can rise again
Through his precious blood
Spilled not in vain
Song for the ages
I hear his angels proclaim
Sunday morning revival
Eases the strain 
Headed for Zion
On this glory train
Thus do I sing 
Come my Savior
Lend me your answers
To this unholy refrain
Cries from a sinner
To glorious revival
Come sit beside me
My fellow traveler
Out from darkness 
To life ever after.
Amen

D.A. Wittler 1/4/26
 

Tuesday, December 9, 2025

What I Leave You

What I Leave You

Here I am
Reminiscing 
More years behind 
Than there are ahead
What will I leave you
When I'm dead?
Footsteps swept away
Surf and sand
Or paths worn down 
Take you by the hand
Showing a way
To the promised land.

Northwest Ohio
Homegrown pain
Green grass growing
In a Spring rain
Bare feet stomping
Water
Down a storm drain.

What I Leave You
When I'm gone
Visions of happiness
Written in a song
If only the words
Could hold you 
Like a melody
All my own
Love will be my legacy
When you are all alone.

There you are
Manhood
My two sons
I remember
You growin’
In your mother's womb
Wonderin’
What life would be
With your eyes wide open
In a brand new world
That's what I Leave You
My sons
Memories and moments
In the sun.

Northwest Ohio
Homegrown pain
Green grass growing
In a Spring rain
Bare feet stomping
Water
Down a storm drain…
That's my dream
What I Leave You
When I'm gone.

D.A. Wittler
12/9/25

Friday, December 5, 2025

Box Full of Words



Box Full of Words


Cardboard cover

Signed with a sharpie

Box full of words

Nobody ever heard

Only in my head

The love

The loss

The memories 

 Lust for life

Captured there

In moments of clarity

My song

My story

Prayerfully crafted

Soulful melody

It comes around

So infrequently 

I wonder why

I can't see it

Only when I need it

Sits in a corner

Like that lonely child

I used to be

Innocent then

Innocence lost since

In a box full of words

My song

My story

Crafted recklessly 

Soulful melody

It comes around

So infrequently 

I wonder why

 I can't see it 

Only when I need it

Like a lonely child

Caught in a corner

Lost in a memory

Box full of words

To keep me company.


D.A. Wittler 

12/5/25



Monday, August 4, 2025

Poking Through The Past

Poking Through The Past

A Memoire 

By:

D.A. Wittler 


Chapter 1:

A Simpler Time

(From Camelot To The Moon)


I was born in 1962. A time barely considered part of the boomer generation and yet not quite full fledged generation X. I vaguely remember that little house on Otto street in Ottoville, Ohio where I was the newest little brother to a big sister Cindy, and two older brothers Steve and Keith. Images of sunlight through living room curtains, Lincoln logs on a carpeted floor, and fire crackers on the Fourth of July still echo in my mind. They seem like dreams today, but I know that shy little boy who loved to wear hats, and dress up in costume was destined to see man on the moon. 

         

The 1960's was a simpler time with Andy Griffith and I Love Lucy on a black and white television screen, and yet the Bay of Pigs, and Gulf of Tonkin ushered in a fire storm begun with a shot heard on a sunny November day in Dallas, Texas. And so the days of innocent prosperity born of blood spilled by a Greatest Generation gave way to war once again. Free love tainted by a silent misery delivered a new addiction defined by Timothy Leary as the “Tune in, turn on, and drop out” generation. It gave the reality of man on the moon a whole new meaning; getting high was no longer a trip taken by man and machine. 


As our growing family was about to bear the pangs of another little sister, we moved out of that little house on Otto street to the Bigelow house at 103 East Sixth. It was built on a dead end alley that served as a neighbor's driveway ending on a little hill along the once Miami and Erie canal. A one time waterway for German immigrants from cities like Cincinnati, and ports of call like New Orleans. Commerce flowed as well along the way into what was known to the natives as The Great Black Swamp. The only remaining evidence of the Shawnee and  Delaware are the hand hewn arrow heads, grinding stones and bones of those who inherited it from generations long passed into legend spoken around a campfire. Its ashes ground into a muddy clay used to fire bricks to build sanctuaries of Gothic design for Catholic priests to gather in the faithful. 






Saturday, July 26, 2025

Looking Back

Looking  Back


Looking back

As the crow flies

And the ravens form

I can feel the coming storm

Unlike an October rain

When youth was in full bloom

And hunger kept me warm

It is just a memory 

An olive drab uniform

Drenched in Missouri sweat

And iron red earth 

Where a soldier was born

So many years gone

But lessons always learned

And my buddy's last words

See you soon

Echo in my brain

A ringing reminder

Of age marching on 

With dates in bronze

On A granite stone

Waiting there 

Marking time

Like a short timers tune

Free as a bird

Homeward bound.


D.A. Wittler 7/26/25


Tuesday, July 15, 2025

Is Anybody Out There?

When I started this blog way back when, I was another man living another life. I was a husband, and father. 
The End

Today I am an old man living another life. I had lost it all, and gained back more than I ever bargained for. I hope someone finds this page some day, and ... 

Cold Dead Hands

Cold Dead Hands


When I was just a boy

Daddy took me aside

Taught me a lesson

With a belt to my hide

Son, he said

Don't you run away

From life's mystery

And the evil lurking there

Pick up your gun

Take your place in the sun

Fight for freedom

Your home and lands

Don't let em steal it

 Be a man

Tell them they can take it

From your cold dead hands.



When the moon rises

Put aside the bad times 

Dream of better days

Leave the nightmares behind

Bury those old memories 

In an unmarked grave

Cause you got to stand

For something 

Or fall in the sand 

Like a poor example 

Of a broken man.


When the day came

Left my Daddies side

To find my pride

Gave my oath

To Uncle Sam

Rifle in my hand

Home of the free

Because of the brave

Who put it on the line

You got to get yourself ready 

For the fight of your life

Through storm and strive 

Fight for your freedom

Or die in the fire

Son to father

Here I am

My own man.


When the moon rises

Put aside the bad times 

Dream of better days

Leave the nightmares behind

Bury those old memories 

In an unmarked grave

Cause you got to stand

For something 

Or fall in the sand 

Like a poor example 

Of a broken man.


You can steal my lands

Gamble your money

Bring it on

You high and mighty

Take it all away

From my cold dead hands.


D.A. Wittler 7/8/25