Back Again...

Just got offline talking to a VA crisis counselor. Why I am sharing this is beyond me, but I decided to use one of my better coping skills to help deal with the s--- I have been going through. I don't want to dwell on the past anymore, but it haunts me like a ghost with shackles around my ankles.I mentioned Marley's ghost a while back; I guess it is appropriate with the holidays fast approaching. Some days I feel like even Dickens could not rouse me out of this funk. It feels like clouds on a rainy day that sink so low they almost touch the ground. I do not expect anyone to understand, but all I am saying is I am tired. Good night...

Sunday Morning Reflection

It is no longer early morning, yet the house still sleeps.I rise to sounds of rain on a canopy and insects emerging from the deep woods.The cawing of black birds joins a Sunday morning chorus of nature's mass beneath a late summer cathedral of leaves overhead. My soul laments past sin, my mind a constant buzz of everyday occurrence while close by a gentle whisper of breath brings back a simpler time. When did I begin to get old? Only in gray strained threads upon my head and lines forming at my brow reveal the trials and years of life to date accumulated. But still I revel in morning dew like a child I once knew perhaps not so long ago.

Nobody

Who reads blogs anymore? Apparently nobody!

Today started like any other with the exception that it is my mom's birthday. I got up just as the sun was rising, dressed and grabbed the usual breakfast of apples and a banana which I ate in the car on the way to work. As I drove eastward, I noticed the color of the sky and noted how beautiful the sunrises have been all summer this year. I plugged my smart phone into the car stereo and opend the pandora app which quickly brought the sweet sound of contemporary christian music to my ears. It was good to just listen for a change and absorb the rhythm of praise combine with a glorious sunrise.The morning dew had been wiped away by an old memory as each passing car emerged from a dark grey horizon and faded into past light...and then I remembered that I was a nobody headed toward an unimpotant job seeking nothing but an audience.

Midnight Thunder

Like my life, just another work in progress...

Riding that lonesome road
Weary from my daily journey
Wore out from my worldly woes
The sun began to set before me
and storm clouds began to show.

Rain drops and wind conspiring
I saw god-light shining through
and tear drops fell on shame
as distant memories returned
from a life I hardly knew
On dark nights working unawares
of trouble just ahead.

Then comes midnight thunder rolling
foretelling of heaven's coming
horsemen and trumpets blaring
Sent me into a blank stare
Ears ringing with despair.

Nearing my final destination
Cleansed now as I exclaimed:
“God help me save my soul,
as the nighttime is rising
and I know not where I go.”

Midnight thunder
My delight
Seeking shelter
in morning light
Facing a soulful hunger
when I was so much younger,
finding nothing but anger.
Seeing hope just out of reach
knowing “I'm sorry” does not keep
the soul from wondering far from home
on a lonesome highway in the darkness;
thunder tolling.
Good night.

A Penny for Your Prayers

Last night I took to prayin'
to the man upstairs.
Life has been so trying
without you here
I just don't care.
But then I believe
Life is worth livin',
so pull up a chair son
and listen.
A penny for your prayers.

Leave a little copper by the granite
and say it proper,
cause life is short,
so be a show stopper,
cause the man upstairs
He really cares.

Leave a little histry'
in your rear view mirror.
Give it up it's no longer here.
Forgive, forget
and you just might feel,
someday we heal.

So leave a little copper
by the granite son
and say a little prayer,
I might be gone,
but it's never solong.
Never regret
to sing your song.
Forgive, forget
and you just might feel,
someday we heal.

Life is a lonely trail.
Never give up,
though you may fail
and leave a little copper
beside the granite son
and say it proper,
cause life is short,
together we heal.

The Human Brand

This past week presented a flurry of thought on several subjects of interest to me. It all started with a vivid dream that has been a reoccurring theme that I like to call: My Life in Boots. For many years my time in the military has come back in colorful and distinct images. I don't know why other than when I admit it to myself it was the best “job” I ever had. Those years gave me a sense of being an integral part of something bigger than myself. There were days when all I had to do was plug in a few wires, dial a few numbers and be connected to the world in voice. Today, however, I feel lost in the everyday doldrums of the world of work as a drone in the machine of production, production, production; that appears to be the only important thing to employers now. They hide behind concepts like efficiency, cost reduction and customer satisfaction. I don't know about most folks, but I think it is all some kind of doublespeak for legalized slavery. For me, it is about something much more than that, it is about the human brand.

Silently suffering, over the years, we come to understand as children that we are not as loved in the world as we are within the confines of our parent's care. We emerge from our mother's womb into bright light, loud noises and cold realities of room temperature, smacks on the buttocks and incubators to get our lungs to function and our skin to pink up. And as the clock begins to tick off precious moments of a predestined mortal existence, many of us begin to look beyond ourselves to unworldly mysteries such that faith and spirituality provide. Sunday services, weekday masses and morning prayer must suffice to give us a deeper meaning to the harshness of reality in order for us to function without question to the demands of human progress. In the mean time our own private hell unfolds as relationships develop, heat up in a passionate fire and fade into dissolution and discontent as our notions of preconceived perfection begin to nudge us with the blemishes of humanity. And finally, we end up as trinkets in a yard sale or on the floor of some bargain store at a discount price. This is what the human brand has become; a commodity to be bought and sold rather than cherished and cared for like the priceless treasure our creator intended.

In short; clinging to the bootlaces of my soldier past and disillusioned present, I find little hope for mankind in this subtitled “modern age.” Life has become a series of survival exercises like yoga poses where we try to go beyond the limits of our physical selves, where conformance lies at the bottom of a barrel of rotten apples passed down from the fall of Adam and Eve. But there is hope lying out there in
some non-genetically altered farm field where the human brand becomes the intended dream of our mythic god, whatever we choose to call him or her. And so I leave a taste of hope and a hint of smoke
as only a poet can do.

Forever isn't as long
as we had hoped it would be,
but it goes down as well
as a fine glass of wine;
Sometimes.

Let tongues of fire speak for me,
let smoke rise as my soul embraces heaven,
let warmth envelope my cold and restless heart
as it searches.

If I Have To Ask

This is a rough draft of something that just ocurred to me. Call it therapy or a coping mechanism, I had to share it with you. Thanks for listening.

If I have to ask
What's wrong with you?
It's way too late
The damage done.

The day is long
Years gone by
You're weary now
My heart's not in it any more.

If I have to ask
What's wrong with you?
It's way too late
The damage done.

Love estranged
Strangers living side by side
In the same room
You said goodbye
Now this sad song.

If I have to ask
What's wrong with you?
It's way too late
The damage done.

Night has come
My bed is cold
I hear no breathing
But my own
Good night my love
Sweet dreams of freedom
Unchained.

And if I have to ask
What's wrong with you?
It's way too late
It could never last
Me being me
You being somebody else
I once knew
The end
My friend.

Among a Growing Sunset

What can I say, poetry is the best form of therapy ever inspired by God through nature and given to man. Read on then... Amen



I miss you here tonight
Among a growing sunset
Where stars and silence overcome
and crackling camp fires consume
cares of daily life.

I miss our conversation
About every manner of thing
To hear your voice
Take in your smile
Knowing in my heart they will suffice
no matter crisis festering within
our minds and souls.

You have your life
And I mine
We are weaker for it
than a time once no more.

But in spite of all
God still calls me
into peaceful recesses of prayer
Where there is hope and joy;
A place promised for forevermore
Among a growing sunset.

- D. Wittler 2014

The Last Paragraph

This is the last paragraph from a novel/short story I started a few years ago. I had spent a whole summer reading William Faulkner novels and the words just flew out of my mind onto the page. I had dreamed about the opening scene, but after a few weeks the words stopped coming and life, like it always does, got in the way. Good night.

Brushing away the cobwebs meant reliving memories long since dormant, as James meandered his way through ghostly coverlets. There, in the back corner sat a familiar form; father's old roll top desk. James paused a moment before tearing off the dust laden linen like scar tissue from an old war wound. This, for James, was the beginning of a long journey back to reality and the path he had long put aside. “Where would the weeds now laying before me lead?” he thought to himself, as the dark stained grain of the roll top faced him squarely now like his father had done so many years earlier.

In Stone

In stone
To be remembered
On green lawns
To roam care free
Prayers carried
Upon four winds
Long walks
To sooth old wounds
Tears for lost love
Cries to God above
And answers slow to come.

From Ash and Smoke

There is something about a camp fire
Smoldering through a cold Spring night
Which captures my mind and spirit.

I am taken back in time
To flint locks and ferry boat rides
Johnny cake lunches
knots and lashings
Lessons history teaches.

Like a river I traverse
Down hyperbole lane
Being cleansed in a bath of lye soap
The kind made of ash from a Black Swamp oak
And I am transformed.

Transcendent
I find a rhythm not my own
from legacies of hard work
Sweat and toil of a frontiersman's brow
and ladies wanton of big city finery.

Then, I return home and find a truth
that cannot be washed away
From smoke and ash a smell never leaves
my hair or clothing completely
It has sunken into my skin
and flows through my veins
to each hidden heart beat of my soul.

D. A. Wittler 2014

Road Weary

He walked a path to nowhere,
a road promising nothing but uncertainty.
He clung to an old rugged faith
passed down from unknown generations
of forgotten forefathers and mothers of long dead children.
But he could feel them coursing through his veins
like a river of earth transformed in bright living color
upon a blank page.

He was at home within his own skin,
but weary of the struggle
of dealing with hidden demons and self taught lies.
He longed for a happy ending
if only God would permit him to make it so.
And a question lingers,
would he remain a lost child forever?

D. Wittler 2014

Morning Prayer

Dear Lord,
In quiet solitude of morning
I make a sign across my heart
Father, Son and Holy Spirit
And sing a prayer of praise
That you taught us all to say
In moments all alone and together
Behind closed doors.

And why do I sing?
I sing because a great Saint
Augustine proclaimed:
"When you sing, you pray twice"
And so I raise my voice to you my King
My saving grace
Before all manner of things
Creation seen and unseen
Below heaven's realm
Upon earth
Above serpent's sting
And your glory reigns supreme.

To you
Heavenly Host
I lift up my thoughts
My cares
My inmost suffering
And hopes for all my earthly family
That we might all be fed, clothed and cloaked
Beneath a mere shadow of your outstretched wings
And be comforted by your compassion for all beings
Through works and deeds and outward signs
Like rainbows in a clearing sky
And be sent off once again into slumber
As sunset falls and twilight calls
To stars as countess as our dreams.
Amen

The Uniform I Wear

Today I dedicate this acrostic poem to the many volunteers and youth who are associated with the scouting movement. Whether you are an adult, young man or woman, God bless you on your journey; true and straight like the arrow towards the eagle flying above on that golden horizon high above the mountain tops.


The uniform I wear
Hides only my skin
Entirely from cold and wind
Under no guise of pretension or sin
Never yielding to the voices of ignorance
Infinitely reaching out for adventure and knowledge
Forgetting only the negative
Onward striving toward the positive
Removing obstacles in my path
Moving mountains with my prayers
Inspired by those who set a higher standard
Watchful for opportunities to grow
Engaged with my brothers and sisters who care
Attentive to the needs of others and my community
Rare and precious indeed is the uniform I wear.

-D.A. Wittler

Home

Home

Some say:
Home is where you hang your hat.
Others:
There is no place like home.
Perhaps then:
Home is a business proposition
In which gain and loss
are all put down on paper;
a license from the state that recognizes your organization
Then gladly accepts your loss
As just another failed venture.
But home:
In real life is where your heart is
But once lost it can never be gotten again
At least not like the first time
When the world looked brand new
and all that mattered was that special someone
who made you feel like no other.
That's what home is to me.
For better
Or worse
For richer
Or poorer
In sickness
And in health
Home is a final destination
A mansion with many rooms
In which one is your very own
But when your heart is broken
Home seems a million miles away
Hiding in some constellation
Lost among the stars.

- D.A. Wittler 2014

That Once Bright Lamp

Divorce changes everything!
Time changes nothing...
As the memories flood into my mind
I miss the sound of your voice,
the passion in your eyes, the stories of our life
and just being in your presence.
So no, time changes nothing,
but the hurt still resides deep inside me,
though it seems to fade minutely with each passing day
and the tears flow a little less frequently.
I miss you as much today
as I did the day we parted
in that stark and lifeless courtroom.
Can you still hear me somewhere out there
In the recesses of your broken heart?
Can you see my face grown long and dim with despair?
Please know that I am still here amongst the living,
for God knows I have longed for death to take me.
But I know that there are greater causes for living
and my spirit reaches out for meaning
amidst the ashes and ruin of a former life.
Where has that once bright lamp gone?
And so like the phoenix rising,
I will reappear in some distant place
in brighter days and happier space
alongside the love of my life!
I miss you!

- D.A. Wittler 2014