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




Thursday, June 12, 2025

Eden Once Again

A Few Thoughts: On A Perfect Morning in June. 🌄 (As always, a work in progress)

To: Mom & Dad  
RIP

Eden Once Again

Lately I've been torn
Like a ripened apple
From the tree I was born
How do I return
Like that new found bloom
Amidst the dew of Spring
The Storm and gloom?

How do I resolve this matter of fact
In one swift motion, 
a single act
Like a seed once planted
In a garden
In my heart, 
and soul?

To be worthy of the cause
I sit and pause
Considering my roots
The origins of my being
In God's hands I'd been
But somewhere along the way
I could not stay.

And so I wondered aimless
You could say blameless
Of my past indiscretion
As youth had claimed my passion 
Today I return on a mission
To find God's Eden once again.

D.A. Wittler 6/12/25