POETIC BLOOMINGS, a site established in May 2011 and which reunites Marie Elena Good and Walter J Wojtanik to help nurture and inspire the poetic spirit.


I would say that the majority of us have heard the last few lines of this chosen poem sometime in our lives. And another portion of those didn’t know what they came from. William Ernest Henley was a poet, critic and editor during the Victorian age. His name loomed large in literary circles. Henley, who had a leg amputated in his youth due to bone tuberculosis, was the inspiration for Stevenson’s Long John Silver in Treasure Island in 1883. This is William Ernest Henley’s poem, INVICTUS.

William Ernest Henley


by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.


If you think yourself to be too great for small tasks, then you are too small for the great ones.

A person should know their limitations. Confidence is a great thing, but over-confidence can rub people the wrong way and be your undoing. We are merely poets, only human. We are each subject to the same ups and downs as the next person. We were all given degrees of talent, but no one is truly so high up that they cannot fall. In this humongous fish bowl in which we live, we are merely plankton. But, plankton with potential. Where others strive to put themselves above everyone else, some choose to let their “greatness” be determined by others. In the meantime, we offer our words for those we know will read and enjoy them. We show our paintings to the ones who would appreciate our work. We play our songs for those who are in tune with our music/lyrics. We all find our niche with humility, remembering the old movie adage, “There are no small roles, only small actors!” Here at POETIC BLOOMINGS we have come to realize similar sentiments. We have become a community, a family with no regard to age, or ability, just a likeness of mind. There are no small poems/poets. There are just poems and poets, and in that embrace, we will all find our greatness in those who matter.

Write of humility. Humble in your life or in the world. We are all better for it.



I bring to the garden my birth-month flower,
And admit to being drawn to her modest, unassuming style.
She seems unconcerned that she is common.
She simply embraces her meaning:
Winning grace.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019




I found my poetry, and as such
I found myself. I discovered I had a heart
that rhymed in compassion and beat to the meter
of a well worded verse. The course of my thoughts
followed in kind, for my mind searched for
the emotions that corresponded to those
tendrils of imagining. I admitted much to myself,
knowing my indiscretions through the words
I used to express them. Humility came in the
release of such things and they would bring me
to each new revelation. It has become my
salvation; made me a better man.
I stand here today, no worse for wear
for there I have revealed the true me.
A humble self-discovery through poetry.

© Walter J Wojtanik- 2019


The English word quinzaine comes from the French word qunize, meaning fifteen. A quinzaine is an unrhymed verse of fifteen syllables.

These syllables are usually distributed among three lines:

seven syllables in the first line,
five in the second line,
and three in the third line (7/5/3).

The first line makes a statement.
The next two lines ask a question relating to that statement.



I love the crash of the waves.

Do they speak to you?

Do you hear?


(C) Walter J Wojtanik 2019


This week we tab William Barnes to be featured in the POETIC BLOOMINGS READING ROOM. Barnes was an English poet and writer who was renowned for his Dorset dialect poems. Barnes’s poems are well honed with a singular sweetness, tenderness and feeling. He offered deep insight into the humility of country life and of simple character, and an excellent feeling for local scenery and customs. Here in one of his aforementioned Dorset dialect poems is William Barnes’ poem, “The Broken Heart”.


William Barnes


by William Barnes

News o’ grief had overteaken
Dark-eyed Fanny, now vorseaken;
There she zot, wi’ breast a-heaven,
While vrom zide to zide, wi’ grieven,
Vell her head, wi’ tears a-creepen
Down her cheaks, in bitter weepen.
There wer still the ribbon-bow
She tied avore her hour ov woe,
An’ there wer still the hans that tied it
Hangen white,
Or wringen tight,
In ceare that drowned all ceare bezide it.

When a man, wi’ heartless slighten,
Mid become a maiden’s blighten,
He mid cearelessly vorseake her,
But must answer to her Meaker;
He mid slight, wi’ selfish blindness,
All her deeds o’ loven-kindness,
God wull waigh ’em wi’ the slighten
That mid be her love’s requiten;
He do look on each deceiver,
He do know
What weight o’ woe
Do break the heart ov ev’ry griever.


Find peace in the reflection of still waters

Vocabulary.com Dictionary interprets the sense of tranquility as such:

Tranquillity* is a sense of peace and quiet. It is the feeling you have while sitting under a starry sky, listening to the crickets. The aura of tranquility comes from the calm in the world, which makes you feel you are without a care (in the world).

By definition, tranquility is quiet, peace, stillness, serenity, placid, relaxed … I think you get a sense (as if you didn’t know already!). Write a scene or circumstance that you would deem tranquil. And to paraphrase Mr. Trebek, make sure it is in the form of a poem!

* Apparently, it can be spelled with a double “L’ as well.




Fireplace captivates –
holds my eyes in place; my heart
releasing its race.


Night sky’s silent moon
presides over a serene
song of sluggish waves


Perched in autumn’s tree,
color floating around me
as my book leaves turn.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019




I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky  ~John Masefield from “Sea Fever”

I am drawn to the water,
a sanctuary dank and deep,
where Neptune’s sleep is unsullied
and tranquil. I will go there

where a sailor’s son should roam,
a second home for a weary traveler,
a reveler in life’s safe harbor.
Looking towards horizons and distant

spaces, of  foreign faces that grace these places
and dreams of adventure of which there are many.
Anyone who is so drawn is a son of the sea,
a welcomed one who is asked but one thing,

“What will you bring to the sea?”
for treasures that abound are found deep within,
and in their discovery we find ourselves.
I am ever-drawn to the water

a sanctuary dank and deep,
where the son of a sailor finds eternal sleep.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2019


Today over at Poetic Asides, Robert Lee Brewer asks us to complete this title and write your poem.

“The Art Of_____________”

Think of an art (process) or a work of art as an inspiration and give Robert’s prompt a slight twist!


Long considered the master of the macabre, today we study Edgar Allan Poe. The poems that come to mind easily regarding Poe are “The Raven”, “Annabel Lee”, “Alone”, to name a few. Yet, he even laced his love poems with a pall of darkness lurking in the shadows. Along with his short stories, Poe had amassed a strong portfolio in his writing life. Here in his veiled attempt a love is “Romance” by Edgar Allan Poe.


by Edgar Allan Poe

Romance, who loves to nod and sing
With drowsy head and folded wing
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been—most familiar bird—
Taught me my alphabet to say,
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child—with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky;
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings,
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away—forbidden things—
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.


Overcome adversity to win against all odds

In a sense, this prompt blends the qualities of a few others offered in this exercise.  That we find the stamina and strength to stay the course says much for our abilities. We endure for that’s what we were put on this earth to do. From birth to the earth, we were meant to do good with the gifts we’ve been given. Anything else would be cheating ourselves and denying our legacy. And it would be denying the Giver of such a gift. We were built for this life. Carry on until they carry us off. Against EVERY odd, that’s a win!



Write on

When rain drizzles poems
on sopping paper,
this sprinkling leaving no inkling
of the tome that dripped
from heart to pen to
now muddled, now leaked, now
never to speak its heart …
Resist the urge to
throw the pen.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019




It’s all inside my head
they said,

They may be correct.
Who’d expect

headache issues to last
well past

a year’s duration.
No elation

comes from this condition,
my suspicions

rise to a new low.
I know

all things take time,
but I’m

at my wits end.

these pains away,

I’m cured.
It’s absurd

to live in this cloud
for crying out loud.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019


A new feature we’ll present here on the occasional Friday in lieu of a poetic form is EXERCISE IN POETIC THOUGHT. The idea behind it is meant to be a spring board into finding your own poetic nudge, your own poetic process through these offerings. They will vary in scope and magnitude. I hope you will find them useful.


For today’s exercise, I am offering ten words. Your lone chore here is to write ten random lines featuring one of the ten words in each line. You’re not writing a poem (yet). You are just developing ten random lines still thinking about their poetic potential. They should not be related in anyway.

Here are examples of what I mean. These are not a part of your exercise, just examples. Say three of the words are fear, green and Wednesday. You would write something like:

1. She never lets fear persuade her decisions.

2. The grass in the meadow is finding it’s usual green hue.

3. Come Wednesday he should know his fate.

All random disassociated thoughts with potential. That’s all we’re doing today.


The words for your consideration today are:

walk,  Autumn,  carrot,  lake,  race,  embrace,  song,  throw,  annual,  ego



1. They would walk through the years, ever searching for their heart’s desire.

2. The spray of Autumn touched in vibrancy all in its path.

3. Their offer came as a carrot dangled on a short string.

4. The lake between them would join them, not divide them.

5. Life’s race became more of a marathon than a sprint.

6. She held his embrace for as long as she could, for tomorrow morning he’d be gone!

7. There was song in her voice, a melody loving and lilting.

8. Each time he threw his heart out there, it got trampled underfoot.

9. It became an annual event, where he mourned her loss and she celebrated his departure.

10. Ego would not allow his apology and she required neither.


First, I need to apologize to this week’s poet. I had her pegged for posting her poem before the tribute last week, but I had put a date on the draft that took her off the grid. But, knowing her spirit and spirituality, I believe she understands. Believe! That is certainly a word that applies to this poet who is incredibly strong in her faith, and humility, which she includes in her poetry to great effect. Darlene Franklin is a published author who chose to “dabble” in poetry here at Poetic Bloomings. As stated, her words inspire and provoke thought and a desire to take “a closer walk.” In this sample of her work, False Bottoms, you can surely see what I mean.

FALSE BOTTOMS, by Darlene Franklin

I’ve made a career of excavation
If only I could dig through my problems—
And many have passed my way—
And my weaknesses—
Which increase in number as I grow older—
I would find solid ground
I could begin to truly live

Until I reexamined my architect’s design
Why did I want myself as my foundation?
The Lord is my rock
I have survived—
Even thrived—
Inside His fortress

What I see as weakness
Arms me with iron man strength
Unshakeable faith in a
Never changing
Always loving
God who ever was and is and shall be
Absolutes I swear to
Me, who never gives anything
A score of ten

With God as my Ten
And me as His instrument
I bring new binoculars
To my excavation
What discoveries await


Not Darlene’s blog, but her Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Poetry-Just-For-You-by-Darlene-Franklin-731269013871753/


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