Debi Swim

Debi Swim

This week, my co-host at CREATIVE BLOOMINGS is Debi Swim. She has burst onto the scene like gangbusters, and the poetic world is better for it. And it doesn’t hurt her cause that she is the protege of Salvatore Buttaci. Of that I am envious!

In Debi’s words: “(I have) Three kids who live so far away! One in Washington, one in Alabama and one in Ohio (the closest but still four hours up the road) and six terrific grandsons. I really, really wish someone would invent the “beam me up Scotty” device so I could visit whenever I want.

What I Do: After stifling my desire to write for many years, I finally took a deep breath and plunged into the deep end of the pool. Sink or swim is my motto; so far I’m treading water and staying afloat. With the encouragement and mentoring of a friend and poet, Sal Buttaci, I am writing poetry once again, and better, though by no means what I hope it to be one day.

Debi’s blog is:

We welcome Debi to help tend our Creative Garden!

*** PROMPT #141

We all have a writer that we admire and would love to emulate. He writes a great poem, or she pens a novel novel, or he has written that one song that is in your regular rotation on your mp3 player (or in your head in a constant loop! Finnegan Begin Again!). If you could get a message to them and say how much they inspire you, what would you say to or about them? Here is your chance to get it out of your system.

Write a poem in tribute to or about another poet, author or songwriter you admire and makes you marvel “I wish I had written that!”



Gordon Lightfoot

Gordon Lightfoot

I heard this voice years ago,
soft, haunting, tender and strong –
Was it wrong that I thought you were
the music man I’d most like to be?

You were Canadian after all.
I’m not supposed to care, but there
you sang of early morning rains
and a steel railed Canadian Railroad in Trilogy.

From morning’s first light
until sundown, it’s worth believin’
that all the lovely ladies would fawn
over the minstrel of the dawn.

Softly. Winding down carefree
highways, and me living vicariously
through the golden voice of my choice.
If you could read my mind, you would know.

If I could, I would have been Alberta Bound
and found the visions of which you sang,
tilting at windmills, the thrill of a modern day
Don Quixote, Sancho Panza at the flank.

I thank you for being a sage of my youth.
Your songs were beautiful and warming;
songs for a winter’s night not so alarming.
And the day you would first herald the tragic wreck

of the Edmund Fitzgerald, I knew you
spoke to all within the sound of your voice.
You are what I am, or aspire to be. I’m not sayin
I could be you, just that through you, I saw the world.

This is my song. This strong connection has lasted
long into my adulthood. It is as good as Gord’s Gold.
Without you, I’d be less sure. It would be a black day
in July when I would shy away from your wisdom.

You’ve given the world much to ponder all the same.
By the way, did she mention my name?

© Copyright 2014 – Walter J Wojtanik

The words highlighted are titles of songs that truly are “Gord’s Gold”!


"Miss Read"

“Miss Read”
Dora Jessie Saint


The world is a mess, completely out of control
and if I let it my soul would be a dust bowl
of disillusionment and smothering fear
that’s when I turn off reality
for the peaceful, rosy sheen
of Fairacres and Thrush Green.

Dear Miss Read, Mrs. Pringle,
the stingy, elderly Lovelock sisters,
Bob Willet, Albert Piggot,
Dotty Harmer, quite eccentric,
Ella Bembridge , outspoken and artistic
Cotswold country folk, simple but not simplistic.

Thank you, Dora, for this world
of your imagination and folks
that seem like next door neighbors,
for “the birds were clamorous”
“velvet wallflowers” and “pellucid skies”
for the comfort your words always supply.

© Copyright 2014 – Debi Swim