So, we’ve reached the point of the year where we head into our Annual July Chapbook P.A.D.  and with just two days from today to July 1st, I thought it would be a bit much to squeeze a form prompt in before we begin. So…


Summertime can be entertaining, and we find ways to entertain ourselves at our leisure. We watch movies, films and watch programs. We listen to music and read books. Some continue to write poetry… we occupy our time in enjoyable and entertaining (again, there’s that word) ways. 

So here’s the deal! After hitting the beach, going camping, and seeing the world, this year we are taking a “Stay-cation”. And this year our theme is:



The daily prompts will be inspired by the the summer-laced titles of the aforementioned movies, films, programs, songs, books and anything else that will inspire us this summer. Wednesday will include a form requirement and Sunday will be treated like the other 26 days with a prompt in keeping with our theme! There may be a couple “wild-cards” thrown into the mix, just to keep you on your poetic toes.

So join us, won’t you? And invite your poetic friends to do so as well! These have always been favorite undertakings here at POETIC BLOOMINGS. And the payoff at the end is your compiling (and us highlighting) your “Entertaining Summer” Chapbook. At the very least, you’ll have a whole month’s worth of poems to fudge and whip into shape for your portfolio!

Sara and I hope to see you here!


Today,  I ask you to write a love poem. Not for your spouse or significant other. Not to your children or parents. Not to a lost love. I want you to write a love poem to your favorite character in literature. Or Television show or Movie. A variation of this… write the love poem to yourself as that character you admire! Even though the “love” will be unrequited, spill the passion. Write the love poem! (Don’t worry, no relationship will be harmed in the execution of this exercise!) 😀



A Vagabond Stole My Heart

Oh Ben, how you quicken
my heartbeats. It sickens
me to see you stuck
in Mississippi. They do not
appreciate what a great man
you are. Those baby-blues
can spark a fire. Clara may suit
you for a time, then her charms
will pall. You will tire of her,
and her interfering daddy and brother.
They will smother you in the end.
Why don’t you pack up
your belongings,
bring that sweet pouting mouth
out here where air is clear,
and a woman waits
with open arms.

Letter to Ben Quicken (Paul Newman)
in The Long Hot Summer.



Of all the lousy gin joints
in all the towns,
in all the world,
I wish you had walked into mine.
Your accent, it captivates me,
it motivates me to profess my love
and above all else Ilsa,
I think your accent is sweet-ish.
I think you’re a fine dish
(you look a bit like Ingrid Bergman),
and I wish we could share a drink
in a real American Cafe and not some
French sounding hotzy-totzy joint
where the Nazis hang out.
But then I think, when you finally get it.
you would regret it if you stayed—
maybe not tomorrow or today,
but very soon for the rest of your life
(Even though you’re someone else’s wife, Ilsa.)
Just remember this: a rose is a rose and
a kiss is still a kiss and the bliss of seeing you
out weighs the danger of us becoming strangers.
They tell me Lisbon is nice this time of year,
but I just wish you had come here!
We’ll always have our song. Sam played it
for you and he’ll play it for me. I see
Louie is here. Maybe if I take the chance,
it could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship!
 Play it, Sam!

Forever Yours.


The Pathya Vat is a Cambodian verse form, consisting of four lines of four syllables each, where lines two and three rhyme. When a poem consists of more than one stanza, the last line of the previous stanza rhymes with the second and third lines of the following one.


Sorry for my late post. Flight issues.


Home to Portland
A fight delay
on ground, dismayed.
Six hour journey–

suddenly nine.
Fetch a gurney.
Salt Lake City–
need to refuel,

second landing,
I’ve blown my cool,
look like a ghoul.
Home? Three a.m.




I watch the time.
I’m not obsessed,
I do my best
to stay in sync.

Minutes fly past
and you would think
that it would stink
to show up late.

Yet, still I watch,
the time and date,
that’s just my fate,
I watch the time!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016


I have been dealing with loss lately. So we’ll purge that from my system once and for all, and the best we can with this prompt. Write about something or someone you’ve lost. Or write the converse, something you’ve found or gained or won. Don’t lose sleep over writing a winning poem!



My sister and I are unhappy
each time Father’s Day rolls around.  We have recently
added Mother’s Day.  We imagine
what our parents would say,
today, about the upcoming election
and general chaos.  Both were
politically involved.
Today in Manhattan, we celebrated
my Aunt Sylvia’s ninety-seventh birthday.
My cousin and I found each other
again after years.  Nothing like a reunion
with Italian food and chocolate
blackout cake.  We remember
with tears, those we have loved
and lost, but we smile and feel lucky
about those we still have.




The phoenix rising,
back from the dead.
Lazarus called,
he wants his life back.
Lost in the depths
of a broken spirit,
left in the lurch
with much more to say.
You stand in silence,
wishing for the return
of your sanity, and
your security, and
everything else you’ve lost
or leaves you feeling empty;
dead from the floor up.
The randomness of words
tossed together with ease
and flair, brings your voice
from deep within you and
gives cause to express
every heartfelt pang,
poem and passion,
delivering your work
to an appreciative audience,
offering peace and
confidence to your lifeless
rhyme. Infusing your heart
and soul with the breath
of a million soft sighs,
for the poet has found
his promise and drive.
Once again alive.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016


The Collins stanza is a melding of three utilities of the poetic process; (1) three sets of rhyming couplets, that create a (2) sestet, but with the last line of each stanza repeating (a line, phrase or word) to link it with the next stanza; making it also a (3) repeating form. There are no limits to the number of stanzas you write. However, at least three are required to give the evidence of the repetition in this form,

Ideally heroic couplets are used but any rhyming couplet is permitted. To differentiate between the two, a poem using Heroic couplets, (Iambic Pentameter) is called a Divine Collins.

Lets look at an example of the normal form.

Lovers Apart

A depth of feeling within my heart
Is so intense when we are apart
For in my dreams I feel your touch
That I know I long for thee much
Oh how that smile doth beguile me
From lips that whisper I love thee.

Yearn to savour thy tender touch
My dearest I doth love thee much
For moments apart hath told me so
This absence tells me thus I know
Oh how that smile doth beguile me
From lips that whisper I love thee.

I long to be held twixt loving arms
Feeling warmth and sensual charms
One day soon we shall fly together
Raising our spirits on high forever
Oh how that smile doth beguile me
From lips that whisper I love thee.

Divena Collins




He rode into town in a ten-gallon hat
that blocked out the sun; he was tough, that Matt
In Dodge City hooligans ran rampant
a ‘shootin’ a ‘stealin’, behavin’ like infants.
Gritty and tired, he rode in wth a frown,
Mr. Matt Dillon arrived in town

A new sheriff come to restore order.
They imported him from over the border.
He became good friends with Doc and Kitty.
Next step was gettin’ a deputy.
Bad guys thinned out, hearin’ the sound
When Mr Matt Dillon arrived in town.

People out west heard about Dodge.
Came to see for themselves, it was no mirage.
Farmers, cowboys, and families came.
In Dodge City, there was no more shame.
No shootin’, no stealin’ and so it remains,
since Mr. Matt Dillon arrived in town.

© Sara McNulty



Silence does befall this place,
and in the night I see your face.
Every feature haunts my muddled mind
in the darkness of this room I find
your piercing eyes, your turned up nose…
these shadows offer no repose.

This stillness in my heart does ache
and I can tell, make no mistake
the love I carried, I carry still.
For surely I’ll carry you until
my own eyes finally close,
these shadows offer no repose.

But, until that fateful day
I’ll still have so much more to say
to fill the vacuum of this night
and keep your visage in my sight.
For in spite of how our ending goes,
these shadows offer no repose.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016


ANNOUNCEMENT: Continuing in the tradition of this POETIC BLOOMINGS community, we will once again present the July Chapbook/Poem-A-Day Experience. A new prompt will be offered every day in the month of July (usually some Summer theme). At the end of the month we will begin to feature the assembled chapbooks of our poets for your enjoyment. The specific theme this year will be… you’ll have to wait and see.


Here is a new seed to water, in case Walt is detained.  I am flying to New York tonight (by plane), and will catch up with everyone tomorrow.


Gone With The Wind~by Margaret Mitchell

Imagine if Rhett Butler did not say those immortal words, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn?” Would Scarlett have made a wonderful wife? Would they have any children?

A Streetcar Named Desire~by Tennessee Williams

What if Blanche DuBois and Stanley Kowalski ran off together? Would Stella have to depend on the kindness of strangers?

Select a protagonist from a novel you have enjoyed,
and change the direction he/she took in life.



Hulking and broken, he sits and stares,
faint flashes of brilliance
invade. Muscles twitch
when he tries to make a fist.
A native son, punch drunk
and sullen, sunken into a state
no brotherly love can placate.
You hate to see him this way,
he should have quit when
he was ahead. Instead, he’s
stumbling and mumbling to himself.
“Adrienne! Adrienne!”
He came back again and again.
The twenty-second term of
the Great Senator from Pennsylvania,
Rocko Balboa, takes another beating.
“Cut me, Mick! Ya gotta cut me!”


One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest~by Ken Kesey

Mr. MacMurphy, you must
take your meds, and stop looking
at my bust, says Nurse Ratched.
He continues to act out, play games,
involves his therapy group. He jokes
around, and soon the guys love him.
Nurse R. has had it. Is game time over f
or Randle P. MacMurphy?

Scheduled for lobotomy,
he overpowers Nurse Ratched, threatens her
with a hatchet, and locks her in
a vacant room. She fumes, fusses.
He gags her, steals her keys, and frees
his buddies. Their escape is aided
by The Chief. They are never caught.


Sorry for the very late start to the INFORM POETS prompt today. My mother-in-law lost her battle with leukemia last night and the day had gotten away from me. I sincerely apologize. Walt.


Sara has picked up the gauntlet and has provided an insightful explanation of Anacreontic Verse. We feature it as this week’s poetic form offering!

Says Sara:

Anacreontic verse is an Ancient Greek lyrical form, consisting of 20- to 30-line poems with three to five syllables per line.

Developed by 6th century B.C. poet Anacreon, Anacreontic verse is one of many Ancient Greek forms that emerged during the height of the dramatic, musical, artistic, and poetic culture. The poems revolved around themes of love, infatuation, revelry, festivals, and observations of everyday life.

None specific

20 to 30 lines, three to five syllables per line


Common Themes:
Love, infatuation, revelry, festivals (Dionysian), and observations of everyday life

Other Notes:

  1. Familiar, mostly enjoyable subjects
  2. Popular as spoken word entertainment
  3. Short and energetic lines

Cultural inspiration.

Anacreontic verse was inspired by a variety of cultural and occasional supernatural undertones, often paying homage to Dionysus, the Greek God of Wine. Also known for other lyric poetry forms, Anacreon found a structure to match his quick, high-impact delivery.

 From Prometheus Bound
~Aeschylus (c. 535-450 BC)

Spasm! Again
what manias

beat my brain
hot i’m hot
where’s the fire?
here’s horsefly
His Arrowhead
not fire forged
but sticks: heart
stuck with fear
kicks at my ribs
eye balls whirl
spirally wheeled
by madness, madness
stormblasted I’m
blown off course
my tongue my tiller
it’s unhinged, flappy
words words thrash
dashed O! at doom
mud churning up
breaking in waves

Modern interpretations.

A more modern example of Anacreontic verse shows that, no matter the century in which it’s written, classic subjects with Dionysian undertones cleave best to the form:

Spirit Mischief 
~Robert Yehling (1959- )

Two spirits danced
on mountaintops

adorned with snow,
flower patches
and robes of stars
covering their
naked bodies
while the moonlight
cast her glory,
donning their madness,
dancing slowly
across the sky
releasing scents
of evergreen.
Crag rock, a mouse
spooked by shadow
of a white goat
that hoofed upward
when the spirits
called out his name
and offered food
only dancers,
stars, moonlight and
the cold fever
of the goat’s eyes
would recognize.


MORE NOTES: (Yes, I found it necessary to post more notes! 😉 )

Apollonian and Dionysian

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The Drunks (Bacchus’ Triumph) by Diego Velázquez, 1629.

The Apollonian and Dionysian is a philosophical and literary concept, or dichotomy, based on certain features of ancient Greek mythology. Many Western philosophical and literary figures have invoked this dichotomy in critical and creative works.

In Greek mythology, Apollo and Dionysus are both sons of Zeus. Apollo is the god of reason and the rational, while Dionysus is the god of the irrational and chaos. The Greeks did not consider the two gods to be opposites or rivals, although often the two deities were interlacing by nature.

The Apollonian is based on reason and logical thinking. By contrast, the Dionysian is based on chaos and appeals to the emotions and instincts. The content of all great tragedy is based on the tension created by the interplay between these two.



Starlight, Star Bright

Rose Festival
Starlight Parade
Saturday night
Theme of parade-
be something
other than yourself
Holding hands
Marching bands
Ain’t it grand!
Flood-lit costumes
Trolley car floats
Homemade boats
FrightTown wins–
A zombie
From chairs lined up,
people cheer,
warm beer,




The sun-baked sand
where our feet stand
offers the perfect
point of view
for you and I
to witness the sun-
set in the distance.
I chance a kiss,
the sip of bliss
from your soft lips.
Our silhouette
unseen by eyes
sneaking a peek
of our tryst.
In the evening mist
I breathe through you
and you breathe through me,
in this moment
Heaven sent.
Whispered words of love
and the crash of waves
are the sounds we hear,
along with heartbeats,
strong and clear
with one conjoined sound.
We have found treasure
in pleasures we bring,
it makes our hearts sing
On the sun-baked sand,
where passions land.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016



Here’s one that is relatively easy and should elicit a multitude of responses. I want you to write a “week” of haiku. Highlight a week of days in a string of seven haiku. It can be a week you had that stands out, the days of the week each incorporated into the haikus. It might be seven haiku about a certain subject. A group of haiku based on different poetic forms (I’m sure you’d rather a haiku about a sestina than actually writing a sestina!) Anything is fair game, as long as it’s expressed in seven stanzas of haiku!


(The week I remember best – most recent)

Sunday, Watching Evening News

look out window
starling building a nest
inside dryer vent

Blue Monday

gym closed–memorial
department stores slash prices
cemeteries open

Medication & Meditation Tuesday

bumped up meds
concerned about seizures
six year-old dachshund

Wednesday Morning

in morning light
fragrance of lavender
thoughts drift on swing

Thursday, 37 Years Married

on anniversary
drive through forest of fir trees
pale light on ocean waves

Friday, Window Washer is a No-show

all to see beauty
an undisturbed tranquility–
I wash my windows

Snoozing on a Saturday Afternoon

dogs sleep on couch
intense heat shimmers on concrete
let them lie




In the morning mist
sun rises over tree tops
resuming the day

the world awakens
birds begin their tender song
the clouds sing along

in a mountain stream
silver fish are shimmering
sunshine glimmering

this day seems perfect.
Yet, miles away she sleeps
sedated, she keeps

hanging on to life.
But her grip is weakening
slipping from her grasp.

A mother removed
lost in a world not her own,
she feels alone.

Her family is near
but her mind is unaware
with a vacant stare




A poem containing stanzas of 5 lines, then 4 lines, then 3 lines, then 2 lines, ending with one word. The syllables in each stanza correspond to the number of lines, i.e. 5 in each line in the first stanza, 4 in the second stanza and so on. This form may contain more than five stanzas.



Had I stayed alone,
I’d have been okay.
But that’s not the way,
to live, lest we die!,
Love can bring such joy.

She’s held my heart,
like a small bird,
and she speaks words,
of love’s true way,

She and I
in love’s joy

One girl,
One boy:


© Walter J. Wojtanik




Child climbs monkey bars,
a jungle of steel–
playground’s big puzzle.
Some hang upside down.

See-saws are next.
He’s in the air!
Little bit scared,
then, he loves it.

On the swings,
push me, please.
No, higher.

Kids leave
at dusk