There have been times where we imagined our lives as a motion picture. We surmise who would play the part of us.

But in this case, we’ll wait for the book!

Your auto-biography begins here. Break up your life (up to this point in time) into three chapters. Give each chapter a title.

Write three brief poems (one for each title). For added pats on the back, give your “book” a title as well (the title of your three chapter story).


Two Sisters in Three Chapters

Chapter 1.  Rain.

The day I was born,
it rained hard on my sister …
submerging her soul.

Chapter 2. Wombs.

Her first pregnancy’s
uniqueness dimmed, when I found
myself pregnant, too.

Pregnant together
again. A son for me. A
tragic loss for her.

third pregnancies perhaps seemed
a cruel joke, to her.

Chapter 3.  Lost and Found.

In thirty-five days,
we lost Mom and Dad, and found
a common heartache.

In thirty-five days,
we lost Mom and Dad, and found
shared grief is shared love.

In thirty-five days,
we lost Mom and Dad, and found
a needed sister.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020



CHAPTER 3: PUPPY DOG TALES, by Walter J Wojtanik

Growing up, we always had a dog.
My pal and companion,
a boy’s best friend,
a good listener,
two good ears and no sass!
At the head of the class,
I miss having a dog.

CHAPTER 11: SHY OF THE MARK, by Walter J Wojtanik

My nerves in the presence
of curves and a pretty face
had laced my younger years.
It was one of my greatest fears
to be so frozen in place
for the course of a lifetime.
I was able to shake that phobia
over the course of time.
But, it took a while.

CHAPTER 15: FINDING A VOICE, by Walter J Wojtanik

It’s true, I was a shy guy.
When I’d speak, my voice
would creak and crack,
a knack I would outgrow.
That started to show
when I embraced words.
For the good of my sanity
and some of humanity,
music steered me towards poetry.
The rest, they say, is history!


The monotetra contains four lines in monorhyme. Each line is in tetrameter (four metrical feet) for a total of eight syllables.The last line contains two metrical feet, repeated. It can have one stanza or many stanzas.
Poem format:

Line 1: 8 syllables
Line 2: 8 syllables
Line 3: 8 syllables
Line 4: 8 syllables with repetition



A weeks vacation, just in time,
a chance to lose myself in rhyme,
collected words expressed; sublime.
It’s on my dime. It’s on my dime.

I read a bit to set the mood.
Repeated passages sound good;
a self-adjusting attitude.
My mental food; my mental food.

My muse excited, set to go,
a rant poetic starts to flow.
And where it ends, I do not know.
Enjoy the show. Enjoy the show.

I write because it’s what I do,
oft penned soul searches through and through,
the rhymes are many; regrets few,
I ask, would you? I ask, would you?


(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2014


I decided long ago to never second guess the person who is my “Guest” this week. It is a strange circumstance in that I cannot consider her a GUEST when she is a part of the very fabric of this amazing place. The decision to open this site stemmed from me and Marie wanting the P.A.D. sessions we had experienced to go on. Taking a cue from our joint blog, ACROSS THE LAKE, EERILY, Marie and I messaged back-and-forth wanting to have our poet friends have a hand in promoting their own work here at CREATIVE BLOOMINGS (formerly POETIC BLOOMINGS). By the time our conversation had ended the foundation of what you see here was up and running. It is and remains our joint effort even in either of our absenses. Marie Elena Good, don’t EVER think you’re free of this place by any stretch of your imaginings. For as you can see, every time you think you’re out, I pull you back in!




ONCE UPON A TIME: She daily poemed (and watched as they grew), while posting and hosting a blog (or two). But life called, her muse stalled; regretfully she bid adieu. With publications next to nil, she’s working on her kid lit, still. But market research does her in – she hardly knows where to begin. She’s pleased as punch to look around and see what’s Blooming on home ground – to host again (though as a guest), with chance to pen with poeming’s best!

Take your cue from Emily Dickinson and begin your poem with the line – “Beauty crowds me till I die”

It doesn’t have to be a physical death. It could be the “death” of something… your time, negativity… you decide the terms.



“Beauty crowds me till I die” ~ Emily Dickinson

I feel it closing in, 
and I am surrounded 
by the crushing beauty of life.
Majesty and magnificence shadow
my insignificance, squeezing me
until I am empty and tossed
onto the pile of misused muse.  
Another wizard of words
awaits my space and time will march
on in beauty, until HE dies!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2014



‘til death

Should beauty crowd me ‘til I die
And I should die before I wake,
Come waltz with me ‘neath moonlit sky;
Come lie to me for old times’ sake.

Convince me of my silken lips
Pretend I am your only love
I’ll sigh as song and moon eclipse –
Though it’s not me you’re singing of.

Should jealousy devour me,
Suspicion instigate my death,
I’ll likely simply let it be …
Let bitterness inhale my breath.

© Marie Elena Good, 2014





One of my favorite poets on these sites we frequent hails from the great state of Connecticut, a small state that holds the big vision of my Guest Host – Pamela Smyk Cleary (PSC in CT).


POET PSC in CT (Pamela Smyk Cleary)

(Pamela Smyk Cleary)

Pamela Smyk Cleary was born & raised in the small, but beautiful, state of CT (U.S.A.) where she currently resides with her husband – a handsome & talented actor/retired Math teacher.  A faithful “practitioner of poetry” throughout grade school, high school and college, Pamela (you may know her as ‘PSC in CT’ – or simply PSC – which is quicker & easier to type) eventually graduated, got a real job, and fell into an extended period of ‘poetic hibernation’. 

After almost 25 years as an Information Technology professional, she was given the opportunity to step away from that career – a step she took happily (& with great enthusiasm) to take up yoga, and spend time hiking, biking & bird watching.   Shortly thereafter, thanks to Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides Poem-A-Day Challenges, she re-awakened her narcoleptic muse and connected with a number of talented ‘poetry peeps’ – many of whom are also “Creative Bloomers”.  Despite her low profile, some of her poetry has managed to find its way into print (or bits & bytes) in such places as Poetic Bloomings the first year, A Blackbird Sings (a book of short poems), Beyond the Dark Room, Sprout, Enhance, Every Day Poets, Long River Run, and Umbrella Online Poetry Journal.  Additionally, she has recited several of her poems (albeit reluctantly) before a live audience at Hi5netTV’s “First Thursday” performances in Woodbury, CT. 

At the present time, PSC’s favorite pastime is traipsing a nearby walking trail that meanders along a local river and reservoir.  Her current ‘occupation’ (a labor of love) is best described as “keeper of the trail”, as she long ago adopted the habit of picking up litter on her rambling walks.  (It’s not uncommon for her to collect up several bags of trash during a single jaunt, and local residents consider her both an inspiration and/or a nutcase – depending on who you ask.)  Currently, she is ‘supervising spring’ (see:, although the job is a year round position and offers numerous benefits.  Many of the poems and photographs that are gathered along these walks – or while kayaking the waterway – eventually find their way onto her blog.

Feel free (if you are so inclined) to drop by her site “Wander, Ponder, Poems & Pics” @ to saunter with her for a while.  She’d love the company!


PROMPT #154 – “IT COULD BE WORSE”Somethings go without saying. And sometimes there isn’t a right time to say the obvious. Think of  about seven (7) of the worst things you could say to someone who was just dumped. Make three of them the first lines on a three (3) stanza poem on the subject!



She doesn’t deserve you.
You’ve got a good heart,
but you start to obsess
and I guess you can be a little much sometimes.

You’re better off without her.
She’s got a good heart, and
her propensity for intensity
gives the impression she’ll never get enough loving!

On second thought, you don’t deserve her.
You can be a jerk sometimes
and I’m on the prowl to make a play.
So I guess she’ll be free this Saturday?

(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014




At least he waited ‘til after your birthday.”
“And you’re too good for him anyway.”
“In my honest opinion the man’s too lazy” and
“His whole family? Totally crazy!”

“Think of my future grand-kids”, she said.
“His children are sure to be slender and tall.
In family photos beside all their cousins –
your sister’s kids will seem chubby and small.”

I knew if her “nurturing chatter” persisted
my sister & I would forever be scarred;
but it didn’t feel right to just haul off and hit her,
so I didn’t hit Mom (very hard).

(C) Copyright PSC/2014


This week, we have the privilege of bringing on board a man of faith, honor and conviction. A wonderful poet who writes of and with all these attributes to reach, teach, stir and sometimes perplex, but is never untrue to his beliefs and his heart. A patriot poet, Earl J Parsons joins me in the booth as  Guest Host at Creative Bloomings. Welcome Earl!


EJP Grad Pic Soft lowres

Earl’s Graduation Portrait

After traveling the world as a uniformed guest of the United States Air Force, Earl Parsons and his family finally settled in the Panhandle of Florida. Nearly two decades later, he and his Silver Anniversary wife, Kim, are nearing an empty nest existence and enjoying life.

Poetry has been a part of Earl’s life since before he can remember. He started spouting rhymes at a young age in an attempt to impress the girls on the playground. His passion and skills developed over time. While working part-time at the NCO Club, while in uniform, poetry written on the back of cash register receipt paper captured the heart of his love.

Nowadays, Earl writes most of his poetry in an effort to paint pictures and pass on messages concerning God, America, and patriotism, with an occasional bit of nonsense and humor thrown into the mix. He also writes daily devotionals, and has written skits and dramas for his church.

He has two rarely visited blogs out there if anyone is interested:

One of these days, Earl may even take himself seriously enough to categorize his works and send them into the submission abyss. One of these days……


PROMPT #153 – “A WORLD WITHOUT”:   There are times when all these modern gadgets and conveniences with which we are “blessed” seem to just be too much, They are both blessings and curses. Make a quick short list (5 items) of things that you wished sometimes to never have been invented or that you have no use for (you would be just as fine without them). Choose one and write the poem with the title “A World Without______”



I drive down the streets and I see…
nothing. And I’m sadder for it.
Back in the day (this old-timer says)
we went outside to play.
We gathered in the field to choose lots of players,
teams of five or nine or however many
came out to join in. A small din
of activity, always abuzz.
We resolved our own conflicts and learned
how to deal with the real issues a twelve
year old needed to know. We dusted off.
We shook hands and were teammates.
We were friends. It never ended.
From morning to the street light’s  first warning
our street was where we lived and worked
and played. Advent the video game console.
Big quirky boxes of knobs and archaic graphics
started pulling kids out of traffic,
to be tethered by thick clunky cords
to the safe environs of their darkened bubbles.
The teams got smaller and finally, they disappeared.
Kids today pale in comparison, literally.
The “prison pallor” and obesity
have replaced the sunshine and skinned knees.
Now, as I drive down the street I see…
nothing. And we’re sadder for it!

(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

***Just after completing this piece, I had been notified that one of our gang from those days had passed away in Florida from a heart attack yesterday. He was younger than I am. Reminds me of the fragility of life. We’d be best served to stop and smell the roses as often as possible.



In a whirled without grammar checkers
Wee could get a way with err oars
Without squiggly lions under the
Miss spelled oar miss typed words
Of coarse, wee mite knot gain respect
From those who wood reed hour words
Thinking inn stead that wee are jest
Gram attic lee stupid
Don’t ewe no?

© 2014 Earl Parsons


Ocean swells, casts its spell.The next person up to bat as Guest Host, is another outstanding poet and wordsmith, and was also a Poet Laureate at Poetic Asides. It’s always an honor to share the stage with De Jackson.


De Jackson hails from the desert of Southern Nevada in Henderson, near Las Vegas, where she lives with her gorgeous groom of nearly 16 years, two crazy kids, a beloved neurotic terrier, an aloof cat, a bearded dragon, and various members of the insect and arachnid world. She breathes best with inky fingers and salty, sea-soaked toes, but she’s also blessed to bloom online alongside some incredibly talented creative souls (you all know who you are.) De’s words have somehow made their way onto the pages of such journals as Curio, Garbanzo, Burning Word, Shot Glass Journal, Sprout, Tuck and others, and she was honored as a Poetic Asides 2012 Poet Laureate. De’s a full-time mama and a paid published poet (if you count journal copies, garbanzo beans, and one time, a whole dollar). She occasionally writes ad copy for money, but scribbles poems in the margins of life daily. You can pay her a visit at



Think of 10-12 good reasons to do something. The “something” is the subject of your poem. Write a list poem including as many of your reasons in the body of your work.



I’m my father’s son!
(I’m my mother’s prodigy!)
I’m having a good day!
(Any day alive is a good day)
I’m turning a year older.
(39 never gets old)
My job promotion came through.
(Then I wake up and go to work)
My muse refuses to slow down.
(And that’s a good day)
My cholesterol numbers are better.
(Making the right changes for a change)
Just because.
(Reasons? I don’t need no stinking reasons.)
It’s my favorite season.
(Steeped in tradition, I am)
The Bills haven’t lost in 2014.
(They haven’t played in 2014)
I’m celebrating 25 years of wedded bliss today!
(Happy 29th Anniversary, Janice!) 🙂

(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014




Find yourself alone, let the record show:

Because the sound of your own breathing is a heartbeat rhythm spent.
For the sake of all things buried deep, steeped in salt and silence.

Because words flow best in whispers, wrapped soft in breeze.
For the taking of stars, shattered pieces of sea glass; pocketed scars.

Because hope is a feathered thing, too easily startled.
For the attention span of sky, moon at full attention, spotlight shone.

Because knowing your own syllables requires a more quiet song.
For the ache of growing, groaning, grounding lightning to jars.

Because the world is loud and proud and lousy with shouting.
For the persistent casting of pearls from stones.

Because you don’t need a reason
for finding yourself. Alone.

(C) Copyright De Jackson – 2014




This week we travel back to Texas to tap our next Guest Host. As you will read, she is an accomplished and well published poet and photo artist. I am happy to help her announce that her first full poetry collection,  Upon the Blue Couch, was released just yesterday. See the link below and learn about Laurie Kolp’s accomplishments. And as always, thank you Laurie for your help this week!


Laurie Kolp lives in Southeast Texas with her husband of 15 years, three kids and two dogs. Although she was born with Irish and German blood, her native tongue is poetry. She writes in a 3 by 5 corner, one wall an outlook visited quite often by cardinals, mourning doves, grackles and blue jays. The other side open to eyes behind her head always watching the goings on of her family. This type of lifestyle has led Laurie to believe at times she must have developed attention deficit disorder (ADD). One second she’s nitpicking a poem, the next kicking Nerf balls with her boys… or off to shop with her daughter for those last-minute things teenagers need… interrupted by chores that lead her on tangents. But she always ends back in her little nook fingering keys and reading books of poetry. By the way, Laurie’s first full-length poetry collection, Upon the Blue Couch, comes out this month. Learn more at her website


Discover more about Laurie at  her blogs:

Laurie Kolp Poetry
Bird’s-Eye Gemini.



PROMPT #151 – “IMAGES AND IDEAS”: Take a word image (“cloudless sky”, “rainless thunder”, “twilight’s last gleaming”…) . List some of the ideas your choice elicits and write them into your poem.



Clarity is a rarity,

patches of blue shine through

vaporous mists, floating suspended,

a never-ending journey never touching down.

Thoughts muddled in mind and heart

find a way to start, an expression

to soar, confused no more.

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014



a sprint from home to track
when news too much to bear
chases her, a wasted thief
kneels in grassless field
and waits for steady breathing,
sweat nourishment for desert floor
so close the dirt a glove
for fingers sinking down
her asylum, one with earth
a fortune doomed childless
as barren as this paddock- –
she looks into the sky and screams
© Copyright Laurie Kolp – 2014


Following her friend and sister North Carolinian, Jane Shlensky, our Co-host this week is highly accomplished and we are extremely honored to include her works amongst the glowing blooms here at CREATIVE BLOOMINGS. Nancy Posey is a strong voice in poetic circles, as she is a ardent promoter of the process. We welcome her here.




Nancy is an Alabama native, living in North Carolina (“The Writingest State”) since 1995.  She teaches English in the community college after 18 years of teaching in high school.  A lifelong reader, she has always been in love with the written and spoken word.  Nancy was drawn back to poetry with the Poetic Asides PAD challenge about 6 or 7 years ago.  Since that time, she has built friendships with the writers she met there, leading her to this site.  When she’s not reading or writing (or grading the endless stacks of essays) she stays busy.  She and her husband Dick have been married 37 years in June. They have three grown children and three grandchildren–all beautiful, charming, and fun. She also finds time to travel (most recently to Haiti) and to learn to play mandolin.

Find Nancy’s work and musings at: THE DISCRIMINATING READER and ALABAMA TAR HEEL


PROMPT #149 – “NO POEMS ABOUT POETRY?”: Nancy offers this thought for poetry month. It becomes our prompt this week! She says: “No poems about poetry,” I’ve read in submission guidelines, joining cat poems in the lists of don’ts. If poets don’t sing the praises of poetry, then, who will? People of all ages often bristle and grow defensive when we suggest reading poetry along with, not even instead of, their usual reading matter. I must confess that some of the damage is done by my people—English teachers. We assign a poem, ask students what it means, and then tell them why they are wrong. Didn’t Billy Collins say that high school is where poetry goes to die?


Rather than wring our hands, why don’t we take this opportunity during National Poetry Month to become publicists for poetry. Write a poem that celebrates poetry in some way—and follow that basic rule of writing: Consider your audience, reluctant readers.




I might as well write rhyme.
I have this blank page, and the time
and the rage to go gently into that good write.

I might as well write rhyme.
A poem is as expressive as I can get,
and I’m of a mind to do it all on my dime, every time.

I might as well write rhyme.
Poets are a special breed. We don’t need much
except a muse and just enough heart to get started.

Since I’m going to write something anyway,
I might as well write rhyme.
It’s the best way to know I’m alive.

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014




I’m leaving it here on your desk,
purely harmless, with no hidden
intent, this brief poem I heard
that made me think of you. No
Latinate construction, skewed
syntax, no symbols planted so deep
even the poet needs a pirate’s map.
In simple words—ones I might
have said myself, though not
as well, not as clearly, this poet
who never knew you penned lines
that surely sing your name.

© Copyright Nancy Posey – 2014



I would like you to welcome our co-host who has risen to the top of our craft. She is a very talented and highly prolific poet. Her work is always exceptional and her accomplishments in poetics are very telling. She is very good.




It has always interested me that some of the most difficult circumstances of my life have ultimately fed my loves and my work in the world. I guess that’s grace. Edgewood Farm in rural North Carolina taught great work ethics, our days spent in tobacco fields, milking cows, growing food and learning to entertain ourselves productively. Naturally, music provided a rhythm for our labors, harmony kept us friendly to one another, and lyrics introduced rhyme, the basics of many formed poems. Some songs fed desires in us, like “Faraway Places” recorded by Bing Crosby, Perry Como, Willie Nelson—everyone had a go with it. That song fed wanderlust in me, but I never dreamed I would travel to those places other than in imagination or in books. Music and reading kept me engaged, nurtured by a mother who looked on poetry as a way of seeing clearly and a musician father who dreamed bluegrass dreams. I loved that farm but couldn’t wait to get away from it, ironic in that my poetry goes back to it so often now. In hindsight, each life challenge has prepared me for the next challenge or opportunity.

I began writing stories and poems in elementary school and won National Student Press awards in high school, was editor of both yearbook and newspaper, learning to compose with a camera, all of which was handy as a teacher sponsoring those activities. My English BA is my “reading degree,” while the MFA in creative writing years later is my “fun degree” and an ‘attagirl’ to myself for enduring the marking of literally thousands of student papers while teaching in high schools, community colleges, and universities. But slowly, I began to travel to faraway places, usually as a student or a teacher with students. It was good for my soul and my words. I matched places to go with what I taught: Shakespeare= England; Mahfouz=Egypt—like that. As a theater director and teacher, I had to act in community theater and write plays; if they were musicals, I had to write music and compose lyrics. How else is a teacher to retain joy and the life of the mind?

Just when the heart was going out of teaching for me, I was invited to China to teach English writing at Shandong Teachers University, where I stayed for two years, traveled a great deal in Asia, and met and subsequently married a colleague from the USSR. Those travels in Asia led to teaching Asian Studies and American literature at the NC School of Science and Mathematics in Durham, which naturally led to more travel on scholarship in Japan, Malaysia, Singapore, India, Korea and Thailand, later becoming academic director for teachers’ programs to China, Vietnam, and Cambodia. That girl in tobacco fields wouldn’t have imagined this life. I guess I needed to travel far away in order to come back home purposefully.

I wrote a few teachers’ guides to literature for Penguin and published poems and articles in professional journals during my 40 years being super-teacher, but my creative work was largely on hold until 2011 when Nancy Posey, my conference buddy and fellow writer, directed me to the April PAD at Poetic Asides. There I “met” such generous and skilled writers—Walt and Marie and Iain and De, and, well, most of you. And see, here you all are, my “faraway places” mapping words each week to keep me traveling. These days, I work as a church musician. I play organ, piano, and tinker with autoharp, dulcimer, and psaltery. I sing with a group called Stringfellows and send poetry or fiction out every now and then so I don’t forget resiliency through rejection. My recent poetry has been published by The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Bay Leaves, Emerge Literary Magazine, Prompted and Beyond the Dark Room, Poetic Bloomings: the first year, Final Draft, Pinesong, KAKALAK, and Writer’s Digest. I’m at home in Bahama, North Carolina with my husband Vladimir and two pushy cats, Warren and Flora. I welcome you travelers to visit me. Bring a song.



Prompt #148 – “BACK TO SQUARE ONE” – Find a poem you have written early in your writing adventures (or one with which you’re unhappy). Take the three best lines from that poem and use them in a new poem. Please include a link to the original poem if it is available.



Songs start in his heart,
gentle melodies that trip
from his fingertips, composed
with every emotion and notion
that says what flows as sound
goes around. In his head it plays,
it says love will linger; find a way
to keep the music alive. He strives
to express in a tender ballad
what his heart needs to sing,
for in his song are words
and once heard the lyrics stay.
It plays in ways only love knows.
And so it goes. And so it goes.

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

Lines from my poem, “Composer’s Tableau”



From “Defying Gravity”

My thoughts about gravity have shifted
over the years, my stars shining
a little closer to home…

The whole poem is available at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature


Time has a way of easing bulk
into new formations,
massive peaks sloughed
to mumbling mountains
sanded to slope-shouldered
mounds, surrounding valleys
round as matrons’ hips,
meadows finely furnished
by eroded topsoil
headed downhill.

Some blame winds,
ice and rain, terrain,
weather engineering change,
lake-to-desert development,
forest-to-plain reconstruction;
mud and snow
avalanching downward,
taking trees along, create
a balding pate of earth
soon to be redecorated
with wild flowers.
Some call it fate.

We carry time’s pull on us,
the weight of years hanging
limp as saddlebags.
We think to thwart this fate
with diet, exercise,
with maintenance,
with cosmetics, surgical
lifts and temporary tucks,
gravity grinning
at our attempts to
manage re-landscaping,
our foiled imaginations
stuffed into life’s sheath.

We reassess our shifting
acreage as if we watch
a beloved pet grow old,
a beloved star grow cold—
with a heart and eye
for bovine usefulness,
feline resourcefulness,
songbird trust and praise.
We exercise forgiveness
and radical acceptance,
a different kind
of beauty.

© Copyright Jane Shlensky – 2014


In two days, we will embark on Poetry Month. Many site will be doing special prompts or challenges to occupy our collective muses in April. We will continue to run our normal schedule.

The Sunday Seed Prompt and the Wednesday INFORM POETS will follow their pre-arranged routine. A special page will be posted in the menu tabs where you can post poems written for other sites, but you may wish to share with a larger audience here. We welcome your work and will help promote it. Please include the site for which it was written and an idea of what the prompt was.


The tour of co-hosting poets reaches across the pond to Almeria, Spain by way of Scotland. This multifaceted individual is as well verse in whatever undertaking he attempts. A poet, photographer, musician, cook, adventurer, ailurophile (cat lover) and on and on… This is a man I consider the “brother I’ve never met” in that I live vicariously through his exploits. Of course our co-host this week is Iain Douglas Kemp.


Poet, Drummer, Photographer, Musician, Cook, Educator -  Iain Douglas Kemp

Poet, Drummer, Photographer, Musician, Cook, Educator –
Iain Douglas Kemp

Iain Douglas Kemp lives and works in Almería, Andalucía, Southern Spain. He has been writing (on and off) for over 30 years. He considers himself a Writer first and a teacher second. He teaches English as a Foreign Language at a small private language school near in Almería from October to June and at St. Hugh’s College, Oxford in the summer months. He is currently studying for an MA in Applied Linguistics and TESOL. His influences include Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Wes Magee and Stevie Smith and twenty thousand song titles.

Publishing credits include the short poem “visual echoes”, published by Barbara Subraman/Gypsy Art Show in the visual poetry/music collaborative work “GAZE” in January 2010. In May 2010 the poem “Peregrine” was recorded for podcast on the ‘Born Free Foundation’ Web site by Virginia McKenna, the first time this has been done other than for the poet in residence!

His work was included in the anthology “Prompted” and “Poetic Bloomings – The First Year”. In 2013 Virginia McKenna recorded his poem Thunder Birds which was first published on Poetic Bloomings. He is a member of the on-line poetry group “The Baker’s Dozen”.

He became known amongst on-line poets after contributing to the first Poetic Asides PAD challenge in 2008. He regularly records his poems for podcast and last year did a summer series of guest poet podcasts, recording poems from some of our favourite poets in the blogosphere; something he promises to do again this year. He is also a musician and singer/songwriter, playing drums, percussion and blues harp

His blog includes cookery, music and travel and of course his cats! It can be found at


PROMPT #147 – THE SPECTRUM OF EMOTIONS: We live in a colorful world. At times we are awed by the beauty resident around us as it is represented by the spectrum of light. Emotions are the same way. Think of the phrases “Green with envy” or “Red with embarrassment”, we often use color as a metaphor to describe our emotions. Find one, or better yet make up a color metaphor of your own and back it up with a poem.



You wait below the surface,
the gentle idle of a loving heart.
You keep me alive as I strive
to put words to your prowess.
I am powerless to stop
the unbridled flame once ignited.
You have lighted my soul
showing every corner in brilliance,
this dalliance of expression
shows itself in shades and tints:
lavenders, and lilacs, violets
and amethyst. This tryst is grape.
It is orchid. It is the magenta that flows
in the throes your insistence.
A longing dance waged closely;
the deepest hue is reserved for you.
My passions burn brightly; rightly
in the brushed velvet of night.
A purple mistress is my passion!

©Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014



Colour Me Happy

Like a kaleidoscope prism
refracting bending
and twisting the light of truth
the light of reality
emotions have coursed like rainbow hued blood
through the body
through the mind
through the soul
into and out of depression
up to and down from soaring giddy heights
but the blues reached out to get me again and again
the red rage of anger flared though my red hair
and spat the vicious venom of the green eyed monster
at all that I envied
those that I aspired to be
those that seemed immune to the ills and burdens of this world
the blackest moods would weigh me down
and then suddenly hitting a purple patch
I was inspired
on fire
only to fall
sinking like a stone
and cowering in the corner
the yellow bellied coward
who dare not
could not face the world
the truth
the self
hating with the blackest heart all those who inflicted pain
who trod me beneath their boots
and then suddenly
there was a flash
a crash
a lighting strike
out of the blue
a rainbow of dreams and schemes
came pouring forth – nothing there to hold them back
the dam had burst many years too late
but better late than never
the black dog was dead
the blues were washed away
and all that remained was a bright pure blinding
white light of joy
as finally, after so very long in the dark
I was not a shadow seeking shy violet
but full of life
full of energy
full of confidence
colours flowed from my mind
from my fingers
magical swirling technicolor pictures
were drawn by the words from my lips
and I stood proud and declared:
if colour me you will then
for my spectrum knows no bounds

©Iain Douglas Kemp 3/14