“A poet sees things!”

Walt has been a writer since age 13. Starting out with lyrics penned for melodies he composed on  keyboards, he realized that his words sang on their own.

He can claim the title “playwright” thanks to three of his plays being performed by local theater groups around the Buffalo area.

Named the 2010 Poet Laureate for the Writer’s Digest.com/ Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day Challenge.

Walt’s Memoir Project Chapbook: YOLO

Walt’s Blogs:
Through the Eyes of a Poet’s Heart
Across the Lake, Silently (formerly shared jointly with Marie Elena Good)
I Am Santa Claus

Walt is a Hibiscus, a bright, albeit short bloom!

Robert Lee Brewer’s interview with Walt Wojtanik

Walt Wojtanik’s interview with Robert Lee Brewer

Claudette J. Young’s interview with Walt Wojtanik 

© All postings and intellectual materials on this page are property of Walter “Walt” J. Wojtanik.

71 thoughts on “WALT WOJTANIK


    Silence will fall like dews on white silence below,
    devils of red Comanches are hot on the track.
    Gold threads whistling through my mother’s hand.
    The yellow leaves begin to fade.
    The nuts are getting brown,
    soon to let us walk in the white snow.
    Leave no black plume as a token; black is the clear glass
    and the sharp black shadow of a seated man
    with lean and yellow fingers, points me out.
    She strikes a happy tear away and broke the crimson seal.
    Brown waves of fog toss up to me,
    and all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine me out again.
    “How do you like your blue-eyed boy?”
    “With gold seals hanging from his watch
    and a blue coat with silver buttons”.

    © 2012 – Walt Wojtanik 

    ~ Culled from the poems of Joaquin Miller, Edna St. Vincent Millay, John Davidson, Edgar Allen Poe, William Rose Benét, Elinor Wylie, Emily Dickinson, Oscar Wilde, T.S. Eliot, Steven Vincent Benét, e.e. cummings, Amy Lowell, Harold Munro and Walt Whitman.

    Posted for IN-FORM POET, Cento (Form)


    Clip and sort;
    shards of paper left to fall.
    Ten cents off;
    buy one; get one.
    Expiration dates not heeded
    until after needed.
    A lot of time wasted
    before the feast is tasted.
    Your total savings today
    is seven seventy three.
    Such is our shopping spree
    and me, left holding your coupons.

    © 2011 – Walt Wojtanik 

    Written to Prompt #3 – From our Fertile Muses


    I hear it gently,
    and I mentally
    take note of the lilting song.
    Angel voices sing
    the soundtrack of Spring.
    Their chorus is loud and strong.

    Morning brings their sound,
    and it is around
    dawn’s first light that I hear it.
    A poet’s heart sees
    the living beauty
    within euphonic spirit.

    I begin each day
    the exact same way.
    I am thankful for this gift.
    My whispered prayer
    rises through the air;
    as their harmonies uplift.

    Copyright © 2011 Walt Wojtanik

    Written for IN-FORM POET: The Alouette

  4. A TOUCH

    Hearts ablaze in an unquenchable fire.
    It is desire of the highest power.
    It has been left to burn unattended.

    It was a cold ember, a lump of coal
    sparked with the excitement of a single touch.
    Now burning brightly; love inflamed

    Written for Prompt #1 – Seed


    sun peeks judiciously,
    almost suspiciously from behind
    darkened clouds. The loud crack of
    thunder’s fury hurries through on winds of
    change. The day is not a wash. You quash the blahs
    with the sing le up turn
    of a
    is defl-
    ect ed.
    The joy
    is re- flect-
    ed in your

    Written for Prompt #2 – Rhythm of the Rain


    A gentle kiss
    planted, pressed flesh
    in a fresh breath.
    Nurturing and
    caressing, expressing
    the early growth of love
    through the colorful flowering
    of hearts in full bloom.
    Two lips tasting love’s nectar
    a savory sip.

    Written for FRUITS OF OUR LABORS – Prompt #4


    Decay in increments; comes alive.
    When seen through a poet’s eyes
    something lies beneath the surface.
    Crusted flakes of paint appear
    as the fragrant petals of rebirth
    when written in metered verse.

    Written for EYE OF THE BEHOLDER – Prompt #5


    I stand before the god’s of love again,
    and hope my fate is better than it was.
    For things are not the way that they had been;
    my heart still breaks the way a good heart does.
    To lay a heart to waste is such a sin.

    Written for IN-FORM POET – QUINTAIN

  9. My favorite poem from one of my favorite poets is “A Man In His Life” by Yehuda Amichai. In it there is this line:

    “A man doesn’t have time.
    When he loses he seeks, when he finds
    he forgets, when he forgets he loves, when he loves
    he begins to forget.”


    Her face retains some semblance
    of familiarity, a rarity these days.
    He says he can recall a time when
    she was his sunshine on a cloud filled sky,
    but he cannot remember her name.
    The smile is soft and comforting,
    yet he doesn’t know why she smiles.
    “Have you seen my wife?” he asks,
    confused by her tears. “She was just here.”
    Her head lowers to the bed in sobs.
    A hand reaches to comfort and caress.
    “Dear, don’t cry. I love you,” he states
    “but, what is your name?”


  10. The winds of change blow harshly, burning my face and my eyes.
    I shield them with my calloused hands, hoping for some relief,
    so that I can steel myself against its stark reality.

    Written for IN-FORM POET – Sijo

  11. Another Day in Paradise

    Morning is a rebel, fighting the grip
    with which night clutches, slipping into its pocket.
    An uninvited visitor at the
    door by which the heretic had entered.
    In the shadows, the concierge rests,
    the aluminum façade of the
    shopping center becomes his pillow;
    the street, his surrogate cot, proffers dreams.
    Sugar plum fairy dances by the grace
    of the distant pyramid’s gleam.

    Written for NEVER A CROSS WORD – Prompt #8

  12. In The Distance She Stands (Monchielle)

    In the distance she stands,
    softly angelic, she.
    Beauty beyond compare,
    an ever-present smile
    and windblown auburn hair.

    In the distance she stands,
    a lost soul, complacent.
    Searching the horizon
    for a glimpse of love’s shine;
    compassion’s communion.

    In the distance she stands,
    a mournful heart, guarded.
    Longing life’s sweet caress,
    apparition most sweet;
    whose love beats in my chest.

    In the distance she stands,
    dispersing in the mist;
    a sad, sun-kissed farewell,
    an ever-lasting love
    here, where my angel fell.

    Written for IN-FORM POET – Monchielle


    Four abreast, a test
    of our mother’s resolve.
    That we would evolve
    into the men we’ve become
    is a testament to her temperament.

    We came from the same womb,
    shared the same room; bunk beds.
    And instead of pulling together,
    we fought to tear apart what
    was expected of us.

    Our fight was not without gain.
    Dominance was the grail
    in our never fail battle to rattle
    our foundation. We were brothers
    but our mother’s worst nightmare.

    Grown to adulthood, it would stand
    to reason that our seasoning would bring
    a camaraderie that would meld us
    into a band of unlikely souls
    filling the holes that gaped our bond.

    Now the friends that once tattered the fabric
    have become strong and impenetrable,
    iron-clad lads with a lot of bad blood
    to transfuse. We can all use its soothing balm,
    to calm and bring us healing.

    Healing from the inside out,
    there leaves little doubt that
    being brothers brought us to be
    the friends we always needed.
    Brothers are friends indeed.

    Written for A FRIEND INDEED – Prompt # 10


    Spotted and flecked,
    a torso as canvas for
    an artisan affliction.
    A family’s predilection
    hangs in haunting shadows.
    Pre-cautionary; but scary all the same.
    a lame excuse of invasive intrusion.
    Pre-cancerous determination
    charting a course to remove
    as much as possible.

    Remove as much as possible,
    for the thoughts that preoccupy lie
    by the wayside; you hide your fear
    and adhere to life as usual.
    The abuse is manageable
    as long as there is a table
    on which to operate. It is
    never to late to pray;
    “Hey Lord, don’t forget me!”
    as sunbeams play across
    your worry-wrinkled face.
    They say you are never forgotten.
    Be assured, you’ve gotten all
    you’ll need to survive.
    Just be glad you’re alive.

    Written for Phoenix Rising – Prompt #11


    Your place marking time,
    I trace your name with a finger
    and linger long in thoughts of you all.
    I miss you and ache greatly for it.
    But it is the way life transpires.
    I never tire from coming to spend
    a moment with you; a minute, an hour…
    I water the flowers we had planted here,
    as you had always done for your parents
    who lay next to you. And you two together,
    a forever shared in the embrace of Him who made
    us all. He had called you all home. Leaving me
    to roam between these stones of marble and granite
    marking this time; my words marking this place
    until we are all face-to-face in the renewed Light of Love above.
    My heroes all in one spot and a lot of love still remains.

    Written for ANIMAL, VEGETABLE OR MINERAL? – Prompt #12


    Hand steady,
    you scope straight and true.
    You pull your string taut,
    your arrow quivers with the
    tension your hand provides.
    There is no such thing
    as aiming too high.
    Glad for the opportunity
    to give it your best shot,
    whether you hit it or not,
    the prize lies in having
    a goal in the first place.
    Never meant to be a race,
    just a leisure walk from birth
    until the end of the day.

    Written for GO FOR THE GOLD – Prompt #13


    A man
    standing guard.
    Despite efforts
    to be fair and firm,
    sometimes he folds under
    the pressure. Bright hazel eyes
    flash their semaphore to signal
    the next barrage to a Father’s heart.
    Daughters in tug of war for Dad’s favor.

    Written for IN-FORM POET – Etheree


    1.)Phase One – Losing Myself

    Rev up the Delorean, I’m going back. We all have that defining moment, pointed and prescient that had set our course. The forces of nature were strong and one wrong turn could have sent me reeling. I have a feeling it did.

    My temerity was the social end of me, for as far as I can see, High School defined that moment in time, where I had let the ball drop.Not regret per se, but sadness now for those would have, should have, and could have moments so fleeting. Those errors of omission were well hidden in my condition from which I’ve been extricated. Celebrated now for my abilities to see things, and write things and expose things about me that without, would not be me. Debilitating was this fear to connect, rejection not something I handled well, or handled at all. So my fall from grace saved me from the disgrace of “embarrassing” myself by letting loose and living my life.

    The perpetual lost boy languished in Neverland.

    2.) Phase Two – Righting the Ship

    Looky, looky, there goes Hooky!

    The ribald Captain has been dispatched with a swift kick in his steering mechanism. A discovery, a long time in the making has taken a stand as well as command of my journey; a life’s worth of yearning for solid footing and a direction much easier to navigate than blindly following burned out novas in the cosmos of my mind. For in the stars, paths that crossed each other unnoticed have found a circuitous path to intersect once again.

    Older now, more aware of selves and of this moment and what lead each to move to embrace it. In the kindling of a reborn kinship, acquaintances long removed and left unseen, find a connection that closes unsure circles, and opens the world to new adventures. Both stand, with eyes open like the wide-eyes kids we were when we began. A familiarity which neither knew, comes through to ground us as the friends we never realized we were.

    The gathering of spirits once left to roam those hallowed halls has stepped back to touch base and begin anew, assuring us of the fact that yes, you can go home again.

    Written for LOST AND FOUND – Prompt #14


    Screw the cake.
    It is awash with memories
    as are these trees. Misted shadows
    fall to decay, a way of saying your days
    are numbered or done. No one comes to this place,
    there is no space for solace to rest its weariness.
    It is best that no witness was present; sent scurrying.
    A thick moss came to blanket where love once prospered,
    leaves over-bearing their branches drooping to offer
    privacy and seclusion. The illusion of serenity was feigned
    by the spectrum of an Autumnal palette. Murky shadows
    fall to decay. And it is beginning to rain.

    Written for VIEW FROM A PARK BENCH – PROMPT #15


    A beacon, horizon’s light
    shines bright in the cool, dark night.
    Ships pass, their fog horns alert,
    announcing their position.
    The waves dance lightly, the sands
    shifting with every cycle.

    The night offers her comfort.

    Written for IN-FORM POET – Poesia di Tema


    I sing my songs to you.
    My words melt like butter in your mouth
    and their taste leaves you sweetened and satisfied.
    It seems I’ve tried to serenade you in every way
    except what would eventually reach your ears.
    My aural intrusion bringing thoughts to you
    that you never knew possible. An impassible
    blockade, battered now to allow my melodies
    access to your battle-worn heart. And my words,
    dripping, honeyed and spoon-fed, sticking
    to your ravaged soul. They have taken their toll
    as the maddening moonlight entices my muse.
    I bay at its brilliance; my dalliance
    brought to bare under the star-filled night.
    Only fools fall!

    ~ from “BEG, STEAL OR BORROW” by Ray LaMontagne

    Written for PROMPT #16 – PLAYING FAVORITES #2

  22. NO MORE

    I can’t live like this anymore.
    My battle waged in the war of words.
    Mine: smooth, poetic, full of passion.
    Yours: denigrating, non-supportive, full of shit.
    It seems we’ve played this aria before,
    it’s time the record changes.
    Same old song; no more.

    Written for PROMPT #17 – CH-CH-CH-CHANGES


    By life, inspired.
    Her ways conspire to offer,
    all that your words can handle.

    Alluring and sure,
    her style and grace are welcomed,
    lifting you to heights unknown.

    Written for IN-FORM POETS – Sedoka


    Soft summer breezes wafting,
    a gentle sifting through the poplar branches.
    It enhances the night as I am serenaded
    by cicada bugs and the distant rumble
    of locomotive engines. Humbled by the expansive
    evening sky, I am mesmerized. The lure of lunar
    luminance draws my glances on the odd chance
    that someone else eyes this same satellite.
    It is a great night and it feels right to share
    this scene. Over a distance, the same moon
    is simultaneously viewed – together, a bond
    brightly borne. Come morning,
    before the promise of a new day, the display
    of this starlit night brings you both to this moment.
    Under this shared summer sky; a his and hers moon;
    we take joint custody of a shared passion



    Languishing in a malaise for days and weeks
    speaks volumes to your lack of motivation.
    It would fill you with elation if you could stand
    above the obstacle to achieve as you believe you can.
    No block can stop you; your words carry weight
    and the power of your abilities, this verbal agility
    serves you well time and again. It’s time, my friend.
    to start your engine and give this muse a running start.
    You have the heart to overcome, so summon
    all your ferocity and use your poetic license to full velocity.
    Pump up your drive, striving for the excellence you possess.
    The rest is up to your heart to do its part. Get fired up.

    **Weight Watchers Magazine July/August 2010 issue; Page 110

    Written for PROMPT #19 – TITLE AND DEED


    She draws what my mind envisions,
    from draft through many revisions
    translating with sketch pad and pen.
    Her artistry draws me to see
    her wonder as written by me;
    my muse is excited again.
    Collaborative creation,
    our kinship in celebration.
    The poet, the artist; the friends.

    Written for IN-FORM POET: Nove Otto


    Stretched out like a future bright
    and promising, young love rapt
    in wishful dreams. Hopes for a life
    ripe for the picking hang seductively
    within reach. She is headstrong
    and determined, a beauty in style,
    her demeanor reeks of compassion
    and an eye for fashion that augments
    nature’s handiwork. He, a young man
    doubtful, but very giving and loving,
    a handsome lout, dark and chiseled,
    charged and ready for action.
    A class act in her eyes and heart.
    Their vision focused, futures joined in unison
    adrift upon the lake of wishful dreams.



    Little one, where have you gone?
    Out the door in a hurry; late for school
    you scurry for the bus. “Daddy, I have to go”
    you call over your shoulder. You’re getting older
    every time I look at you. “Learn something!” I tease,
    Amidst the pleas to not grow up too fast, but alas,
    over this we have no control. And I search my soul,
    thinking of how I have gotten to here from there.
    I arise every morning like the milkman. 5:30 A.M.
    And our ships pass quickly, sickly tugging on my heart.
    From the start, you have been a source of pride; a joy.
    The day transpires and fires its afterburners. The afternoon
    of life visits and I am certain you’ll be home from school shortly.
    As I near evening, I sit cleaving to my memories
    as we have made them. The door opens and you appear.
    Older. More Mature. No longer that little girl.
    How did you get from there to here? You smile.
    “I learned something today!”, you beam.
    And dreams of your successful life revisit my worn heart.

    “I learned school is a joy“. You strive to mold each young girl and boy
    in your charge, in mind and spirit.

    “I realize you did the best you could” We fought our battles,
    but they only served to make you a stronger person.

    “I learned someone could actually love me as much
    as you and mom have; as much as my sister does”.

    And it is then you catch the flash of the bauble on her hand.
    You share her joy. You share her tears, You don’t remember growing older.

    Little one, where have you gone?

    Written for 1…2…3…SURPRISE! – PROMPT #21


    Tarnished and dented; a bauble of a bygone day.
    In a wooden cigar box; keepsakes both, with
    little more function than that. The stem fused
    to the casing, the workings have retired. But,

    it has inspired me to find the link. The contents
    of the box play like a road map; clues to unravel
    the mystery that is my history. The key, worn and
    encrusted with years of dirt and oils from feeble fingers.

    It lingers in my hand for a moment, its uncertainty secured.
    Papers, folded and bound with a frail rubber band
    line the bottom of the box. A visa document,
    possibly a first issue wrapped in a tissue to protect

    what it meant to an old Polish immigrant determined
    to become all that America had to offer. Naturalization
    documents, meant to pronounce his acceptance
    of a lifestyle long sought, and their acceptance of him

    as one of the free and brave. The camera buried amongst
    the treasures, bellows cracked and torn, a forlorn
    instrument with which a part of his life had been preserved.
    It all deserved a better fate, but it is too late to shed

    a single tear from your eyes for its demise. The puzzle
    is splayed before you, the detective of your past.
    A torn swatch of a fabric, hues faded but shades
    of blue and red and white pressed between pages.

    Finally, one last piece remains. A photograph.
    a dark and handsome young man; heavy jacket and
    a fedora pulled down across the brow. Intermingled
    with other similar folk unconcerned for their purpose.

    But the subject stands tall. Proud. Posed to save
    this moment in memory, and upon this daguerreotype
    for long after. In the background, Lady Liberty stands strong.
    In his hand an American flag clutched to his chest.

    A chain from buttonhole to vest pockets and a key as a fob,
    a cinch to keep his pride from bursting. It insinuates
    the only part missing was the watch that sat tucked
    close to his left hand. A trinket; a remembrance

    of the father he had left behind in Igolomia, Poland
    to claim his dream. It remains strong in your own heart
    as the box that holds your Great-Grandfather’s declaration secure.
    You are sure the timepiece marked his life as well as your own.

    Written for DEVELOPING STORY – PROMPT #22


    If you search the headlines
    you know it’s not a joke.
    Don’t waste your energy,
    The answers are in the music.
    The lovers who wander
    are the only lonely people.



    Nodding and dozing
    in and out of sleep.
    I can’t keep my eyes
    from drifting into darkness.
    So I sit in my recliner,
    feet inclined and my mind
    working on rhyme.
    All’s right when I sleep,
    but I can’t write in my sleep.
    A tug and a yawn and
    I’m almost gone to dreamland.
    But the big hand is on the twelve,
    and I delve into the gridiron
    games, finally awake enough
    to enjoy some zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….
    (Too good to be true)

    Written for RISE AND FALL – PROMPT #24 (Rise)


    Routine has been tweaked
    (it had wreaked havoc on me).
    But I see a light at the end
    of a long tunnel, a journey
    that had me on pace for a gurney.
    But bedtime beckons,
    and I reckon I can cop some “Z’s”.
    Falling asleep was never a chore,
    but the more I seek it, the more
    I need to tweak it.
    Falling short.

    Written for RISE AND FALL – PROMPT #24 (Fall)

  33. AS YOU SOW…

    Time to reap.
    Keeping what we’ll use,
    giving away what others need.
    Either way, we’re helping each other to stay alive.

    Written for REAPING A HARVEST – PROMPT #25


    I come upon weeks like this from time to time.
    The weather was changeable,
    The people were manageable.
    And I was as irritable as I seem to be lately.
    Sleep not withstanding, life becomes demanding
    the more I have to do. And it’s true that
    God only gives us what we could handle.
    But, I sure could have handled another hand.
    The story of my life; too much to do and I’m short-handed.

    Written for THE WEEK THAT WAS – PROMPT #27


    It used to be our playground,
    our sanctuary; our safe harbor.
    It’s harder to imagine where time
    has stepped off and left these seats vacant.
    Youth was our canvas and painted
    with vibrant hues, offered a world of possibilities.
    But these days of futures past, have left us
    to seek our dreams a bit muted and unsure. We have all grown
    and we need to “own” what we’ve become.
    Returning to days of youth soothes our souls;
    these memories tend to fade once we’ve gone.

    Written by WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE? – Prompt #43


    As evening wanes and morning
    appears over the hill,
    another day, with the sun adorning
    all that lies quiet and still.

    Soon, the shadows cast will
    seem elongated and pronounced,
    surrounded by the sounds that fill,
    serenity has been announced.

    Over in the quietest places,
    one who seeks will find.
    Of all their heart encases,
    offerings are the thoughts within their mind.

    Very soon the morning fades,
    vacillating between now and noon,
    valiantly the hours parade,
    visions of nightfall coming soon.

    © 2012 – Walt Wojtanik


    A well pitched woo
    and me and you across
    ways from one another.
    There is no other that draws
    my attention like you
    and, it’s true we used to
    do this more often,
    but friend this unexpected
    tryst is just what the doctor ordered.
    It borders on shmaltz,
    but this is Walt’s time to shine.
    “Would you like some more wine?”
    It’s about time we’ve stopped
    and smelled the roses.

    Written for Prompt # 54 – Playing Favorites (Movie-TV)

  38. Pingback: Interview with Poet Walt Wojtanik « Claudsy's Blog


    Oh, steel town why did you steal my heart?
    Our family had flourished as you imparted
    your gritty resolve upon us all. Generations
    of ancestors learned the lessons burned
    into their minds and souls. The home made of
    and built upon Wood was a good place to grow.
    Aunts and uncles and cousins, scores of
    neighbors watching and looking out; caring
    for the common ground we shared, no fences
    commenced to spring. The unity of this close-knit
    community was all the security we needed.
    Greed and avarice did not exist where the
    Dutch-Elm ravaged and desecrated, leaving us
    wood-less. But, I guess for the time and age
    it was the perfect stage upon which to perform.
    Courtesy and respect was the norm, aid and comfort
    flowed as a fountain of goodwill and love.
    But Wolfe’s treatise rings true. The place has changed.
    It is starkly deranged from my memories,
    and it’s a sin. You can’t go home again.
    Gladly, I carry as much of it with me;
    I leave the rest to fester and decay.

  40. ENOUGH!

    I feel the drip, drip, drip
    making my voice nasal,
    and throat irritated. Into my lungs,
    bronchi inflamed. Enough of this
    my fight is against my “-itises”
    Sinusitis and bronchitis
    might as well go to hell.
    I’m not well and it is their fault.

    Written for Written for Prompt # 56 – Enough is Enough!


    The journey is long in this life.
    We share our joys; suffer through strife
    learning to give and love and grow,
    teaching to others what we know;
    this experiment in true-life.

    In this life, we find it is rife
    with heartaches that cut like a knife,
    but we carry on even though
    the journey is long.

    From here until the afterlife,
    I will walk all paths in this life.
    The world has so much more to show.
    So much to see before I go,
    and here I’m stuck in this mid-life?
    The journey is long.

    Written for PROMPT #57 – The Walk of Life


    Assured, I stand in silent shadows,
    wildly wondering about a love lost.
    In my mind she is an angel;
    in my heart of hearts, she belies beauty.
    Her hand, softly sensual,
    and tender touches tell her tale.
    My dream is daunting; love languishes.

    Written for IN-FORM POET – ALLITERISEN (Form)


    Living on the flight path,
    hearing the roar of jets heading
    to and from parts unknown. The noise
    has grown on me, or at least
    the beast has been tamed in my mind.
    I find myself fantasizing, that I’m up there;
    a window seat and a sweet escape
    awaiting. I’m debating – Florida
    or to L.A.? It does not matter.
    Any place would be better, I’d say.
    “Up, up and away!”

    Written for PROMPT #58 – In The Air Tonight

  44. MIRAGE

    There’s no beating the heat,
    it comes replete with perspiration
    as your inspiration. Arid and dry,
    tricking your eye to see the sea
    of trouble you’re in for if your
    thirst is not quenched, not
    to mention the tension of visions
    you can not explain. It looks like it rained,
    a respite with puddles, an oasis
    of all places. Running in a sprint,
    the glint off of the water wins out.
    You lower your mouth for the sip you seek…
    you’ll be up spitting that sand for a week.

    Written for Prompt #59 – Water, Water Everywhere

  45. CARPE

    So long, Sandman! It’s time you take a hike.
    The morning sun comes up above the trees,
    and it’s already hotter than I like.
    Yet, if it were still up to me, I’d squeeze
    a bit more sleep into this morning, please?
    But no, I must get ready for this day,
    I’ll set my sail and head into the breeze.
    There’s mouths to feed and bills I have to pay.
    I’m thankful for these days I have to seize,
    I’ll put up with a few more days like these!

    The joys we share will fill our hearts with love.
    there’s nothing like the feelings they will bring.
    And in our long embrace our hearts will move,
    to join together tightly as we cling.
    We seize this day; to bow, give thanks and sing.
    The evening fast approaches come what may,
    and love becomes the most important thing.
    So offer in the words you have to say,
    compassion that will heal life’s undoing.
    Take hold of life and feel your love growing.

    Written for IN-FORM POET – DECUAIN (Form)


    Kisses long and sensuous have gotten us
    hot under the collar and other places,
    flushed faces and breathing rapid and shallow,
    a slow burn and a yearning to explode.
    We smolder into the night and are warmed
    by the passion of love’s virulent light!

    Written for Prompt #60 – Burning Passion


    The world is full of wonder,
    I’m under its spell.
    It could very well be a jewel
    to behold, or a nightmare
    to unfold. Its fate
    is in our hands.

    Written for PROMPT #61 – What on Earth?


    Time and tide waits not for any man,
    both will come of their own will, not yours.
    So, pick your spots and stick to the plan.

    Take on challenges the best you can,
    and waste not your minutes and hours.
    Time and tide waits not for any man.

    As seeds that are planted in the sand,
    we will wither and die like flowers.
    So, pick your spots and stick to the plan.

    The time that we borrow comes from His hand
    doled out through Celestial powers,
    Time and tide waits not for any man,

    live your lives and make no demands,
    this gift washes down in Loving showers,
    So, pick your spots and stick to the plan.

    Our fates are held within His hands,
    go boldly forward; do not cower,
    time and tide waits not for any man,
    so, pick your spots and stick to the plan.

    Written for IN-FORM POET – VILLANELLE (Form)

  49. w.w. cummings and gowings – (i’m not afraid of you)

    no rest for the weary
    it does not matter how tired you are.
    it does not matter that you are over-worked.
    it does not matter what your brain cells dictate.
    it does not matter how destructive it is.
    all that matters is that you persevere.
    “no rest for the weary” is not a theory.
    it is just plain scary.

    Written for PROMPT #62 – GET SOME REST


    Listen to the music,
    Music and moonlight.
    Moonlight becomes you,
    you are my special angel.

    Angel of the morning,
    morning has broken,
    broken promises;
    promises in the dark.

    Dark hair and blue eyes,
    blue eyes crying in the rain.
    Raindrops are falling on my head.
    Head on down the highway.

    Highway star,
    stars and stripes forever.
    Forever young,
    young girl get out of my mind.

    Written for IN-FORM POET – LOOP POETRY (Form)


    They claim two certainties in this life;
    death and taxes. But the fact is,
    they breed confusion and you can bet,
    the surety ends when they start to tax death.

    Written for PROMPT #63 – Uncertainty


    I find whenever I’ve the time
    I sit with pad and pen in rhyme
    penning proses quite sublime
    a feat completed in my time.
    I have a love affair with words;
    be they rhythmic or absurd,
    the grandest poems ever heard
    take flight like flitting feathered birds
    and reach for heights yet unachieved.
    When poets ponder, I believe
    they write their thoughts as they’ve perceived
    and when they’re done are quite relieved
    to know their points were made.
    And no matter how their thoughts pervade,
    ideas insinuate; invade,
    evoking emotions (some delayed)
    and some are never quite displayed.
    Back to the poem, I digress,
    this sample skeltonic mess.
    I could erase, resume, I guess,
    but I won’t. I think I’ll leave it as it is
    you’ll think me a poetic wiz,
    a poet that pops, plop-plop, fizz-fizz,
    I’m done! (Oh, what a relief it is!)

    Written for IN-FORM POET – SKELTONIC (Form)


    A vacation in the South of France,
    a chance to dance unencumbered
    on the Champs-Élysées on a day
    so blue we can’t help but be happy.

    A day to be illness free; no trick knee,
    no blocked artery, just a day…
    where dark spots go away from x-rays,
    a chance to verbalize emotions that are assumed.

    A ticket with every number needed
    to exceed my earnings in this lifetime
    all in one inspired evening, leaving
    everything behind to find my peace of mind.

    A home to house this ever-expanding
    empty nest, the best place to have raised daughters,
    but we ought to lose the excess
    and express ourselves more simply.

    Success for those daughters to achieve
    all which they aspire to and to view
    the world through less cynical eyes;
    this prize of life so garnished. Untarnished.

    The end of conflicts where friends and enemies
    stick out a hand and come to understand
    what seems too good to be true; to eschew
    the terrors of wars; to abhor them.

    The opportunity to view these things in a life well lived
    and to be forgiven for indiscretions and errors
    in judgement, putting priorities in proper perspective,
    rejecting all attempts to temp my loving temperament.

    A night full of nothing but sleep to foster these dreams,
    without the anemic schemes of a torn
    and twisted psyche. It might be the greatest wish
    on this dish of savory favors saved for sometime.

    © Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

    Line culled from Marie Elena Good’s Uncertainty poem – DEMENTIA

    Written for PROMPT #64 – “HEY… THAT’S MY LINE, TWO!”


    The gentle in and out of life,
    fills her lungs with each cautious breath,
    she lives

    each day as if it were her last.
    My hard and fast rule, is this:
    find bliss

    within every waking moment,
    the gift of life is heaven sent.
    Feel love

    in the people that surround you,
    return every heartbeat in kind.
    My mind

    swims out to the choppy waters
    filling this torrent of despair.
    Who dares

    to deny her the love she craves?
    Love saves the broken hearted from,


    She lives for the moments like this:
    a tender kiss and words of love
    heart felt.

    And we’ll go forward forever.
    Never lose sight of the future,
    or now!

    Written for IN-FORM POET – SYNCHRONICITY (Form)


    Cards once held close to the vest
    are now worn on my sleeve,
    leaving no doubt that life is a fragile game.
    Gone are the days of invincibility;
    your stamina and agility have seen better days.
    You’d be crazy not to play the cards dealt
    if you felt you had a winning hand.
    But as you stand, others close to your chest
    cuddle in before the end of days; not ready
    to lose a friend, a lover, a side-kick;
    not going to surrender the life of a wife
    Sick of losing to this destructive joker so badly;
    my poker face remains, sadly. And still no answer
    to this ravenous cancer. Just glad to say,
    you’re not cashing in your chips today.

    Written for PROMPT #65 – BETRAYED!


    Music doth have charms
    and the savage breast is soothed.
    There is beauty in its song.
    I hear melodies
    and my heart is stirred to dance;
    a chance to ease into love.
    And if music dies,
    my soul will carry the tune,
    and the words of love you sing
    will make me the man
    you always want me to be.
    The music of life plays on.

    Writtern for IN-FORM POET – CHOKA (Form)


    Wildly weird and wonderful,
    Another in a
    Long line of like named gents.
    Taught to respect his elders and teach his children.
    Even when he is at a loss for words, he’ll
    Regale you with his verbosity.

    Who is this monstrosity of poet prowess to think he could
    Overpower the world of metered rhyme by his sheer numbers?
    Just put it this way,
    The day he is silenced is the day
    Another Walt has been relegated to dust.
    Never faint of heart; he can’t start to explain
    It. But to name it, his style would elicit a smile and make you think of the
    Kinetic poetics he spews. Then you might have him pegged!

    Written for PROMPT #66 – Part 1: Memoir Project – Who Do You Think You Are?


    Opportunity has knocked,
    the winds of change have blown.
    But, a heart in flux can’t get enough
    when love comes to call.

    The winds of change have blown,
    bringing something new to a life
    that has waited for its coming.

    But, a heart in flux can’t get enough.
    It yearns for a touch, a caress,
    a longing kiss to steer its course.

    When love comes to call,
    will your heart be willing and accepting to
    a welcomed guest that might stay a lifetime?

    Written for IN-FORM POET – TRIMERIC (Form)


    Breath and heartbeat.
    Every new day is an event.
    Hell bent on staying the course
    with this life-force surging,
    and purging every last bit of
    fear and confusion; these intrusions
    on a battered mind.
    The lessons finally learned:
    What matters, matters –
    all else pales in comparison
    in this garrison of vitality.
    The reality of seemingly endless days
    finds ways to enliven; given
    to make these gifts a cause
    to rejoice; a loud voice
    in the wilderness, thankful
    for all that has transpired.
    As tired as it feels,
    a good deal of these days now
    are spent in praise of Being.
    Seeing the forest AND the trees,
    with knees to ground to pray.
    This magnificence in relation.
    Every new day – an elation;
    a life spent in celebration.

    Written for PROMPT #67 – Look What I Did!


    Sacrificed on the altar of reason,
    pages ignite; an incendiary conflagration
    of words and rhyme – metered and meted.

    Ashes strewn, wind blown; sown upon
    the fertility of a mind left wanting to be heard.
    Every word burning like midnight oil to ravage

    all this savage heart has toiled to achieve.
    Like decayed leaves these poems smolder.
    Line by line, they feed the fire; burning.

    Learning that poetic purity is akin to obscurity,
    remnants of thought filling the air
    like sparks off to incite the masses and high grasses

    in smoky simile; nothing is left unsaid.
    Laureate at the stake burning, take the time to learn.
    There is rhyme enough to burn.

    Written for PROMPT #67 – Look What I Did!


    Moonlight Serenade plays softly in the mist,
    A lovers tryst set to a melody; perfect in rhythm and meter.
    A slow dance to press you closer; to hold you dear.

    No lyrics are needed to convey love.
    No whisper could ever express your heart.
    No one else can hear the beautiful music in your sigh.

    When we fiddle around, the song in our hearts plays on!

    Written for IN-FORM POET – SEVENLING (Form)


    It is where the heart is.
    We had left her years ago
    but our hearts remained; an empty shell

    where the essence of us resides.
    They can cover her in vinyl,
    but in the final determination
    the combination of sunny yellow

    and a mellow burnt umber trimming.
    had her brimming with love.
    A two-family dwelling with
    full cellar. A fellow could find sanctuary

    with nary a care; there was always family there.
    A room paneled and trimmed
    (all on the carpenter’s whim)
    Bunks and captain’s beds,

    where we were born and bred.
    It remains in my heart and head,
    where my memories come.
    I’ll always her call home.

    © – Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

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