LEAVES

Some certainly envision
the splay of oranges, golds,
crimsons and whatever else
nature holds for our viewing.
Autumn is brewing.
Making her entrance,
with a warm nuzzle;
a comfortable caress.
Hushed words expressing
what a heart can feel.
Heard in the rustle of leaves.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille #15: Leaves

SCENE FROM A CHINESE RESTAURANT

He sits,
a solitary man at a table for two.
Stuck between the moo goo
and the shrimp fried rice, a nice
diversion to a horrible day.
She would go on to say
things you can never retract
and she’d act as if she were God’s
gift. As if! He’d get a whiff of the oolong
and it reminds him of that song
that she’d sing to drive him crazy.
Maybe he had gotten lazy
or he just didn’t care.
And she was rarely ever there!
So, he’d stare out the window and watch
the world stand still. With two, you get egg roll.
He would kill for an egg roll,
this solitary man at his table for two.
Good times.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides -Wednesday Prompt # 364: Let the Good Times Roll

Presented at dVerse Poets Pub OLN #178: Saving Grace

SHAKE, RATTLE AND ROLL

Stuck between hard rock and a place
where music finds its root.
Foot tapping and the gentle rapping
against a table top never stops.
The kids are jumping, Their feet
are thumping the floor. Windows
rattling and battling the urge
to roll every dirge into Top 40.
Back beats and bass lines found their
way in their day. Hear the people sing!
Elvis is dead; Long live the King!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides – Wednesday Prompt #364: Let the Good Times Roll

LORD GODIVA LETS OFF STEAM

Godiva

She’s off again!
That brazen hussy on horseback.
The fact is that the crowds in Coventry
congregate in wait for a glimpse
or a gleaming of her steaming lack
of attire. I am thankful for her hair
for there within, her wherewithal
is all concealed. Nothing is revealed
until the wind blows. And so it goes.
Exhibitionist or harlot, a scarlet letter
would have nowhere to hide.
The missus has no pride or shame,
this Lady just sullies my good name!
There she goes, she’s off again!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: Poetical Spouses

BLUE HORIZON SKIES

I return with regularity. To empty my mind; to achieve clarity. And it is a rarity that I can attain both. But along this shoreline, life reveals itself. It pulls memories from my mental shelves and splays them before me in these azure skies. Sights for my weary eyes, it is no surprise that I return. These thoughts inspire by my mind’s mire!

I find a place, a space where I can plant myself. And vacate the moment, searching the horizon for some semblance of beauty that reminds me of you. The sky is blue. But, it is not maudlin, nor melancholy. Brilliant and bright and jolly, cloud pocked and wholly enveloping. And portraits of you start developing in my heart.

seagulls take their terns
we are birds of a feather
we soar to the clouds

 

 

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse poets pub – Haibun Monday: The Sky IS the Limit

WHISPERS OF LOVE

Soft insinuations play
within this vacuous heart.
It starts as the spark
that memory allows to smolder.
A siren’s call within my head
displaces dread and heartache.
Here within these gates,
amongst the marble pillars;
stones and obelisks
to mark each valiant soul,
and I come to stand before her.
Sunset near breaking, taking its time
to shine upon this cold place.
Her face, behind closed eyes,
tender touches of hands so soft,
serenity’s surrogate reminding me
time and again. Calling
in telepathic tones, my name in her voice,
her name in my ear. Laments of love
return in silent whispers, Hand reaching,
beseeching the spirits to rest and allow
me the same. And still I hear my name.
Whispers of love never die!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Tuesday Poetics – THE SOUNDS OF LOVE

BLUES IN THE NIGHT

Midnight.
The shade of blue
made for the haunting lilt
of the blues. Anguish lives
in every note and nuance,
a musical séance encrusted
with rusted memories
and melancholy dollies.
Swirling the ice in my empty
glass at the corner table
of this dingy hall, the music
calls my name, but no answer
is forthcoming. The scotch is numbing
my synapses, and when my memory
lapses, I’ll be singing midnight!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Written for dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Breathing in Blue

CONQUEROR

She walks along within his heart,
surrender to her name and she declares her victory.
She, a young beauty a distance apart.
wielding the weapons of love. Her artillery:
raven hair, hazel eyes, her smile spells your captivity.

A tug of war in the tug of hearts,
no strings attached, you were matched
by your play of words. Soaring like birds
released, a reprieve of freedom granted,
she walks along within his heart.

She carries him with her as well,
his tender words become her shield,
protected by his expressive heart,
no surrender does she yield. His soul beckons.
Surrender to her name and she declares her victory.

His journey begins and ends
wherever she reside and he hides
in the rushes until she flushes him out.
Without a doubt, he is her target,
she, the young beauty a distance apart.

Hand-to-hand they take their stand,
vying eye-to-eye. Determined and delighted,
he fights for her honor, a prize secured
and her response is swift and accurate.
She wields the weapons of love. Her artillery

is not pervasive, she replaces
animus with amour. It is sure you will be
the prisoner of her heart right from the start.
Her beauty is your proclivity:
raven hair, hazel eyes, her smile / your captivity.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Written for POETIC BLOOMINGS – INFORM POETS: QUINTAIN CASCADE

offered at dVerse Poets Pub – OLN#177

IN ELEGANCE AND GRACE

She walks unencumbered where once he had lumbered and stood. A good man lost to the world, leaving her soul yearning and giving a burning sensation in her brain. It will never be the same. And yet, she walks in elegance and grace, her face hidden in a forbidden tear. He is not here to share her heart. At the start they vowed never to be far apart, barring the unforeseen. But this scene is missing something, incomplete as her feet shuffle and keeps her perpetual in her motion. She has a notion they will meet again, face-to-face in elegance and grace.

Without him she walks
within loving memories.
Shadows of her heart.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Presented at dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday: A Little Romance