Elle a certainement une certaine grâce en elle,
une aire qui la distingue des autres.
Rien de ce qu’elle dit ne me ferait douter d’elle,
le début et la fin de la quête de cet homme.
Elle a été le pouls qui bat dans ma poitrine,
mais comme mon esprit vacille, il est blâmé.
Elle est tellement aimante, elle me fait me sentir bénie,
mais parfois je ne me souviens pas de son nom.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

** Apropos for the French poetic form Huitain challenge at Poetic Asides, I suppose. Thank you, Google Translate.

Original Poem:


She sure has a certain grace about her,
an aire that sets her apart from the rest.
Nothing she says would cause me to doubt her,
the beginning and end of this man’s quest.
She has been the pulse that beats in my chest,
but as my mind falters, it gets the blame.
She is so loving, she makes me feel blessed,
yet sometimes I can’t remember her name.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2020


Perching on my porch this morning,
things seemed to be at peace
when suddenly without warning,
sing-song sounds would not cease.

Celestial sounds filled the meadow,
no sweeter song playing.
Rings of stars look down on below,
so swell a day dawning.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Poetic Asides – Dechnad Mor (Irish) Form


Don’t they remember?
They go about their day
as if nothing was wrong,
doing the same old song
and dance, as if perchance
it was all a dream.

But you cannot sleep
through such a fright.
It keeps me up at night
sometimes. Don’t they recall
at all how it happened?
They go about their day.

It’s not to say it’s an obsession,
but this confession is true.
What did you do when the twins fell?
Where were you when five sides
became four? When verdant pastures
claimed more? Don’t you remember?

It’s an indelible stain that remains,
a blotch upon all of humanity’s souls.
Yet, some go about their days, ignoring
and imploring we all do the same.
History forgotten is soon repeated,
and we will not be defeated.

It was no dream, this evil scheme,
it seems some would just as soon forget it.
And yet, it happened eighteen years ago today.
Without a thought, they go about their day.
What is there left to say? It happened.
Don’t you remember?

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

POETIC BLOOMINGS tribute to 911


The day we had connected
I knew that I was smitten,
your gentle grace – perfection,
a love so purely written.

And in these words, poetic
(although they were not quoted),
would sound a bit prophetic,
but still they were not noted.

Your words of love, handwritten,
a love that was quite lawless,
affections once unwritten
now read as truly flawless.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Poetic Asides Poetic Form Challenge – Ae Freislighe


Beverly Dyer's original painting "Cardinal."
Beverly Dyer’s original painting “Cardinal.”

You’re on my branch.
You had the chance to land
here where I stand.
The view is sweet,
tweet, tweet. Tweet, tweet!
We seem to be a diverse lot,
I see across the open plot
of land where groups of us
are segregated. There’s sparrows
underneath the tree,
and robins in the clearing,
some cardinals held aloft,
softly singing their song,
that is the sound we’re hearing.
The talk of hawks does circulate
as they circle high above,
we need to keep the small ones safe,
it’s the tasty ones they love.
There goes “Johnny one note”, his chirp
is so annoying. It is invasive to this place;
and the peace we’ve been enjoying.
The sun, it warms before the storm,
but  we’ll soon be moving on
as seasons change. And one by one
they’ll take to wing, some will remain
to bask and sing, and I will sit
a wee bit more here on my branch –
a chance to just exist; to be.
To see the world from high in this tree.


(C) Walter J Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Art as Inspiration ~ Introducing Beverly Dyer


My memory still sees you there
in the shadows,
You are a mirage of my mind,
a kind I know.

It seems I never let you go,
you never leave.
My vision does not fail me.
I see; believe.

So, I hold you in my sad heart.
I’m reminded,
no matter where your heart will be,
I will find it.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019


Poetic Asides Form Friday: Dechnad Cummaisc


The number of fires kept escalating,
even an ocean of water didn’t seem enough
to snuff this crisis. The climate was uncooperative,
there was no end to the heat’s impact. In fact, the lies
of greed and ignorance held no solution to nature’s ire.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

The Sunday Whirl – Wordle #418



Evening descends like a hushed silence,
and tranquility is its marker.
Her song is a lilting lullaby
in the shadows of the night.
There’s no threat of violence
as the midnight sky grows much darker.
The constellations fill the sky
contradicting darkness, bringing light.

© Walter J Wojtanik -2019

Offered at:
Poetic Asides: Cyhydedd Naw Ban (Welsh Poetry Form)


dVerse Poets Pub: Quadrille – …and the most beautiful words are…  


A variation of the form written as a companion piece to “Comes the Morning”


Morning arrives like a soft whisper.
As he prepared to leave, he’ll kiss her

and he’ll wish her a wonderful day.
She coos through sleepy dreams and she’ll say

“Love you!”, an incoherent mumble
that he almost hears as he stumbles

through the kitchen door and heads for work.
Waking to her presence is a perk

that he has been gifted. She’s his prize
that he sees through appreciative eyes.

He feels fortune has smiled on him,
and it surely has. It’s not a whim.

Morning arrives, a brand-new blessing.
It will be a good day, he’s guessing.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Cyhydedd Naw Ban (Welsh

poetic form)


A sad young man was not happy,
he thought his life to be quite crappy.
He seemed to have this crazy need
to be the very best indeed.
He struggled hard to be the best,
to bounce life’s “bullets” off his chest.
To reach the very top, to him
was more than just a crazy whim.

A wise man gave him some advice
and told the boy to just think twice.
He pointed to a stately tree,
(it looked quite like a Larch to he).
He challenged the boy to reach the top,
climb to the highest height, then stop.
The boy adhered to his command
and climbed the tree, hand over hand.

Then, there was not another branch to breech.
The young man had climbed up each
spindly branch. Sometimes his footing was unsure,
but thought the man’s advice was pure.
He reached the very top did he,
to see as far as the eye could see.
He paused a moment, looked around
and then the man waved the boy down.

As the two stood side by side,
the boy and his sage old life guide
both looked up to view the span
and here’s where the lesson soon began.
“Tell me, lad, what did you find?”
He stood in silence, wracked his mind
and started to explain his revelation
from high up in that elevation.

“When I reached the very top I saw
that my ambition had one flaw.”
And this boy who was once cynical
found out when he had reached the pinnacle
that he could not climb any higher
he was atop of life’s high wire.
After a while he grew quite bored
and he feared if he would slip he’d soar

to the ground, to a bad ending.
And in that, there was no defending
where he thought he needed to be.
He just needed to do his best you see,
and not something that was not sustainable,
the reasoning is quite explainable.
“You can only go so high, my boy,
some do go higher, I won’t lie,

but there is peril in that decision,
you could be met with sad derision.
Just be the best you that you can be
and those around you sure will see,
that you can keep your head and all
and will not take that tragic fall.”
The boy thought and nodded, then gave a grin
and knew he should agree with him.

MORAL: Be happy with what this life will give,
for that’s the only way to live!


(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019