Alive and well and living
in a hole underground.
The only sound is that
of little feet scampering.
The late, white rabbit needs
time to find his groove.
He better move quicker, before
he gets stuck in a sticky
wicket. Near the thicket
the tea is served and
he has swerved into
the queen’s palace.
And what about Alice! Alice?
Who the hell is Alice?

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: Underground



I find a voice in my poet of choice,
I am conversing with Neruda.
The dude had a style, and while
I admire him greatly,
lately I find much of him in me.
I am no Neruda, no poetic Buddha,
but Pablo’s odes and sonnets are honest
presentations (never lost in translation).
I have become a student of him,
on a whim and not by surprise,
this guy’s poems move me.
It behooves me to find bits
and pieces of Pablo to blow
my mind, to remind me that poetry
has a purpose to communicate,
to elated, sometimes sedate
and placate a burdened heart.
From my start I have been ensconced
in this need to read Neruda.
Please, don’t find me rude.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #393: Piece


We live in bits and pieces,
a junk drawer full of memories,
moments held close to heart
that start to fray on the ends
and sends you careening into fits
of rage and bits and pieces.

It never ceases these bits
and pieces of fleece that smell
like her perfume all these years
here after. Shards of laughter
stuck in the rafters of a mind
in which he would come to find

words and scraps of paper,
pieces upon which he had written
skits and bits of humorous falderal!
Post-its hosting numbers and names
gone up in the flames of a pathetic pyre,
a fire that was once desire and is now

not long for this world. A dervish of a girl
spinning in a whirl of dust and debris,
and me ready to steady the tumult,
a Walt at the ready to repair what was
laid bare, a life rife with a smattering
of tattered thoughts and ideas, pleas

for a quick end (please give me a quick end)
and a friend with which to trade barbs
and count carbs as the passage of time.
Lengthy rhymes that were once big hits now spread
as bits and left in pieces of peace
praying for a new lease on these bits and pieces,

or a bigger junk drawer to hold this shrapnel
well meant to be moments held close to the heart.
Always a good start. We live in bits and pieces.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #393: Piece

Offered at dVerse Poets Pub – OLN #196


Le nuvole partono e il sole offre una fanfara per la grazia del mondo. Incastonati in un’alcova brillantemente illuminata, due anticipano l’arrivo di aromi e trattamenti freschi per la tavolozza, la gustosa pietanza servita nel loro nascosto santuario del prato. Bouquet dolci e entusiasmanti fragranti, biologici e terrestri. Non considerano degni di essere seduti al tavolo ma apprezzano l’invito a partecipare al suo splendore. Sautéed in bounty della terra, l’inverno a riposo e la promessa di estate nell’attesa, loro gustano le deliziose offerte della vita.

Le stagioni vengono in vita
Più robusto, fresco e ricco
Sorgente di risveglio



The clouds depart and the sun offers a fanfare to grace the world. Tucked into a brilliantly lit alcove, two anticipate the arrival of fresh aromas and treats for the palette, the savory fare served in their hidden meadow sanctuary. Sweet bouquets and fragrant enticements, organic and earthy. They deem themselves not worthy to be seated at the table, but appreciate the invitation to partake in its splendor. Sautéed in earth’s bounty, winter long at rest and summer’s promise in waiting, they taste the delicious offerings of life.

seasons come to life
more robust, fresh and hearty
awakening spring

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday: From The Kitchen of Poets


**In the Romance Language, La Primavera mean “Spring”


Small hand pressed against mother’s lips,
feeling vibrations of a sound not heard.
A sensation undisturbed. Leaning forward
to feel those same lips against a forehead.
A kiss to send a message of love.
Tiny lips against a worried cheek
mimic, “Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm…
His hearty giggle; her silent tear.
Mother and son as one! Love is understood.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Sensory Play


I stand on the edge of this field,
& I can sense his presence here.
Living is easy, but with eyes closed
he can misunderstand a lot.
He has not seen thing clearly
in nearly thirty-seven years.
Nothing is perceived as real,
& it’s hard to be someone else,
when the who you are is no longer a star.
I know it’s a dream; it’s not too bad
& we’ll remain sad for the loss of you.
No one was the boss of you.
It’s all wrong but it’s nothing.
Don’t get hung up, let me take you down.
Strawberry Fields.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik (with a little help from my friends!)

Poetic Asides – Prompt # 392: Forever


You ask me and I’ll tell you,
there may come a time when I’m
in no position to know
or show the affection that I sent
in your direction every day!
I could say I love you incessantly,
and presently, I do. But you
may come to a point where the point
will be moot, and you’d dispute
my verity or seek clarity of my
existence. There may be a resistance
on either of our parts where our hearts
will no longer feel, or can no longer
feel what we know is true.
So until you or I can no longer commit,
I will admit as I always do (as do you!)
I will love you until the twelfth of never!
(And yes, that’s a long, long time!)

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #392: Forever Poems


I profess and confess I am not afflicted by:

Bathophobia- Fear of depth.
Philophobia- Fear of falling in love.

Chiraptophobia- Fear of being touched.
Chirophobia- Fear of hands.

Dishabiliophobia- Fear of undressing in front of someone.
Gymnophobia- Fear of nudity.

Gynephobia – Fear of women.
Venustraphobia- Fear of beautiful women.

Hedonophobia- Fear of feeling pleasure.
Clinophobia- Fear of going to bed.

Phagophobia- Fear of being eaten.
Philemaphobia – Fear of kissing.

Pteronophobia- Fear of being tickled by feathers.
Verbophobia- Fear of words.

But I do have an innate fear of making lists!
Who’s idea was this anyway?
© Walter J. Wojtanik

Offered at dVerse Poets Pub – List Poetry


We’ve decided it’s time to seize the day
it could slip from our grasp so easily!
In spite of all the warnings they’ll say,
we’ve decided it’s time to seize the day.
Take life as it comes, come what may
and enjoy this moment ceaselessly.
We’ve decided it’s time to seize the day.
It could slip from our grasp so easily!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #392: Forever


Traversing life, a path long and twisting.
Pitfalls and elevations filled with elation
and sorrow; each tomorrow unfulfilled
has not yet been given to bear.

It is there that the seed is planted. Sometimes
greed and selfishness become the power
that drives hearts and imparts the anguish
that becomes inevitable. A banquet table gone to waste

with nary a taste of life’s finest treasures.
Pleasures come with their share of pain
that burrows deeply, furrowing brows
and disavowing all promises once declared.

Forever becomes ‘right now’ and futures
are only nurtured in the last breath that is drawn.
Love is imperfection, a static direction
that does not follow dictates. It exasperates

and deflates, infiltrates this lighter-than-air existence.
It offers resistance to the natural order
of how it is thought to be. Never manipulated;
it can not be stipulated by demand

nor by expectation. Love is as love was meant to be.
Not possessed; only it can embrace.
It will not be molded; for it will just be…
forever imperfect and unconditional.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #392: Forever