photo by Caroline Knopf

The ocean churns,
a rambunctious chop
of the briny deep.
Gwendolyn keeps watch,
waiting for his promise
and a return to her port.
Sailor, a man of the sea –
he had absconded with her heart.
From the day that he sailed
she never failed to search
horizons along the shipping lanes.
Straining her neck, Gwen grows tired.
Mired in an unfulfilled dream,
it seems to secure her soul away
as if buried in a dead man’s chest!
The ocean churns and his return
is a long time coming.
Her patience is going under
for the third time today.
A Great White passes Gwendolyn’s way.
“Don’t fuck with me whale!
Momma’s having a bad day!”

©Walter J Wojtanik – 2016

For Magpie Tales – MAG 305




No means of lighting a room
save for the candle sconces on the wall.

No stereo music playing
anywhere down the dark hall.

No refrigerator door
gets opened without reason.

No, it’s not even
the right time of season.

No snow should come to call
on a temperate October day in Fall.

(No snow should fall at all!)
Old Man Winter has a lot of gall!

No heat in the falling snow and sleet.
The furnace igniter is a non-lighter in snowfall!

No, not much of anything at all!
Except the crunch of more tree branches crashing,

No rehashing that no snow should come
to call in October, in the fall.

Nowhere else to go but back to bed,
pulling coverlets over my head.

No one knows how many more days, or minutes, or hours.
No power.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Presented for “Margo Roby: Wordgathering” – Poem Tryouts: Lights Out



valette, adolphe Paris
Adolphe Valette

The rain falls on Paris,
the City of Lights is awash with despair,
succumbing to nature’s deluge.
There is no refuge from its barrage.
Masses are huddled, side-stepping
puddles and rivulets. Carriages
and cabs trudge through the sludge
of ‘Paree!’ Her beauty is masked,
taken to task by the wrath from the heavens.
Collars extended and caps drawn close.
Monsieur’s and mademoiselle’s hurry
to escape, surrendering to its fury.
All colors are muted to a dingy gray,
on a fairly depressing day.
It is raining in Paris.

WJW 2016


For Magpie Tales – MAG 304:


You’ve left a stain on me,
a blot upon my heart.
My fabric is ruined by
the cause of you.
I sit in silent stillness,
once blessed by your beauty.
Now, my tortured duty
calls me to extricate
the hue of you from me.
I can see you faintly,
a painted reminder
that I find at every thought.
I promised to forget-you-not,
but for now, out damn spot!


abandoned-house-with-dollCobweb encrusted,
hinges rusted.
Windows “busted” and the floor
can’t be trusted.

Left to her decay,
in her day she was
a warm and comforting lady.
But she became shady,

left to the elements
and termites. Dry rot
is not her best attribute.
And they dispute her future.

Left to die a slow
and painful death:
ashes-to-ashes, dust-to
dust covered remnants

of former tenants.
A tragedy told in memories
and sad tales… she never fails
to foist her depression

on feeble hearts. Praying
for the wrecking ball’s
retribution, a solution no more
destructive than her current state.

And she lies in wait,
this storied soul, never
in control of her fate,
and now it is much too late.


Written to “Margo Roby: Wordgathering – Poem Tryouts: More Abandoning”


woodman francesca
Photo by: Francesca Woodman

Her fanaticism is expressed
in rapid twists and turns,
a macabre dance, entrancing –
causing everything within to spin.
She sees visions in her delirium,
spouting prophetically, communicating.
Howling becomes her tongue.
Round and round she goes,
in the throes of a religious awakening,
forsaking her sanity
for the ills of humanity.
Her consciousness altered
her steps falter, she careens over the edge.

WJW 2016


Written for “Magpie Tales MAG 303”


mirror 3She dares not look
for she fears she will see
what he’s left behind.
It clouds her mind,
for the years have not treated
her with kindness
the way she sees it.
He had feasted on her
and for years they were
both sated, body and soul.
Passions will take their toll
and she reflects upon that
which she refuses to see.
Opened for the world,
but never her own mind.
She finds that images back to front
have a knack of not
showing what lies within.
It is a sin she sees herself
in that light despite her beauty.

WJW 2016


Written for MAGPIE TALES – MAG 302 – January 22, 2016



Three years ago, I penned the lyrics for this song in tribute to the young lives lost at Sandy Hook Elementary on this day in 2012. A melody has been composed but still hasn’t been recorded. But, I reprise the lyrics again below:

Melody and Lyrics by Walter J. Wojtanik

Hearts of joy,
Playing in this world of love and happenstance.
Little minds,
Wanting just to learn of life’s glad circumstance.
Standing on the brink of years,
Standing tall in spite of fears
with open eyes.
Gentle souls; their mothers’ dears,
rained upon with angels tears,
oh, how they cry,
I’ll tell you why…

Another day,
Never knowing what’s in store, so unprepared.
Not the way
Children’s lives are supposed to be; confused and scared.
No one could have guessed their fate,
Mercy came, but much too late
for little ones.
So much love within their hearts,
Just waiting for their lives to start,
Oh, how we cry,
Tell me why.

The angels cried at Christmas,
Hearken angel voices sing a new refrain.
Now every year at Christmas,
Angel tears will fall again in sorrow’s stain.
Come now Angel, it’s okay,
Let love wipe your tears away
though your smile is gone.
Here now Angel, it’s all right,
Every new star shines so bright,
like your love, your light lives on and on.

Your Momma knows,
Deep within she feels your hand upon her heart.
And Daddy knows,
That even though you’re gone, you’re never far apart.
Babies when you left that day,
Angels now where angels play,
All looking down.
Missing Grandma’s warm embrace,
Grandpa won’t forget your face,
So, dry your eyes.
Please, don’t cry.

The angels cried at Christmas,
listen to the angels sing a new refrain.
Feel our love at Christmas,
Angel tears will flow with love ‘til we meet again.
Come now Angel, it’s okay,
Let love wipe your tears away,
though your smile is gone.
Here now Angel, it’s all right,
Every new star shines so bright,
like your love, your light lives on and on.

The angels cried (please dry your eyes)
The angels cried (a tearful sigh)
The angels cry,
Yes they cry at Christmas.

© Copyright – Walter J. Wojtanik 2012



It doesn’t matter where you were,
the further you go from there
the less it matters. And don’t
flatter yourself because
your trophy shelf is full
of awards and honorariums.
Do not construct your museum!
Forget all that. For in the end,
they will only ask one question.
Are you a good person?
Are you a mensch?
Did I mention, do you serve
humanity? Does your brand of insanity
translate well in the Great scheme of things?
Be the you that you need to be
from this point through eternity!
Free yourself from the shackles
and pay no attention to the cackles
from the salacious depths of despair.
Always remain here, not there.
Live for today. Live for this moment.
Forget where you’ve been.
Be here now. That is surely
how your life will matter!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015

POETIC ASIDES / Robert Lee Brewer – Prompt #325: FORGET__________