Gasping for a lung full
in seemingly stagnant skies.
No matter how one tries
it becomes a chore.
And the more you work
the more you’re sore.
You’d pass it along,
but it is all wrong.
And no one is left to inherit
when there’s no air apparent!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012


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.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

*Note: After fifty-six years in fermentation, the wine is finally reaching its peak!


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.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

* Note:  On being selected the 2010 Poet Laureate for the April PAD at Writer’s Asides with Robert Lee Brewer. I seemed in a hurry to get there, and humbly find I still have much to learn and accomplish.


The Sunday Whirl – Wordle # 68

It cuts to the bone, marrow dripping,
mixing with every drop of blood purged
from a heart so battered; worn. This
link of passion sets sail on our seas of love.

An uncharted course, not knowing
what was in store for young lovers
with dreams to raise anchor and navigate life,
leaving the past in their wake

and their future dreams on distant horizons.
The turbulent churn tosses and the vessel will pitch,
sending hearts to the rail to purge insecurity and fear
and setting feet firmly of the deck of heart’s desires.

From stem to stern, their pulses quicken,
a feeling that will sink, motionless and still
finding a harbor loving and longing;
a port most welcoming and wanting.

All seas crest with gentle waves to soothe
battered and time-worn hearts; homeward bound.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

For THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #68