I finally broke the streak and placed a poem in the Top 10 in the Writer’s Asides Haibun Challenge.

Congratulations to Taylor Graham for the Top Spot

  1. Splash of Silence, by Taylor Graham
  2. Widow’s Walk, by Andrea Fleming
  3. Cricket, by Walt Wojtanik
  4. “Riding the ocean waves…,” by Marjory M. Thompson
  5. Twenty Games Back, by Bruce Niedt
  6. “In the cooling shade…,” by Jane Penland Hoover
  7. Her Tokens, by Taylor Graham
  8. “Tiny feet splash…,” by Sheila Moore
  9. Implosion, by Marie Elena Good
  10. Labor Day in Texas, by ChristineA

My entry:


Night falls, and all comes to rest as best as can be allowed. The shroud of Autumn lurks and works its way into this scene. Serene and sedate. The late summer air is soothed by symphonic sounds. A soft chirp begins the overture, and it’s for sure that it will play until morning. The strains are lilting, never wilting or reaching crescendo, a slow and steady melody. Music of the night.

hidden musician
playing through the gentle night
delight in your song


Their love was rancorous; an anomalous propagation.
Her eyes were rife with storm activity,
bolts of lightning and rambles of thunder shook their hearts,
and emotions climbed. Traces of their barometer
remain to bring their tempest to a high pressure front.
He felt trapped, his hue the color of ash,
the corners of his mouth turned with concern,
her eyes as damp as the coming precipitation,
but she drew inward; her husk protecting her fragile psyche.
But relenting, he had gathered her in; a bundle of ravaged souls
seeking shelter from the tirade of their hearts.

THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle # 75


She sat in silent pose, sensuous and wanton.
The artist struggled with her eyes half hidden,
by her fallen tresses the color of Autumn’s glow,
presenting a striking exterior.  But her eyes,
indeed were wondrous windows to her soul.

They flashed her desirous intent, a lilting semaphore
signaling her rich design. Back lit, her silhouette
became her melody; her true beauty the lyric
so sung, love’s lingering lament; an alliteration
of alarming allure allowing her soul to saunter.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #74 – Words taken from my original poem “You Are My Poetry”

You Are My Poetry

You come out to sit beside me
as we view the last faint traces of  sunset in a silent sky.
The rich glow of orange light is defused by the silhouette of trees,
Shining, peering through quietly, catching your eye as you catch mine.
You glide your hand through your soft auburn hair
perching the gentle tresses behind your ear,
and in that exact moment, I feel at home.
Your beauty reveals itself to me as the hidden treasure of the truest heart.
Beneath your loving exterior
you have become where I want to be; my humble abode; my sanctuary safe…
…I have become enraptured by your presence
which is soothing and warm and passionate;
calming and reassuring.
In the distance, wind chimes ring a lilting melody
and you saunter toward me to engage me in a tender slow dance,
and you make my heart sing a beautiful song in which the only lyric is your name.
Moment to moment, I begin to recognize that
the enchanting glow is the reflection of your sensuous brown eyes,
hidden as in an abstract painting.
It is you; what all artists see,
the shadow and texture; the tint and hue.
The palette of penetrating colors spread across the canvas of our love.
It is you; who my poet’s heart sees.
You are fanciful alliteration, the turn of a well worded phrase.
The rhyme and the meter that drives my soul.
You are truly my life’s art…
You are my poetry…

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2009


On the edge of reason, we watched and waited.
We hated being helpless, and I guess
we hated being the target of hate.
Many were functioning as they normally had,
but then every man, woman, mom and dad
had much to explain to minds that could not
comprehend. It had sent a strong message,
that we should be ever-vigilant and can’t
let down our guard. It is hard to preach trust
when the thrust of such extreme proportion
penetrates our collective spirit. They thought
they’d split it in two. It is true that we fight
amongst each other, like any “sister” and “brother”
but let another interfere and we’ll be here united
to fight it tooth and nail. We had stumbled, but did not fail.
May God continue to Bless America!

© – Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012


The sun had arisen, a beacon offering illumination;giving shadows and then taking them away. A day like any other. Mothers preparing the children for school, before they head to work. Fathers making their commute to execute the completion of another day of living the American dream. It seemed a perfect day to stay that course. Of course, dreams can morph into nightmares that destroy, and every man, woman, girl and boy still strive to awaken from the promise so taken; shaken to our core and what’s more, feeling confused and abused, hated and welling with the same. But, not for long. The strong urge to strike was replaced by the urgent need to care and rescue; to eschew the lowly who strike like thieves in the night. The fight continues to remember the fallen, those called to serve and protect from this sect of humanity bathed in the blood of insanity.

The phoenix rises.
From the ash and dust it flies
upon eagles wings.


© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012


Heart-to-heart, they were warriors;
hand-to-hand combatants suffering
the slings and arrows of outrageous accusation.
Shaken to its core, the love once shared
is no more. She held firm, her tongue in silence
and all the fierce violence he had perpetrated
only exacerbated their animus. It was a blessing
that her rugged resolve would hold her; solid marble
with a tender touch. In the remote reaches
of her time-worn soul, she saw herself a vision
in splendor and grace. The memory of his face was filed
away like the other cows who attempted to graze
in her verdant pasture. The bastards
should have known, Love is a battlefield.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #73


Bare your soul and take control
shift your love in gear,
we’ll drive away from here, and fast.
In the final frame the game
becomes quite clear,
we’re leaving here at last.

On this road of life the ride’s not always smooth,
but if you steer away from fear the gettin’s good,
and my defense is evidence, I’m in the mood
to travel on, be number one in the end.

We’re all gassed up and revvin’
on the great white line,
I’m feeling fine, tonight.
My heart’s refreshed and I’m enmeshed
here on cloud nine,
our future’s fine and bright.

On this road of life the ride’s not always smooth,
but if you steer away from fear the gettin’s good,
and my defense is evidence, I’m in the mood
to travel on and be number one in the end.

© Walt Wojtanik – 2012