Photo by David Ligare

The bread is stacked like the deck against Him.
The “wine” is fine (for an eight year old.)
They have been sold a bill of goods
that if they are as good as gold,
they will inherit the earth…
or the Kingdom of God…
or grandfather’s pocket watch
wrapped in a swatch of his old flannel.
This unholy Eucharist blessed
with peanut butter and jelly;
they’ll get their fill until
He is either denied or betrayed,
or hung out to dry with a loud cry:
Father forgive them, they have no clue!

Photo by David Ligare

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Magpie Tales – MAG #310

Presented at dVerse Poets Pub – OLN #169


He is bound to its majesty; a mountain, snow-capped
and covered with dreams of the conquest
of its stately infinity. Climbing ever upward, Excelsior,
an excursion of one nods in respect and kneels
to reflect, a thoughtful genuflect to its superiority,
the majority of which is hidden above the clouds.
The only sound he hears is the silent whisper
of an endless space, a chance to see the face of God.
He is found in the placid serenity near the peak
where the winds speak of the wisdom sequestered there.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Summit in sight


“Come –
see real blossoms
of this painful world” ~Basho

She is a true beauty. One who is unconditional in her loving. She is living a distant life shackled to her hopes and dreams long awakened. It has taken her all this time to find the love she craved, but it has yet to save her from herself. So she keeps it on her shelf and takes it down now and again to remind her that if he really wanted to, he would find her deep within his heart.

She starts to doubt herself. She starts to believe that love has abandoned her. She starts to think she is not worth the bother to be with another. And then his voice calls out, the lout who loves her from afar! She is never far from his heart, but she fears it will never be enough. She longs for his kiss. His caress is a heartfelt wish. Her embrace falls short. They feel each others absence.

Miles separate hearts
meant to hold close to each other;
the agony!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday #10 Hanami


I find my peace within my words,
and express the way that I feel.
My words can either hurt or heal,

they can make sense or be absurd.
Rhymes that I fashion have passion
without a thought to go unheard.

I try to present them with zeal,
I find my peace within my words.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Octain Refrain–dVerse Meeting the Bar



Shots over the bow,
I knew this would happen.
I prepare to counter.

I have no luck in guessing,
and it’s messing with my psyche.
I already appear to have lost

my submarine and my carrier.
It would be scarier if it was for keeps.
I’d end up in the briny deep

if this course stays true.
It’s up to me to figure out
where my points have clout.

I’m running out of moves.
my groove just isn’t keeping me
on track. Every attack falls flat!

I throw my arms skyward.
Finally a hit! This is it, my comeback.
I have a plan, no more shooting from the hip!

But now, I have a fit,
I’ve let my expletives slip.
You’ve sunk my Battleship!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

For POETIC ASIDES Prompt # 346 – “Coordinates”

Posted at Poetic Asides as GOING DOWN

42˚ 48’ 44.5428” N Latitude / 78˚ 49’ 51.7332” W Longitude

A pinpoint on the map,
forever my favorite place.
I wouldn’t want to visit,
but a nice place to live.
Memories of journeys there
give me great joy.
I was just a boy, but I knew
there was no place like it!
Living there,
giving there,
loving there was the ultimate,
I miss those coordinates.
In part, they’ll stay in my heart.
Just a house to some,
but to me it was always home.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

For POETIC ASIDES Prompt # 346 – “Coordinates”


photo by Damien Derouene

He studies the board.
She studies their adversary.
He thinks he can take him in three.
All she knows is that she
has their milk money riding on this match.
He sees a flaw in the guy’s game.
She’s found it too, and if he has the will
to go in for the kill, there will
be a cookie in it for her!
Check and mate, she can’t wait!

©Walter J Wojtanik – 2016

For Magpie Tales – MAG 309

Photo by Damien Derouene


Sounds quite prehistoric
rather almost reptilian,
a mockingbird cotillion
will bear your silly name.
Birds of a feather flock to-
gether, but this many-tongued
mimic is an odd gimmick with wings.
It will make a mockery of things!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Poetry is For the Birds

A mockeroserous is a gathering of mockingbirds!


In the scheme of our evolution
I’m not sure of your ranking,
but rest assured that you
certainly are quite rank.
You stink. (You always stank.)
you need a bath, a coiffeur and a shave.
Never a slave to fashion,
(you have no clothes)
or guided by your passion,
Be you Bigfoot, or be you a yeti,
you better be ready, Freddie!
They’re planning a Sasquatch get together.
There’s going to be a stench* tonight! Whew!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Poetry is For the Birds

*  A group of Sasquatch is a “stench”!


Hidden in a wooden hollow
lost boys answer to one man,
it is not the Pan they follow,
he would be an also-ran.
Lost boys search within themselves,
and not in some delinquent elf.
Childhood will melt away,
no more in Neverland to stay!!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

For dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille 5 (Using the word “melt”)