Przez moje dziedzictwo przyszedłem się znaleźć.
Nie ma tu książki, która siedzi na mojej półce,
To była tradycja, przez którą zostałem znaleziony.
Został przekazany.

Wiele zwyczajów pochodzi z naszego starego kraju,
Przynosiło to miejsce, gdzie przychodzili moi dziadkowie.
Oswojona i przeznaczona do wolności
W nowym kraju.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

An attempt at the Polish translation of my “Sapphic Stanza In Polish Poetry”


In a melancholy mood…
The brood is dwindling
and what remains is kindling
for my mind. Among a myriad
of minutia I find memories,
things my daughters possessed
and left behind. Our nest will rest
on “E”, and come December,
I will be hard pressed to remember
whose toys were whose. I choose to recall
all the joy my children had,
and they seemed glad to have
what they did. No longer kids
but adults on the cusp of their own dreams.
It seems I get laced in nostalgia
as neuralgia settles in. It would be a sin
to let these things go to waste.
It’s time for other young ones
to taste the joy of each of these toys
my daughters left behind. I find
the memories take up less space
and yet fill my heart so much more.

© Walter J. Wojtanik


Eating jambalaya with a fork,
nobody fed the dog.
I wished it were already Friday,
my shoes feel a bit tight.
You’d think I would’ve learned something in school.
How about a back rub?

Somewhere out there a guy has a flat
tired of being used as a guinea pig,
the clock ticks away,
but ours is a sizable some!

In winter the snow reaches up to my
assumption that the grass is always greener.

Can I offer you a drink?
Pass the crushed pepper flakes.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Descort Poetic Form