My memory still sees you there
in the shadows,
You are a mirage of my mind,
a kind I know.

It seems I never let you go,
you never leave.
My vision does not fail me.
I see; believe.

So, I hold you in my sad heart.
I’m reminded,
no matter where your heart will be,
I will find it.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019


Poetic Asides Form Friday: Dechnad Cummaisc


The number of fires kept escalating,
even an ocean of water didn’t seem enough
to snuff this crisis. The climate was uncooperative,
there was no end to the heat’s impact. In fact, the lies
of greed and ignorance held no solution to nature’s ire.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

The Sunday Whirl – Wordle #418



Evening descends like a hushed silence,
and tranquility is its marker.
Her song is a lilting lullaby
in the shadows of the night.
There’s no threat of violence
as the midnight sky grows much darker.
The constellations fill the sky
contradicting darkness, bringing light.

© Walter J Wojtanik -2019

Offered at:
Poetic Asides: Cyhydedd Naw Ban (Welsh Poetry Form)


dVerse Poets Pub: Quadrille – …and the most beautiful words are…  


A variation of the form written as a companion piece to “Comes the Morning”


Morning arrives like a soft whisper.
As he prepared to leave, he’ll kiss her

and he’ll wish her a wonderful day.
She coos through sleepy dreams and she’ll say

“Love you!”, an incoherent mumble
that he almost hears as he stumbles

through the kitchen door and heads for work.
Waking to her presence is a perk

that he has been gifted. She’s his prize
that he sees through appreciative eyes.

He feels fortune has smiled on him,
and it surely has. It’s not a whim.

Morning arrives, a brand-new blessing.
It will be a good day, he’s guessing.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Cyhydedd Naw Ban (Welsh

poetic form)


A sad young man was not happy,
he thought his life to be quite crappy.
He seemed to have this crazy need
to be the very best indeed.
He struggled hard to be the best,
to bounce life’s “bullets” off his chest.
To reach the very top, to him
was more than just a crazy whim.

A wise man gave him some advice
and told the boy to just think twice.
He pointed to a stately tree,
(it looked quite like a Larch to he).
He challenged the boy to reach the top,
climb to the highest height, then stop.
The boy adhered to his command
and climbed the tree, hand over hand.

Then, there was not another branch to breech.
The young man had climbed up each
spindly branch. Sometimes his footing was unsure,
but thought the man’s advice was pure.
He reached the very top did he,
to see as far as the eye could see.
He paused a moment, looked around
and then the man waved the boy down.

As the two stood side by side,
the boy and his sage old life guide
both looked up to view the span
and here’s where the lesson soon began.
“Tell me, lad, what did you find?”
He stood in silence, wracked his mind
and started to explain his revelation
from high up in that elevation.

“When I reached the very top I saw
that my ambition had one flaw.”
And this boy who was once cynical
found out when he had reached the pinnacle
that he could not climb any higher
he was atop of life’s high wire.
After a while he grew quite bored
and he feared if he would slip he’d soar

to the ground, to a bad ending.
And in that, there was no defending
where he thought he needed to be.
He just needed to do his best you see,
and not something that was not sustainable,
the reasoning is quite explainable.
“You can only go so high, my boy,
some do go higher, I won’t lie,

but there is peril in that decision,
you could be met with sad derision.
Just be the best you that you can be
and those around you sure will see,
that you can keep your head and all
and will not take that tragic fall.”
The boy thought and nodded, then gave a grin
and knew he should agree with him.

MORAL: Be happy with what this life will give,
for that’s the only way to live!


(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019


His thoughts and doubts carried a lot of weight,
for what he had once deemed as shallow,
now offers him a sense of truth.
Not far from his entry into the ground,
time spent questioning a life dissected
offered no clear vision. Instead his bizarre ramble
would soon go down the tubes.
We will all eventually crash and burn.
Bid him a fond farewell,
only don’t be so dramatic!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Written for the Sunday Whirl #417


Machismo, Bravado and Braggadocio met for drinks.
Each one thinks he’s the bigger man.
Looks can deceive and they all believe
their charms will have the ladies in their arms.

The first one played to the women, but
was shot down in flames. It seems
they’ve heard all his lines before.
The next was a pushy lout,

an incompetent boy scout, never prepared.
he never spared them from his conquests
and adventures, but had them scared at hello.
The loud mouth was harmless, all talk

but no game. It was a shame.
Lesson learned in three spurned.
Smoke and mirrors are great devices,
but just being you, truly suffices.

You should always live within your dreams,
Things always look bigger than they seem.

© Walter J Wojtanik -2019

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Smoke and Mirrors


I had lost my way. Mired in a jungle of thought, I found myself drifting away from my base – away from my mind’s center. Words, once an ally, have taken umbrage against a senseless ramble I had assumed. There’s no counting for intent, this descent was rapid. I could not stop my fall. When it began, I don’t recall… wrong, maybe I do. I think it started when I presumed people wanted to hear what I had to say. I wrote in a poetic way, a rapid-fire muse that would refuse to rest. It had gotten tired and old. I started to hate the direction I was headed, which was no direction at all. I had lost my way. Mumbling to myself, I found this quote, “You will love again the stranger who was yourself”. I started finding myself by loving who I was.

 © Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

 Written for dVerse Poets Pub – Prosery #3: Love After Love


There it still stands,
abandoned and left
in the dust to rust and decay.
In its day, a trusty “steed”,
but it has needed much attention,
not to mention plenty of cash
to re-convert this piece of trash to the notion
that motion was once its function.
An open lot, overgrown; not mowed
in a long while. Weeds obscured
and amber waves of grain sustain
the field mice that find lodging there
dodging the elements and predators.
And thus, this bucket of rusted,
once trusted truck is stuck,
alone in a field that seems devoid
of dreams and schemes. Just a means
to dispose of a once valued ‘friend.’

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019