A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought. A memory. If something comes to mind, write. A polished piece isn’t the goal; creativity is. Leave a link, if you’d like your work read, but comments should not be expected. Twiglets are posted on Tuesdays.

The sun flashes in bright glimpses
between misted clouds
and tendrils of barren tree branches.
The slash of rain cuts deeply,
seeping into serenity’s slumber.

WJW – 2018



A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought. A memory. If something comes to mind, write. A polished piece isn’t the goal; creativity is. Leave a link, if you’d like your work read, but comments should not be expected. Twiglets are posted on Tuesdays.

Words rumble like an avalanche of thought. Warn the villagers!

WJW – 2018


Grey shades become a blur, they stir an uneasy feeling as they’re stealing the tonal cohesion, freezing your ear in unsavory ways. It plays on your sense of composition. Your condition does not translate well and you dwell on its sound. You’ve been around these keys enough to know you can throw a klinker here and there. But that is where it rests. Stay sharp and do your best. Roses are red. Love is blue. We all live in a yellow submarine. But shades of grey rule the day as long as I play.

Nature’s symphony
playing across the grey sky.
Dried reeds in the field.

dVerse Poets Pub – Beauty/Misery of Grey Haibun



My cranium, once cavernous, is filled with such minutia, with words that flatter, my grey matter has turned the boldest fuchsia. And life events have taken space reserved for all my musing, I hate when they get in my face, and not through my own choosing. Those grand ideas that haven’t hatched will find a way to haunt me, they all look good on paper, but in action, are just daunting.

Events that hold a special spot, retained through repetition, birthdays, anniversaries, and the lot; to forget one is sedition. My head’s all clogged from writing blogs, my thoughts are one big jumble, if I would speak my mind out loud, I’d probably only mumble. Clarity has flown the coop, my logic’s hard to follow,
I get so flustered I could spit, but you’ll find that hard to swallow.

And TV is a mindless task, I’m not the biggest viewer, I’d put my mind up on e-bay and find me something newer. I think out loud, an endless drone, the humming starts to bug me, I wish that I could find a way, for someone to unplug me.

Grey silhouette stands
against the barren tree branch
thoughts take flight like birds

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018

dVerse Poets Pub – Beauty/Misery of Grey Haibun


A51A556C-4545-485C-94B5-FBF80C434058They were young.
Correction: She was young,
he was her senior by eight years.
But amid the fear and trepidation,
she found her station by his side.

His pride was showing
and she was knowing he loved her.
They dated and waited and “hated”
the nay Sayers who indeed said “nay”.
Yet, they remain together ‘til this day.

But early on, they did struggle.
And holidays and celebrations
were feted with a kiss and embrace
and a promise of better things
when things got better.

The first Valentine’s Day
he put pen to page and this sage
with his wonderful words
wrote her a “card”. It wasn’t that hard.
He rendered a heart to start,

and within its borders, this hoarder
of secret poetic ponderings
had her wondering where this beauty
resided. For he had hidden it deeply,
keeping his embarrassment in check.

But what the heck, he folded the paper,
his caper awaiting completion.
His fear of exposing his heart
even to one so true, would have you think
he was unsure of his words and of her.

But, he watched as she read the verse,
and counted the steams that flowed
down her cheeks to collect on her chin.
That’s how it would begin.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried.

As much as he had tried to deny his muse,
She was at last glad he would choose
to reveal his heart. That’s where is would start.
The following year he erred greatly,
for things had gotten better lately.

For Valentine’s Day he bought her a card.
It wasn’t that hard to plunk down money
all for his Honey’s pleasure; a treasure she’d love.
She didn’t. It upset her; he had let her down.
He could tell by her frown he had mistaken.

It had taken a turn and he would yearn
to know the reason she thought he had committed treason.
His hand-made card was rather crude and plain,
it had ink stains and smudges that he fudged
to try to fix. But as it was, it endeared him to her.

There was more heart and soul in its simplicity,
it brought electricity to her being, and seeing
the perfectly embossed placard that was
the hallmark of all such things, did not
bring her joy. Her boy made a promise.

For their lifetime, he would draw and rhyme
in his one-of-a-kind way. And I still do to this day.
Every Valentine, Anniversary, Mother’s Day
and Birthday, (even an occasional Earth Day card)
came in my hand from my heart. That’s where it would start.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018

Poetic Asides Prompt #427 – Valentine’s Day


I’ve swapped the bottle for a life
more prone to lifting than falling.
It was my calling to change my style,
be less a bear and share love.
And while I smile more, I’m taking
life more seriously. I wrap
myself in the comfort of family
which comes as quite the bargain.
In the end, I live longer knowing
that my weaknesses are showing.
But that’s OK. It just means I’m growing.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018


It’s been a rough road;
I’m told that’s how the ball bounces.
Life is a strange frenzy,
and in the end we settle

our wayward hearts

to fall in love all over again.
The results are sublime;
to channel life;

a dedicated heart “attack”.

Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille #48 – Bounce (Whimsygizmo)



Night falls upon the lowly, as bright lights fade and shadows creep right before they slumber. Slowly, they fight their weary eyes to sleep and morning sits in vigil, silent; still. Winter’s moon and stars align at will, warning midnight sprites upon the hill that soon their lights will die, become nil.

Day will pass in its allotted time, while hay made as the sun shines, lingers. May the world know night’s toils in this rhyme, saying all that a heart desires. Fingers curl to grasp the cold and darkened shroud, frost descends to cover lovers avowed. Hurl the pall so all can call out loud, kissed by winter’s shadow so endowed.

moon set horizon
vanishes as mourning comes
night’s death brings on day

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

dVerse Poets Pub – Habun Monday: Winter Moon (Fuyu No Tsuki)


It was cold, darn cold.
And the Snows of Kilimanjaro
found Buffalo at home.
Everyone dressed to the nines
and tens and then it hit me,
today the training wheels
come off for real. Here’s the deal –
my daughter was getting married.
I had carried her when she was small,
but all down the long aisle I couldn’t help
but smile (and shed a tear or a hundred)
and we “carried” each other in our walk
that I wished lasted longer. A last kiss
and this Miss became a wife.
I’ve awaited/dreaded this moment
all my life and now this boy sheds tears
of joy. My beauty and her handsome man
stand astride and cannot hide their love.
Blessed from above in a married swoon,
we will not soon touch ground for a while.
And we continue to smile.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018

Poetic Asides – Prompt #420: Elevated poem