You’ve heard it said, “You can’t go home again”. And as that may be true in reality, memories and happy moments will live in your heart and mind taking you back to where your life began. Years after we had left our ancestral home, I assembled poems based on our house on Wood Street in tribute to my father the carpenter, and all influences that gave me my bearing. My very first poetry collection, a “Chapbook” entitled WOOD was self-published and relatively well received. You’d think it would be the last word on the subject. Apparently not!
I had gone “back to the well” on numerous occasions to penned poems extending the scope of growing up from one end of Wood Street to the other. So, my mother gets more play here, as well as the neighbors and our domain that spanned from Warsaw Street to Roland Avenue. In a sense I am going back home one more time. My next book, RETURN TO WOOD is the extension of that magical place. It had been a combination of a personal OZ, Neverland with a touch of Narnia blended in. Not so surprisingly, all three of those places had been subjects of “Return” stories as well. I’d appreciate it greatly if you watched for it and visit WOOD once more.
A few books. A lot of words. And an audience that spreads around the globe. Signing all of those collections would be a daunting task seeing that I have short arms, albeit with a mighty pen. Anyone who has acquired any one of these titles and would like them signed, let me know you’re interested and we’ll make arrangements. I have personalized book plates that I will sign and send to you. They are self-adhesive labels and would serve the cause nicely. Thanks for your interest.
I had so much “fun” compiling some of my work into my first full poetry collection, “DEAD POET… Once Removed”, I decided not to wait too long to let its counterpart out of the bag. The second book of poems in the DEAD POET series is subtitled “Still Not Quiet Yet!”, and it continues the journey through the different phases of a life lived to the best of my capabilities so far.
With a Foreword by friend and kindred poetic spirit Susan Schoeffield, “DEAD POET… Still Not Quiet Yet” is a work that keeps my voice out there until I learn well enough to shut the hell up! Like that will ever happen! If you have enjoyed my first full poetry collection, please find time to continue this poetic adventure with me. Available at Amazon.com, Amazon Europe, Create Space eStore and more outlets as they become listed.
A link to the book is provided below as it has just been posted to Amazon.com .
I’ve finally made the move of compiling some of my work into my first full poetry collection. Drawing inspiration from the late Robin Williams’ film “The Dead Poet Society”, “DEAD POET… Once Removed” explores the different stages of a life lived fully and to the best of ones abilities. From embracing the mantle of living and seasoned by the love of life, we take on the understanding that life is truly a wonderful thing. Whether we find quiet moments to reflect on our world, or listen to the sounds and joys we experience daily we are inspired to make our marks in the lives of the people with which we surround ourselves. With my tribute poem to Williams at his passing and a Foreword by Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik, “DEAD POET… Once Removed” is a work of which I am most proud. I hope you will find the time to acquire and enjoy my first full poetry collection. Available at Amazon.com, Amazon Europe, Create Space eStore and more outlets as they become listed.
Click on the book cover to link to more information concerning ‘DEAD POET… Once Removed”
Walter J. Wojtanik’s first full poetry collection.
OK, so after months of riding the fence and thinking “Do I really want to embark on ANOTHER blog?” I concluded – Why Not?
Link to Words As Music
WORDS AS MUSIC is a blog specifically for aspiring lyricists needing some tips, nudges, prompts, lessons or just encouragement to continue their craft. I will try to post a “prompt” on Monday. Every OTHER Thursday we will highlight a different musical wordsmith and their music. Lessons will be smattered around whenever the urge takes me there, but I will try to do at least one every ten days. Exercises and assignments will be featured, and there will be a Glossary highlighting the musical terms we use throughout. A different sort of place. Maybe it will work, maybe not. But I’m taking a shot!
LINK TO I AM SANTA CLAUS
“I AM SANTA CLAUS” is not a dead issue. On the contrary, I’m getting ambitious and have recruited (without them knowing) Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides April P.A.D. prompts AND those from MIZ QUICKLY’S IMPROMPTU blog to write poems for the book based on these ingenious nudges. I refrained from submitting them to either site, I just felt it would be interesting to complete the series from another batch of fine encouragements.
So, I’ll be a busy little wordy for a while, but don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted on my progress!
I’ve been given a wonderful gift,
I have been presented with an extraordinary
opportunity. And in the unity of a writing
community, I am bolstered to holster
all fears and trepidation and feed on the
elation of this moment. I am a poet.
A writer who’s gift had been left in it’s
plasticine covering for fear it gets ruined
like grandma’s divan in the room
only used for important company.
Or wakes. It takes the support of like
cohorts and believers to stave off deceivers,
purveyors of doubt and negativity of sort
as you cavort through blank pages to pen
that which, again and again haunts you.
Now the chance to flaunt your talent
and you word skills that will make or break you.
It’s taken you forty years to become
the overnight success you’ve dreamed of being
and now you’re seeing the forest AND the trees.
But she’s determined to break you, to take you
from what you love and shove it up your ass.
Her style and class were checked at the threshold.
She’s sold you on the idea that your worth
is worthless in your pursuit. But you refute it.
You know one fact to be true. A writer writes.
All the battles and fights waylaid and splayed
in spatters across your life has prepared you
for nothing but this: The only way to fix it, is fix it.
There are people who believe in you and won’t
leave you hanging to gain nothing. Friends love
your work and you. You’re through with
being kept down. That perpetual frown needs
an upturn; you live and learn. No more left
on dusty shelves. Writer, Heal Thyself!
Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge – Day 13 – Self-Help
It couldn’t get any better if I let her do it herself. Life is swimming with my feet just skimming the surface. The smile on her face soothes and her beauty exudes from inside to out, that carries a lot of clout. The daughters are grown, and with one having flown the coop, the best empty nest scenario seems less scary. Oh I worry about the future, but I’m sure things will work out fine. If I’m lyin’ I’m going to lay down before I kick it. I know I can lick it. My health is slowly improving and as long as I keep moving, everything else is gravy. And that’s always a plus.
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
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 
I’ve been given a wonderful gift,
I have been presented with an extraordinary
opportunity. And in the unity of a writing
community, I am bolstered to holster
all fears and trepidation and feed on the
elation of this moment. I am a poet.
A writer who’s gift had been left in it’s
plasticine covering for fear it gets ruined
like grandma’s divan in the room
only used for important company.
Or wakes. It takes the support of like
cohorts and believers to stave off deceivers,
purveyors of doubt and negativity of sort
as you cavort through blank pages to pen
that which, again and again haunts you.
Now the chance to flaunt your talent
and you word skills that will make or break you.
It’s taken you forty years to become
the overnight success you’ve dreamed of being
and now you’re seeing the forest AND the trees.
But she’s determined to break you, to take you
from what you love and shove it up your ass.
Her style and class were checked at the threshold.
She’s sold you on the idea that your worth
is worthless in your pursuit. But you refute it.
You know one fact to be true. A writer writes.
All the battles and fights waylaid and splayed
in spatters across your life has prepared you
for nothing but this: The only way to fix it, is fix it.
There are people who believe in you and won’t
leave you hanging to gain nothing. Friends love
your work and you. You’re through with
being kept down. That perpetual frown needs
an upturn; you live and learn. No more left
on dusty shelves. Writer, Heal Thyself!
Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge – Day 13 – Self-Help