A POEM STARTING WITH AN END LINE FROM SHEL SILVERSTEIN

It’s rather dark in here,
but don’t go toward the light.
It would be a bright thing
at the end of the hall,
but, just feel along the wall
and you find your way.
And if along the way you feel
something soft and gooey,
or misty and booey, run like hell.
Ghosts and goblins love when it’s dark.
It’s their “Home Field Advantage.”

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

The last line from “It’s Dark In Here” by Shel Silverstein

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A POEM STARTING WITH A LAST LINE FROM E.A. POE

WISTFUL REST

By what eternal streams
doth thou seek thy rest?
By whose marker
doth thou keep time?
On mornings bright,
after long dark nights,
shalt thou find repose?
If thou hast chose to sleep
where He who giveth such rest
hast determined, wilst thou
yearn to slumber there in peace
amongst the heavenly chorus.
I pray thee rest in thus ways,
in verdant pastures,
near eternal streams
to dream in wistful dreams forever.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

The last line from “To One In Paradise” by Edgar Allan Poe

Written for Poems of Garden Gnomes prompt: End of the Line

APPLE CIDER

Aromatic and sweet,
Purely a treat when
Pumpkins are prevalent.
Liquid love in abundance
Every sip makes taste buds dance.

Crushed and filtered,
In quarts or gallons,
Doughnuts come in tandem
Even apple pies will suffice,
Respite ripe for the pickin’.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: The Smell of Chrysanthemums

DEAR JOHN (YOU’RE NO LONGER WANTED)

You’ve been dispatched,
snatched from the jaws of romantic victory.
But you could see the writing on the wall,
you’ve taken a fall most precarious,
and she was serious with her missive.
You’ve been dismissed,
given the big kiss-off. You scoff
but know your indignation was born
of your stagnation. You floundered,
rounded third and were thrown out at home.
You saw it coming, it had been drumming
on your nerves and that curve ball blew past you.
You’re finished. You’re through. She’s moved on,
so should you! Send packing, lacking any reason.
Her love’s been recanted, dear John.
You’re no longer wanted.
Hit the road, Jack!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Quickly – Make it easy on yourself

Based on:

BLACK BANANAS

The fruit fly population grows.
It knows the bananas are going bad.
It’s sad that this source of potassium
and carbohydrates suffers such a fate.
The skins are slimy and necromantic,
it is usually automatic they are trash.
But, too much cash goes into their
procurement. And those damn flies
are lured to their fragrance.
A microscopic happy dance.
JOY, JOY, HAPPY, HAPPY, JOY…
Oh boy. I think that blast of banana
has gone to my head. I dread…
Hey, wait a minute. That’s half-baked.
There’s bread where those buggers breed.
From mush to batter to bread.
A trifle better instead! Blackened bananas
make me grin. It’s a sin to let them waste.
They’d be much, much better around my waist!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2017

Quickly – Whoop-ti-do

L’INVERNO

Silvery pizzicato, strings in vibration, a concerto composed with the chill of viola trills. A hibernation beneath the blank cover shrouding the silence in winter’s prelude. It exudes a gentle whisper. Over near the rivulet, crystals form, there is no warmth to keep her dance nimble. This symbols her station encased, faces rosy and ruddy, frosted and firm.

Wind blown and silent
whispers falling on deaf ears
fears of winter’s blast

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday–Shimo No Koe–First Frost’s Voice

SHE INTOXICATES

“Take your baby by the wrist
And in her mouth, an amethyst
And in her eyes, two sapphires blue
And you need her and she needs you
And you need her and she needs you.”

~‘Dance Hall Days’ Lyric – Wang Chung

She stirs your longing,
an incantation, your libation
sipped and savored
flavored by the grape
and sharing its purple hue.
You become inebriate
as you wait for her effect to fade
and you’ve made your vow
as to how to even sober up
from your love filled stupor.
Or if you even wish to.
So you await her last call, all you know
is that she has become your addiction;
your heart’s true affliction.
Your dereliction is complete,
And your heart repeats, you need her
and she needs you.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: This One’s For You

The lyric contains amethyst which is my birthstone. The Greeks believed amethyst kept you from becoming inebriated.

AS LONG AS YOU REMAIN

As long as you remain in my heart,
you are never gone. You are
the one who has brightened my days
always and in all ways.

I can never miss you.
You are never gone. You are
what a smile is to a bad day
always and in all ways.

I hold you here where my heart resides
deep inside, you are never gone.
You are the one that had become
a habit I couldn’t break. It would take

as long to purge you from that place
as it would take to traverse space
and come back here safe and sound. I have found
the seed you had planted continues to blossom.

No gloom befalls me. You enthrall me
as you always have, all ways and forever.
You are never gone, as long as I breathe.
I believe in the joy of you! It’s true.
As long as you remain.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poems of Garden Gnomes – Lingering

 

PAT-A-CAKE

Elfin folk play pat-a-cake,
a tradition passed down
from small hands to small hands.
Passing time with elfin rhyme
sing-a-song of sixpence
and used as a self-defense,
they play. They never stray
from their merriment,
these scary men of minuscule means.
Caught in a blur, an inky stain
where the stinky little buggers
fester. They are sequestered
in their hovel homes,
pat-a-caking til the cows come.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Quickly – Visual

TMI

How’m I doing?
I’m glad you asked!
My lower back is killing me,
sciatica and something
internal, I think. And this
infernal pain in my right shoulder
feels like a boulder
landed on it ,
it’s giving me fits.
And my left is starting to ache,
doesn’t take much over-compensating
to relay that pain across to there.
This weight loss may not
be the result of good eating
after all. Not sure what to call it,
and hope I can stall it until
after December.
I don’t remember things like I used to,
and I could use two Aleve to relieve
what ails me. It never fails me.
Once I figure out how to relate
to my prostate’s insolence…
you know, I should cut the violins
and quit complaining.
I’m serving up too much information.
How’re you doing?
Oh, I’m glad you asked…

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides – Prompt #411: Information