SAPPHIC STANZA W POEZJI POLSKIEJ

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”

SAPPHIC STANZA IN POLISH POETRY

Through my heritage I’ve come to find myself.
There is no book here that sits upon my shelf,
it was tradition through which I have been found.
It’s been handed down.

Many customs come from our Old Country home,
brought to bear here where my grandparents had come.
Assimilated and fated to be free
in their new country.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

** I’ve been searching for a poetic form that could be considered “Polish” in nature. Apparently many classic Polish poets have adopted the Sapphic Stanza which contains four line with syllabic counts of 11(5+6), 11(5+6), 11(5+6), 5 and a rhyme scheme of a, a, b, b. Variations and further analysis can be found here.

TOYS IN THE ATTIC

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

JAMBALIAR

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

NEW AND IMPROVED

I’m doing great!
I’ve lost some weight
and of late I’m finding my mojo again.
It hasn’t been easy (but then)
nobody said it would be.
I’m still the same old me,
only better. I’m back
to not sweating the small stuff.
It’s enough that I sweat
at all. Everything is small stuff.
I’m far from buff, but don’t
slough me off for trying.
I’m relying on my health
to be the wealth of me.
I am firmly in the groove,
not so new, but improved!

© Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides Prompt #389 – Improvement

SIXTY-ONE MILES YOUNG

Every year is a fork in the road.
You swear you don’t feel old,
but your feet are tread worn
and you’d have sworn
you had more gas in the tank.
You have gravity to thank,
or Karma,
or “Big Pharma”
for getting you this far.
Were you a car they’d have
traded you in for a sleek,
and speedy thing, but it would be
a greedy thing to make material
things your sole desire.
There’s still a fire in the hearth
and nowhere on earth you’d rather be
than the road you’re currently on.
Your GPS is gone and your drive
is just staying alive and avoiding
any more detours along your journey.
And you yearn for just one more
mile to make you smile (and go
in style) while on the way!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

THE OLD AND IGNORANT POET

The season of war. The season of dreaming.
I have a tale about ignorance, getting old and being a poet.
A story about a man. He couldn’t stop Father Time
from sweeping his feet out from under him. His age set him

in his ways of single mindedness. The man was a spellbinder with words.
In a way, he cast incantations on those who chose to read his works.
His numbered days dwindled. Searching for truths like buried treasure,
he would pleasure himself with his stories of struggles he never had

or had worn on his sleeve. He would grieve the lost of his innocence
through the hands of indifference, in deference to his vacuous head.
Instead, he just wrote the words that had been born of his pain,
words danced in his brain but became embattled when exposed.

His flaws became apparent. There was no bliss in his ignorance.
At times he took to vocalize his thoughts, the local rabble would taunt.
They would attack his mindness for as long as he was speaking .
In days of wisdom and of madness, he  found the meaning of ignorance.

People thought we survived these things by hiding in a bar.
I survived the war by hiding in a library.
Nary a soul would join me or chose to read my words.
I’m a spellbinder, in a way!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Quickly: Too Much of a Good Thing

SONNET #1 – THE RETURN TO CHAOS

So I return to work on the first day,
and wonder what within this chaos lurks?
I’m here back to the grind with mindless jerks.
and chaos reigns, there is much hell to pay!
They’ve left a stack of papers here to push,
in this mess of chaos that awaits me.
Coriolis swirl you do sedate me,
I’ve cleared my desk with one chaotic flush!

The peace I find is found within my mind,
the new year’s come, and so I start anew.
And here’s another year yet to explore
so last year’s chaos gladly I’ll eschew.
I hope that no more chaos I will find.
but I’ll prepare as if there will be more!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

QKJ #31 – Re-Vision of Day Three’s Word (Non-Ghazal) into a Sonnet

DAWN’S EARLY LIGHT

There’s good news tonight!
Everything is all right!
Skies are bright.
No one fights.
No more might
makes right!
No problems in sight.
Till dawn’s early light,
there’s good news tonight!
But with the dawn comes this fright,
those dreams vanish with the light!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille #25: Dawn

THE VERY BEST ON EARTH

Her music stirs my senses,
a lightning bolt to shake me
from my malaise and break me
away from this crazy despair.

I find her there, and I have this need to listen,
though I am not required to pay her heed.
She has written lyric and book and I pine to read
all that she’s worth; the best value on earth!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

QKJ #30 – Use these words: bolt, shake, pine, required, music, break, earth, book, senses