Wan and frail,
her coughing begging
for every last nail
to seal her fate.
Loved ones wait for her
disposition; a condition
foisted upon a weakened heart.
She started her sad fade, being
made to feel helpless; hopeless –
a guest in her own body.
Oddly shaped arthritic hands
once her worst fear, steer
her fragile ship. Anchored in harbor
the open seas beckon. I reckon
The Captain will provide
safe journey, her voyage assured,
fully “cured” when she is full at rest!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016
dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: Character Study


He comes bearing gifts,
peace offerings and coffers
full of symbolism of little value.
His robes, are a tattered hoodie
and torn denim jeans,
coffee stained and remains of color
where splashes of bleach had landed.
A backpack slung, not well hung
and perched precariously carrying
various swatches of torn pages
and different stages of half chewed Wrigley’s
wrapped in the business end of a soiled tissue.
But it is you that he seeks, speaking your name
in mumbled tones. Written in unpublished
tomes and journals, kernals of truth
and little else. The rabble travel in packs
and stacks of wooden pallets stagger
through these darkened alleys of despair.
But what do they care? Weathered
and nailed to the crosswalk; talk of their
demise is greatly exaggerated. Following closely
as a car rises in the East; a feast for tired eyes.
His legs will carry him just so far, and it mars
any taint of reputation. Concerning his situation:
The stuff in the gold foil needed refrigeration.
It’s merely spoiled and exudes the foul smell.
And why the hell is Frank incensed anyway?
His hovel isn’t much, but it’s home
I suppose. Don’t mind his clothes.
I offer my spare change; He’ll take the bus.
Merry Christmas!

For dVerse poets Tuesday Poetics – Character Study


He is dark and brooding, in no mood
for this good versus evil spiel.
He makes men kneel before him
and it’s a sin his grip is so strong.
He had gone wrong long ago
and far,  far away. He was forced to stray.

He, the dreamer. A farm boy annoyed
with his station at this vaporation plant.
He can’t remember much of his past
spending his time blasting wamp rats
and wanting to expand his horizons
beyond these binary suns.

Fate is a forceful friend with an end
where galaxies converge. The urge
to go darkly into that good flight
might entice, some but strength of
character and that inner voice
makes his choice right.

Men from the same name but from
opposing views makes them
choose variant paths. Adventures
never ask where you’d like to go,
they know what needs to be done
and take you along for the ride.

Deep inside you feel connected,
hokey religions keep you protected,
and darkness can be rejected
if the light is strong enough to cut it. It is still
a path you choose, lest you lose yourself.
Flying Solo can only get you so far.

In the end, a bad father and
a good and dutiful son unite,
an epic fight for the common good
found within. A battle for what is right.
Each giving a hand to bring them together.
Never force or underestimate the power!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: Character Study



Sancho Panza

I remain a servant to my liege,
a right hand man at his command.
My name Panza means “Belly”,
and I ride with my fat ass
astride my donkey, Dapple.
I give him an apple daily.
Wisdom of words is not mine,
but I find my narrative
gives master some direction,
misguided as he is. We crave
“adventura” and I ride
at his side. Don Quixote
is strange but he manages
to keep me interested.
I haven’t rested since
he’s defeated the giants
with the sweeping arms
and all the charms of the
tilted windmills that they are.
That was by far a great episode.
I am every man, though I do not
share my master’s delusional
visions, I remain his ever-faithful
companion, a realist,
and the clever sidekick.
Keeping his dreams alive
impossible as they may seem!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day# 21: “Write from a minor character’s point of view”


I spend my days in a haze,
one foot in Neverland
the other in Oz.
I’m just a lost boy
who wants to go home.
Shadows have been sewn
and yellow brick roads
show the way, but
I’d just as soon have stayed
in one place. I would shoot
the moon in the lagoon
as I disgraced
the hook-handed bandit,
and once landed in
Munchkinville, I could surely
have stood above the crowd.
But, wicked witches are less bitches
and more just manipulative wenches.
I’m not happy giving claps to fairies
And in the trenches Smee
would flee from a battle with me.
Yet, my heart and mind become unraveled
traveling between Neverland and Oz,
that’s because the second star to the right
is no place like home!


(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014




He’s returned to the scene; they always return.
Incognito means ball cap drawn and cheap sunglasses
hiding calculating eyes. He’s cold, duffel bag in tow –
unsure how many heads it would hold, but eager to learn.

That one’s Billy. I know because his name is repeated ;
his mother’s screech is invasive. Jeans torn at the knees,
pulling chewing gum from hidden places, saying curse words
to the old man “shushing” in the library. Glue for Lepages.

Just an observer, that’s all I’ve become. In the doorway,
out of the downpour. Tabulating cars/buses; trusses on the “El”;
going to hell for lascivious thoughts. I ought to get work. A jerk
feeling a draft below not knowing my fly’s undone. I’m cold too!

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013