Fully exposed.
Beauty to behold
if eyes stay focused.


Iridescent caress.

                 Pearls surely do stand out

despite their surroundings.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2016



You reached out from afar to touch
so many places that needed touching.
So much attention diverted,
I have been alerted, aroused
and brought to a new consciousness.
It’s best that I pour gasoline
on this smolder, to change colder
to fucking steamy hot!
I’ve gotten raised to a new height
even right before you could lay
your eyes on me. Yet I can see
the possibilities to please and
pleasure, a golden treasure
to bury deeply, X marks the spot.
I can dig it from here.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016


I have a knack for words
with expressions reading like true confessions.
I become full of passion’s fire,
a desire that elevates like “hot air”,
wondering how my breath could resuscitate,
and envisioning a mouth-to-mouth muse
in which my words would amuse and entice
and go deep enough to suffice and satisfy.
I need/ I want/ I’ve got to feed
my poetry jones as much as I can!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016


She stands
heart full of fire.
Consumed by her soul’s desire,
for she knows steps she has taken
could be so mistaken.

She walks.
Passions inflamed.
She wants his muse to notice.
Sharing the desire to dance
if they just took the chance.

She basks
in the sun’s warmth.
She stops, feeling its embrace
like his arms over the miles.
She stands there and smiles.

She knows
passions can burn.
She wants to feel all she can,
no promise or demand, just heat;
an all-consuming love.

She sighs.
She wants this more
than anything else she knows.
He continues to grow on her,
touching every moment.

She steps,
moving closer;
feeling alive with passion,
his words entice her to want more;
lead her to their dance floor.

She feels
alive and well
desired. Fired by him
who writes love as he writes his heart,
letting the journey start.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2016

POETIC ASIDES – Wednesday Prompt #348:”When Everything Stops”


Find a secluded spot
near the lake,
under the tree,
and I’ll see you
there soon. There is
a full moon, for night
has fallen deep and I
am asleep dreaming
of your face
and that place,
and our race through
the long, cold night.
Right there, spread
your comfort and count
the seconds until my
arrival. It is for
survival that I seek.
I speak from the heart.
We’ve started this flame
and if it’s all the same to you,
I will fan your fire,
stoke your desire
and we will burn unbridled.
I have sidled up to you
and I see you leaning towards me.
Full and fine and fated,
you have waited for me
and this night to begin.
And it is indeed what I need.
Paradise and a nice night
right where your light shines
brightest. Who’d have guessed
that we’d be so blessed in Utopia?

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013


I crave Texas Toast for breakfast.
thick and hot it hits the spot, I’ve got to have it
spread with hot butter love,
slathered for me to put my lips to;
sink my teeth into – jelly and jam it,
all sticky and savored for the flavor
it brings. I wish for each succulent squish
as I nibble and lap it. Sap it dry until I come for more.
Early morning, every morning
without warning, when the alarm rings
our pulses will race, flushed faces await.
Most celebrated until we’re sated.
Thickly sliced adding spice to life.
What I crave the most is Texas Toast for breakfast.
Pass the juice, please!


Without his dreams, a man will die,
falling short of his desires.
Some will not notice; some might cry
as he’s laid beneath the briars.

Having goals and aims gives one direction;
the focus for your life to provide
all that your life needs to succeed.
Without his dreams, a man will die,

and surely, it’s a struggle,
for life is not a piece of cake.
A man who would forsake his dreams will be
falling short of his desires.

The process becomes a slow dance to success.
Try and fail only to rise and try again.
People will see you for who you are:
some will not notice; some might cry

to know they had given up on the same dream.
It seems he wishes to rise above like rich cream,
and surely, once committed, will reach higher
as he’s laid beneath the briars.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

For MIZ QUICKLY’S IMPROMPTU POETRY Day 23 – Repeating After Me (Cascade)


Without his dreams, a man will die,
falling short of his desires.
Some will not notice; some might cry
as he’s laid beneath the briars.

We make our mark by how we live,
without his dreams, a man will die,
and we get more from what we give
but there are some that just don’t try

to make an effort; be that guy.
Compassion lives within each heart,
without his dreams, a man will die.
Love is the proper place to start,

a seed once planted, blooms and grows.
So give your dreams a chance to fly,
the wisest man will learn and know
without his dreams a man will die!

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

For MIZ QUICKLY’S IMPROMPTU POETRY Day 23 – Repeating After Me (Quatern)


He watched the sunset on the horizon
hoping that she might be caught
in that same moment where night
and the remnants of day melt
into hues of muted grays and orange.
The crash of waves mimics the exhalation
of her rapidly beating heart, gasps
of passion rushing and falling;
calling him to resuscitate her.
Nightfall continued and darkness
was the shroud that hid them
upon this shore many times lost,
in the heated rhythm of their lovemaking
taking every last breath from the depths
of the conjoined souls. Every last star
beckoned him and the moon
cast shadows on the memory of her
flesh beneath his own. And he felt her;
she permeated his very being, seeing nothing
but her eyes as beacons in the night.
He reaches to touch her in ways
she had always longed. Her presence
was all this night lacked. Fade to black.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

NaPoWriMo 2013 – Day 9 – Noir for the Ninth


She sat in silent pose, sensuous and wanton.
The artist struggled with her eyes half hidden,
by her fallen tresses the color of Autumn’s glow,
presenting a striking exterior.  But her eyes,
indeed were wondrous windows to her soul.

They flashed her desirous intent, a lilting semaphore
signaling her rich design. Back lit, her silhouette
became her melody; her true beauty the lyric
so sung, love’s lingering lament; an alliteration
of alarming allure allowing her soul to saunter.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #74 – Words taken from my original poem “You Are My Poetry”

You Are My Poetry

You come out to sit beside me
as we view the last faint traces of  sunset in a silent sky.
The rich glow of orange light is defused by the silhouette of trees,
Shining, peering through quietly, catching your eye as you catch mine.
You glide your hand through your soft auburn hair
perching the gentle tresses behind your ear,
and in that exact moment, I feel at home.
Your beauty reveals itself to me as the hidden treasure of the truest heart.
Beneath your loving exterior
you have become where I want to be; my humble abode; my sanctuary safe…
…I have become enraptured by your presence
which is soothing and warm and passionate;
calming and reassuring.
In the distance, wind chimes ring a lilting melody
and you saunter toward me to engage me in a tender slow dance,
and you make my heart sing a beautiful song in which the only lyric is your name.
Moment to moment, I begin to recognize that
the enchanting glow is the reflection of your sensuous brown eyes,
hidden as in an abstract painting.
It is you; what all artists see,
the shadow and texture; the tint and hue.
The palette of penetrating colors spread across the canvas of our love.
It is you; who my poet’s heart sees.
You are fanciful alliteration, the turn of a well worded phrase.
The rhyme and the meter that drives my soul.
You are truly my life’s art…
You are my poetry…

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2009