No one knows.
And the best kept secret remains as such.
How much is it worth to know things
that your heart can confirm,
but you can not communicate,
this declaration of fact lies hidden.
Distance spanned and water
under the bridge between then and now.
How do you live a life with this burden?
They couldn’t know; you gave no indications,
your stagnation and debilitating fear
brought you here with nary a lead.
But indeed, you have known.
You will carry it until you’ll have grown
feeble and cold, just an infarction from
the chill’s permanence; it hides in residence.
Do you declare to the world and hope the rooftops
can handle your exuberance,
your happy dance long buried?
This fact prompts you to wonder
that if under this guise you can reprise
what your heart conceals; the real feel of its mystery,
your history until now untold and you let the story unfold.
Touching secrets with probing fingers,
the memory lingers. You held the best vantage point
in the room to see all before you,
a chance at a glance always revealed.
Though you were in close proximity,
you chose to let fear dictate and seal your fate.
Never a clue did you expose. You chose to fade,
finding comfort in your invisibility. Indignantly,
you held your nerve and your secret this long.
It can’t be wrong to release your burden and breathe again.
No one knows.
You wonder if your existence evaded detection then.
You are certain that it does now.
Unseen for all these years, no one could know.
Your memories melt flowing onto a page
as you engage your feelings.
Poems written of your smitten past,
and at last you come clean.
I mean, really, it’s not as if these poems will ever be seen.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018


I dreamed I was a skydiver.
Alone with my chute, a real beaut,
red and blue, silky
with a milky white trim.
I skimmed the clouds
and shouted out loud as I fell,
plummeting to earth.
For what it’s worth, I bounced back
very high. Nary a scratch, save for
the lump and concussion
from banging my cranium on the night stand.

I dreamed I was an established musician,
a magician with melody
instead of a two fingered hack.
I’d attack my keyboard
and be assured that people would dance.
Me, in my tight leather pants
that would shred as I banged my head
on the microphone stand.
I’d be the man
with the lump and concussion
from banging my cranium.

I dreamed I painted like Van Gogh,
and you know I’d paint three eyed ladies,
and babies invetro, waiting at Heathrow
for the twelve twenty flight
to the Isle of Wight. The colors would be
appealing and the ceiling covered with spatter
wouldn’t even matter. My canvas stretched
on easel sturdy, with dried, dirty brushes
and budgies hjiding in the rushes. But instead,
I’d smash my head over on the Cliffs of Dover.
Just a rover with a lump and concussion
banging my cranium like a tribal percussion.

I dreamed I was the Hunchback in the tower,
daydreaming of the exotic flower, Esmerelda.
She who mesmerized and of whom I’d fantasized.
She really rang my bell. I could tell she knew
not that I existed and she resisted all my advances.
I took a chance and gave her wine,
and a pack of jelly beans. (Yes, it was
one of THOSE dreams!) And as the bells swung
I got too close and rung one off of my skull.
I didn’t fall, but I had a nasty lump (to match
my hump) and a concussion. It seems
I should wear my helmet when I dream!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik

Muhwufss Warm-up



My daughters are my pride and joy. I got just what I wanted; I never “wished” for boys. As different as night and day, they both have a way of working Daddy around their finger. The feeling lingers. Melissa holds a seven-year advantage, in time spent and shared. There were many a glad moment when she “met” her grandmother, my mother, spending her last nine months together. But as short lived, they were moments I cherish in my heart. The part that staggers me and saddens this old Dad’s demeanor was that my youngest daughter Andrea had never known her grandmother. I have no doubt that Andrea would have had Mom’s special favor. She has Mom’s smile.

I recently dreamed about Andrea meeting her grandmother. Any other dream would have faded quickly in the early morning light. But this dream had the feeling so real that I could feel Mom’s gentle hand leading me through the mystic midnight vision playing in my sleep filled mind. For thirty-one years she’s been gone, but ever-hopeful, this “one more day” played like it was video taped for posterity. The sincerity of Mom’s smile while she embraced our baby – fully grown and who has only “known” grandma by photos and oft-told memories which she had come to cherish as much as we had in making them. But, there they were a generation removed and settled into the groove that should have had the chance to flourish. It would have nourished both hearts in the lifetimes they would have known. Cuddled close conversing about futures planned and wisdom handed down; secrets shared between two of my favorite “girls”. But all nights do end and dreams do sometimes find conclusion. One final photo, a keepsake to take to my waking moments and beyond. In my dream, my daughter found her missing peace!

It warms my heart, but saddens me that on Andrea’s fast approaching big day Mom an only be there in spirit. But I am assure by the memories of that dream that will be beaming my with such love and pride. Another of her “babies” makes that step fully into adulthood. That shared smile will rule the day!

Daughters find their way
even in dreams they can feel
moments in their heart.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2017


You come and stay for hours,
amidst the psychedelic flowers
and impossible scenarios.
Running past streets and barrios
with Joses and Marios, looking
for solace in a nightful of frightful
turns and plot twists. You’ve wished you
can finish a complete thought,
but your REM cycle keeps running out of gas.
In the foggy distance, a wail. It never fails.
It seems just when you get
to the good part of your dreams you have to depart,
trying to restart every nine minutes for an hour
until your snooze alarm comes back to call.


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


When evening calls and I am here
poised at my keypad rapt in worded wonder,
thoughts of you invade my thinking
giving me this inkling that we have connected
in ways we don’t understand. Here I am,
just a man you had known now fully grown
and dabbling in these poetic pursuits.
And you, the woman who is drawn to my words,
drawing the inspirations found hidden there.
I can thank my lucky stars in this fortuitous sky
that we seem to have teamed up to create magic
in sight and sound, looking to orbit this universe
we are constructing. Written in the stars,
knowing that this moment is ours.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day #22: “STAR _____”


“Have faith in dreams and they will come to fruition.”

~Hannah Gosselin

Dream, for dreams provide the visions of tomorrow.
Borrow your nightly thoughts and ideas and see
where you can go fueled by their fire.
They desire to take flight through the night,
second star on the right and straight on until morning.

Then when you’ve awakened and taken all you can
from your midnight imaginings, let them take wing,
for flight was once a fantasy turned to reality.
Life’s banality will flourish into all your dreams
can become. If you can dream it, by all mean…do it!


(C) Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015


Also from a quotation attributed to Walt Disney –

“If you can dream it, you can do it!”



Your journey has ended,
by your hand and much too soon.
You, the buffoon, the clown, the genius
bringing joy to the world.
But, for what it’s worth, who gave you mirth?
Your torment was an illness,
your illness was your privacy.
In the shadows of a mind so sharp,
that spark of madness run amok.
You had been stuck for a while
and the smile you wore tore your heart
to shreds. We laughed at your brand,
and demanded more of you
but, you had given enough.
It is tough that you didn’t save
some for yourself. We took you
seriously when your dramatics
gripped us. It ripped us as well,
your living hell of which you would tell,
of powders and pills and rivulets
of distilled potions, notions of answers
left un-questioned; too many to mention.
You’ve gone back to the egg.
You have been silenced like Ellen James.
Long did you stand as the grown-up Pan.
You have sucked the marrow out of this life.
There is no Doubt (the) fire has gone out.
It makes us want to shout,
Oh Captain, My Captain!
Thank you for your gift,
we’ve enjoyed it while it lasted.
And in our hearts you will live within a smile.
What dreams may come, you will greet us.
You will meet us with a joke in tow.
We know your journey has ended.
The Genie has been freed.
The Buffoon. The Clown.
The Genius indeed. Oh, Captain,
Bon Voyage!

© Walter J Wojtanik, 2014


Sun’s first appearance precedes her by an hour.
She is a precious flower; she lingers in slumber,
languishing in the blankets; she purrs catlike
much like the feline entwined against her leg.
She begs for five more minutes; more time
to give her dreams closure. She knows comfort
from the warmth of your soul, she knows peace
in the calm of your voice. She knows that you
offer all her heart has longed for. You are her
first morning revelation; her epiphany!
As sleep is lifted she is gifted with
a tender kiss, loves blessed bliss. Her eyes
butterfly and awaken. You have taken her
soul and mated it with your own. Just as you
have known. Love has opened both of your eyes!

Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge – Day 19 – Love/Anti-Love