Thoughts keep rattling in my brain
in a flow of unconsciousness kind of way.
I feel the schnook, with page after page
of irrelevant rhyme padding my pyre.
Words flee in an escape toward clear through,
breaking the block that every writer fears
from time to time. It keeps me sane,
(at least for show) and I look for the window
that offers a way out. I can’t see how holding me
here serves a purpose. It mocks me.
What I gain in solitude, I lose when I throw
it out the gape, neither rook nor pawn,
just a tool to be worn and discarded.
Yet, poems are key to my survival.
And my muse is on the clock!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

Offered at dVerse Poet’s Pub – Just sayin’…


Silas Grint trod the soil, the ground to which he had been bound to for o’er these seventy years. Time has a way of wearing a person like an old suit, threadbare and tattered. It was no longer an ally. He knew soon he would be eternally tied to the dirt’s function. He scanned the vast horizon. Distant trees sway gently, nature’s solitary dance entranced. Stars remained hidden, cloud covered and isolated. A red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills. Heartache had become his affliction, a sad dereliction to the lost loves of past indiscretions. The old man wondered why it had embraced him guardedly. His garment fluttered loosely as gusts prevailed. They moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops. Silas knew lonesome. It had been his station. Nothing to do but wait for his train.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik

dVerse – jazzing-it-up-on-prosery-monday/

Includes lines from Carl Sandburg’s Jazz Fantasia.


I am an enigma; a legend,
insistent that the season becomes
the most important thing.
It is for the children that I work,
and it seemed that they came
to appreciate this generosity,
which was rather rare.
Up in my spacious
hamlet I plan, amidst the hustle
and bustle (and time to rustle a sugar cookie
or two) with my diminutive minions
to charge through more rapid than eagles.
Rather happy, rarely sappy, I continue to hurl
myself  into this chore clenched fist and more
until I think I will burst.
And when I laugh my belly shakes,
a right jolly old spasm! Bridging the chasm
of disbelief, for a dedicated cause.
There is no mystery here. I am Santa Claus.

© Walter J Wojtanik

dVerse – Meeting The Bar: I am, The First Person Narrative



This is the day the Lord has made,
and in it, He has given a voice to our wondering,
and a choice to find happiness or wander
aimlessly and without much purpose.

But, this moment… this right now
is meant to be cherished and embraced
a happy place where love lives without
barriers. The scarier scenario places us

into spaces we think are beyond our scope.
But against all hope we know that we are given
all than we can handle… He gives us the
candle to light our way, today and everyday.

No moment is greater that the one we’re in.
It would be a sin to waste it on past indiscretions.
Through the intercession of Love we find our happiness.
Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

dVerse Tuesday Poetics – 8th Anniversary


Beverly Dyer's original painting "Cardinal."
Beverly Dyer’s original painting “Cardinal.”

You’re on my branch.
You had the chance to land
here where I stand.
The view is sweet,
tweet, tweet. Tweet, tweet!
We seem to be a diverse lot,
I see across the open plot
of land where groups of us
are segregated. There’s sparrows
underneath the tree,
and robins in the clearing,
some cardinals held aloft,
softly singing their song,
that is the sound we’re hearing.
The talk of hawks does circulate
as they circle high above,
we need to keep the small ones safe,
it’s the tasty ones they love.
There goes “Johnny one note”, his chirp
is so annoying. It is invasive to this place;
and the peace we’ve been enjoying.
The sun, it warms before the storm,
but  we’ll soon be moving on
as seasons change. And one by one
they’ll take to wing, some will remain
to bask and sing, and I will sit
a wee bit more here on my branch –
a chance to just exist; to be.
To see the world from high in this tree.


(C) Walter J Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Art as Inspiration ~ Introducing Beverly Dyer


Evening descends like a hushed silence,
and tranquility is its marker.
Her song is a lilting lullaby
in the shadows of the night.
There’s no threat of violence
as the midnight sky grows much darker.
The constellations fill the sky
contradicting darkness, bringing light.

© Walter J Wojtanik -2019

Offered at:
Poetic Asides: Cyhydedd Naw Ban (Welsh Poetry Form)


dVerse Poets Pub: Quadrille – …and the most beautiful words are…  


A variation of the form written as a companion piece to “Comes the Morning”


Machismo, Bravado and Braggadocio met for drinks.
Each one thinks he’s the bigger man.
Looks can deceive and they all believe
their charms will have the ladies in their arms.

The first one played to the women, but
was shot down in flames. It seems
they’ve heard all his lines before.
The next was a pushy lout,

an incompetent boy scout, never prepared.
he never spared them from his conquests
and adventures, but had them scared at hello.
The loud mouth was harmless, all talk

but no game. It was a shame.
Lesson learned in three spurned.
Smoke and mirrors are great devices,
but just being you, truly suffices.

You should always live within your dreams,
Things always look bigger than they seem.

© Walter J Wojtanik -2019

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Smoke and Mirrors


I had lost my way. Mired in a jungle of thought, I found myself drifting away from my base – away from my mind’s center. Words, once an ally, have taken umbrage against a senseless ramble I had assumed. There’s no counting for intent, this descent was rapid. I could not stop my fall. When it began, I don’t recall… wrong, maybe I do. I think it started when I presumed people wanted to hear what I had to say. I wrote in a poetic way, a rapid-fire muse that would refuse to rest. It had gotten tired and old. I started to hate the direction I was headed, which was no direction at all. I had lost my way. Mumbling to myself, I found this quote, “You will love again the stranger who was yourself”. I started finding myself by loving who I was.

 © Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

 Written for dVerse Poets Pub – Prosery #3: Love After Love


Sun In An Empty Room, a painting by Edward Hopper

Courtesy of

Her vacancy gapes,
a stagnant yawn to the afternoon.
It was once a comfortable room.
But, no drape or curtain
can hide what it lacks.
Every building has many stories
No one is there to hear how
the sun glow warms a decrepit space!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2019

dVerse – Quadrille #83: Sun


More Hopper inspired poems:

The Outskirts

Nick Has a Plan