A house full of one time dreams
and all the minutia gathered over the years
of cheer, fears and heartfelt tears,
becomes a nearly empty nest at best.
And deep in my chest all the “memories”
assigned and attached to each book or toy
are now being packaged for a new girl
or boy. Photographs serve to preserve
all the moments in cascade,
a parade of smiles tinged with sadness.
Another box taped and secured,
carried to the car, for the recycle bin,
for reuse or (for trash); no cash
value for one man’s trash
(once held as treasures)
no pleasure in fixing what has needed “repair”
It is there where reality resides,
it hides in every pang and tug
on a b-flat heart string,
it brings me to this: once I dispose
of these bins full of slightly worn clothes,
I’ll know the girls are truly gone,
dispatched to hatch memory preserves
of their own making, taking a small seed
to nurture future purging like this.
The realization says this place is becoming
too big for just two. It is true you can’t go home
again. But would it kill you to visit a bit more?


Pain and suffering
leaves one wondering,
does buffering
spell relief?


Oh, my aching back!
A rear end attack.
Can I have mine


Two hearts drift apart,
further from their start.
Can you rewind
ties that bind?


Hear the child cry,
needing to be heard.
Comfort comes through,
mother’s love.


Clouds like smoky plumes
traverse the gray skies.
As they part ways,
the sun comes.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik


We awaken to this new day.
The morning calls, freshly whispering
in the vacant shadows of night,
a sunrise in sight on the horizon,
rising ever-upward to her perch.
The church of this new and blessed day
dawns upon us. We pray that every new day
possesses her beauty and grace, a place
where the angels stand, hand-in-hand,
offering their songs in the rustle of each leave,
the hush of the breeze and in every newborn’s sneeze.
A morning; as new as any beginning
for which we can wish. A day, as precious
as the life we offer to Him in our every action
It is pleasing in our sight
that this right moment is presented to us;
this gift is given to us.
Accept this new day in the spirit of life.

For no matter what the mortal men predict,
it is a new and blessed day.
If clouds should form, it is a sign
to appreciate all you have when the sun
sits high in a blue sky. If rain should appear,
know that it will eventually clear,
leaving the bloom of flowers
and the freshness of a start anew.
Any obstacle was placed before you to teach you.
To teach you to persevere.
To teach you acceptance of the things you cannot change.
To give the lesson that all God offers
in each new day is a blessing.
It is never more than we can handle.
It is always a manifestation of His love for us.
Embrace this gift for it is given in love.
Embrace this day, your life, your family, your friends,
and the time you have to embrace them.
This is a great place that emerges from the shadow of night;
this day so given.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: Blessing


I walk along the shoreline. Evening has lowered her veil showing her sumptuous soft features laced by her endearing charms. Darkness sweeps the horizon as if her arms had become heavy and fall slowly to her side. I slide my hand into hers when she would allow it and we steal soft whispers and the most delicious tender kisses, a bliss unknown to us so far. And as the stars find their spaces,
our faces are graced by a glow so bright it can be seen for miles and miles of smiles of a summer night!

waves washing away
the harshness of  summer days
as the night smiles

© Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun #40: Summer


I had received a reiki treatment recently for some various aches and ailments I have been experiencing. Reiki is a therapy often described as palm healing or hands-on-body healing in which a practitioner places hands lightly on or over a patient’s body to facilitate the patient’s process of healing. Reiki combines the Japanese and Chinese word-characters of “rei” (spiritual or supernatural) and “ki” (vital energy). A basic idea held by those who practice Reiki is that this vital energy can be channeled to support the body’s natural ability to heal itself. However, there is no scientific support to these claims that this so-called vital energy actually exists, or that there is conclusive evidence Reiki is useful for any health-related purpose. That doesn’t mean it’s a harmful practice.

As Ann Baldwin, (a professor of physiology at the University of Arizona and a trained Reiki master, or practitioner) states “Reiki can do no harm — the worst thing it can do is nothing.”

In spite of all that, I felt better after my treatment. Relaxed. I felt no stress and no anxiety so for me, that “nothing” was something.


Reiki as a poetic form? In homage to the haiku, I envision the Reikiku in that vein – a seventeen syllable channeling of energy or spirit to ease one’s heart, stress anxiety or emotion. Untitled,  is written in four lines with a 5,5,4,3-syllable count. Any rhyme incorporated is purely discretionary. It begins with the trouble you look to ease and works toward that end.

My example of Reikiku:

Weariness of heart
Finds its peace through love
Within oneself
Peace will come.

© Walter J. Wojtanik


Time and tide waits not for any man,
both will come of their own will, not yours.
So, pick your spots and stick to the plan.

Take on challenges the best you can,
and waste not your minutes and hours.
Time and tide waits not for any man.

As seeds that are planted in the sand,
we will wither and die like flowers.
So, pick your spots and stick to the plan.

The time that we borrow comes from His hand
doled out through Celestial powers,
Time and tide waits not for any man,

live your lives and make no demands,
this gift washes down in Loving showers,
So, pick your spots and stick to the plan.

Our fates are held within His hands,
go boldly forward; do not cower,
time and tide waits not for any man,
so, pick your spots and stick to the plan.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Poets Pub – Meeting the Bar: Villanelle


Tall and thickly rooted,
an “orchard” amidst a garden.
The hardened immigrant toils,
muddied soil his base,
and his face is ruddy and worn.
He had been removed
from the home he knew trans-
planted between two trees
shading his vegetable patch.
An apple tree reaching,
arms raised in prayer beseeching
for a fruitful yield. Across the way
plums, purple and regal.
Leathery hands gripping a hoe,
a “Hokka” he calls it, chopping
and tilling clods of dried sod.
Plans for tomatoes, potatoes,
beets and cucumbers
and a number of other plants.
Bandanna flailing raised to brow
mopping the flop-sweat
under the noon day sun, baking.
A curse in his mother tongue,
chopping against bark to free
the mud held tightly. Releasing
his place of birth for a new home!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides Prompt #397: Land of ________



If I lived in another land, it would be something Seussian,
then I’d have an excuse again for being so strange.
I could rearrange words as if they were furniture,
and I would yearn for sure to hear the who
what Horton heard. It would be absurd I’m sure if
I could bring Thing 1 and Thing 2
into my crew and eschew (or bally-hoo)
any Lorax attacks that smacks of tom-foolery
and wear my drool like it was drool joolery!
That would be way too cool, you see!
(But that’s just me!) I’d enter every poetry slam
equipped with a pan of green eggs
and ham it up with my eyes quite shut
and a pocketful of wockets
(that sounds more Fuddian than Seussian!)
and I’ll be very amussian in my humor rume!
I would make a wish for just two fish,
one red and one blue (I’ve no need
for two blue! Do you?) I think
what I think and I know
what I know and I’m very familiar
with the places I’ll go.
I’m only old once (or maybe twice
if the weather’s not nice)
and have bunches of hunches
about sneetches with leeches
or foxes with sockes (hidden inside
of brightly wrapped boxes.)
So, say what you want and say what you say,
I’d be luckier by far to live right where I are!

© Walter J Wojtanik



Two young boys caps askew, discussing the finer points of the designated hitter, a wad of Fleer’s between their cheeks, a bat over the shoulder of one, glove in tow. A cleanly stitched Spaulding tightly gripped and the other astride his bike, Mickey Mantle in his spokes. Not a common scene today, a refreshing look; a throw back.

A clear spring evening
memories of youth invade
in mental cascade

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik


The news hits like a punch to the jaw.
Pow! Wham! Zowie!
Another icon of my youth has gone.
Adam West was the Batman I knew,
I grew up with his campy depiction.
This benediction keeps him ensconced
in my heart and mind for all time.
Godspeed and rest, Adam West!
Pow! Wham! Zowie! R.I.P.!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #396:  Historic Persona