She has spread her cheer every year
for twenty-five. Her, alive with joy
and her heavily dimpled smile.
One of the sunshines of my life
and she, the sunflower of same.
Her name is Andrea, and her bloom
brightens every garden
she sees fit to visit.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018



Respect came in various lessons,
and messin’ with Ma was one learned early.
The old man went squirrelly when we dissed
his missus. He truly went nuts,
no ifs, ands or buts.

No ifs, ands or butts
would not be spared if we dared sass back.
A swift smack on the behind
would find you and remind you,
“Don’t talk back to your Mother!”

Don’t talk back to your Mother.
But, giving Dad the lip with a slip of the tongue
would have also “brung” the wrath of Dad.
He wasn’t bad, but he had a fuse you needed not light.
We had to fight the urge disobey.

We had to fight the urge to disobey.
We’d say what he wanted to hear,
and wait until we were clear of earshot
before we got our frustrations out.
It wasn’t about what we said.

It wasn’t about what we said.
Instead, it was how we said it.
I’d live to regret it that my last words to mom
came from a dark place. The hurt on her face.
stays with me to this day.
It was too late to watch what I say.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

POETIC ASIDES with Robert Lee Brewer – Prompt #457: Disobedience


The days are getting shorter still,
the summer fades away,
we’ll say goodbye from on the hill
on some late summer’s day.

I hold you near and we can hear
Fall waiting in the wings,
the colors warm will soon appear,
with all that autumn brings.

Moments of love’s long embrace
sustain me through the night,
and glowing starlight on your face
makes everything feel right.

Prepare to dream of Summer sun,
a restful sleep ensues,
with memories of Summer fun;
the ones we’ll never lose.

The kiss we shared upon that shore,
the picnics in the park,
the magic of this life and more
will greet us after dark.

And there my dear, I’ll hold you,
and whisper love’s entreaty,
as summer sets, when day is through
to rest in autumn’s beauty.

So, go to sleep and have your rest,
I’ll wake you come the Spring,
just lay your head upon my chest
to see what this night brings.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018


You’ve played the gambit
and the gamut of games
has your head stealing
a breath or two as you
prepare for the next round.

You’ve found that you are
less of a player than a heart slayer
as you lay your cards on the table.
You’re able to hide your poker
face, a grace you’ve been given.

You’ve got a hand that would stand
up to any, and many have bluffed
with less. It is best if you go
all in to try and win her heart,
for you know it is all a part of the game.

You’re down to your last few chips
and you’d be a monkey’s uncle
if your ante leaves you broken.
They’re only tokens anyway,
it just depends on how you play.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

Poetic Asides Prompt #452 – Game


Salubrious salutations resonate
on this late summer day,
the golden orb reigns down
in waves of gilded images.
I hear your voice echo against
my skin, my pate, red from shouts
of your raucous oration.
I hold my station as you continue
the tirade of this sweltering afternoon.
And as night draws nigh I hear your soft
sigh and sweet farewell; your promise
of a fresh new tomorrow. Your whispers
ease my sorrow and caress my soul,
touching my heart with your lilting goodnight.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

Poetic Bloomings Prompt #213: You Come To My Senses


He senses he knew her way back when,
but he is not quite sure. Quite forgetful is he,
she is a beauty he had once known. He loves
her, he thinks. But he’s not quite sure. He
seems to show a spark of familiarity. He begins
to connect and then rapidly fades. He hates to
let it show. He loves, then he begins to forget.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

When he loves, he begins to forget.
~ from “A Man In His Life” by Yehuda Amichai

Poetic Bloomings – “And I Quote” #1: Memory

Miz Quickly’s Imprompt Poetry – MuhwufSS: Golden Shovel


Her gentility precedes her. Her long
tresses flow in cascade as she walks
along the shore at night. Looking out at
this star filled vignette, she steals the night;
the moon and the stars and the world that’s
presented to her. It’s for sure this is what
she has needed. Love depleted, her heart is
ready to recharge in large part because the good
that resides there, hides there and is reserved for
the one who would walk with her at midnight, the
one to whom she will gladly give her soul.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

Miz Quickly’s Imprompt Poetry – MuhwufSS: Golden Shovel Poem

Long walks at night–
that’s what is good for the soul

~Taken from “And The Moon And The Stars And The World”
by Charles Bukowski


You weren’t fixing on leaving,
you had other plans.
But, God laughed
and you were gone. A memory
written ad nauseum,
causing hearts to ache
at each re-telling. Eyes
swelling with tears
laced with fears of  folks forgetting.
It’s hitting home the more
distance passes and a trace of your face
flashes in my mind from time-to-time.
You are nine years in passing
and I keep amassing poems
well long after you’re gone.
And my life moves on.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018

Poetic Bloomings – Prompt #211: And I Quote #1



My memory is dotted with crisp images
that have engrained into the depth of my soul.
I have no control over them; they lay dormant,
only to bubble to the surface when I least expect.
Trying in vain to relinquish these old feelings,
I reel with remorse, this sad course I contemplate
leaves me silent and still and alone.
And so, I am left kneeling in supplication,
a broad brush of despair paints me.
This clown cries out from within, making a spectacle
of my mirth and mired muse. My resolution
refuses to take hold; these memories dominate me.
It is too late. Love languishes.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018




“True ease in writing comes from art, not chance”

  ~An Essay on Criticism (Sound and Sense) Alexander Pope

The heart expresses all that its eyes can see;
it is a voice that’s clear and speaks to all who wish to hear.
So, do not close your mind to what is possible. It can be
that a heart so blind will make love disappear.
But pens that stroke in broad and heartfelt hues,
will yield a master work in the words you choose.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018