My heart envisions what my eyes refuse to see. ~Poet Walter J Wojtanik
It’s rather dark in here,
but don’t go toward the light.
It would be the bright thing
at the end of the hall,
but, just feel along the wall
and you should find your way.
And if along the way you feel
something soft and gooey,
or misty and booey, run like hell.
Ghosts and goblins can tell when it’s dark.
It’s their “Home Field Advantage.”
(C) Walter J. Wojtanik
A case of the “I can’t hold on any longer”.,
The stronger the grip is on me
I seem to be losing my own grip,
a slip of whatever I’ve in hand.
The thing can stand on whatever
surface it will occupy, but when I try
to take hold of it, it slips.
The hand that grips loosely play
loosey-goosey with possession.
It’s an obsession of mine. I’ve come to find
I am the dip that keeps on dropping!
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019
https://imprompt.wordpress.com/2019/06/19/wednesday-june-19__swings/
A heart so true,
you can’t help but believe
for it will leave you in awe.
Every flaw becomes invisible,
becomes indivisible to your character.
An honest admittance that
costs a pittance but has great worth.
Where else on earth can trust and a faith
in purity offer surety of a connection
fair and true. It is up to you to believe,
I will not deceive. It comes straight from ♥ here.
In your heart I hope you know I’m sincere.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019
So, here’s the plan!
We’re going over the wall.
Or under it. I’m not quite sure.
We’re doing it Tuesday night!
Or maybe Thursday morning
if the weather cooperates.
If it doesn’t then the following
Sunday. Meet us near the rear
of the guard shack.
Or the back of the garage,
I’m still not sure.
We’ll need a code word
easy to remember, like…
um, um, I forgot but I’ll
get back to you on it.
Our signal will be a whistle,
the Brandenburg Concerto.
Or we can shout, “Hey, over here!”
It’s not quite clear.
Ok, got it?
That’s the plan!
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019
Quickly’s Imprompt Poetry – tuesday_june_4
Not a satchel or saddle bag,
a multi-colored tote zippered
and stitched, something of which
I know nothing. Looks like something
that escaped the sixties.
Holds your doo-dads
and a lot of clout.
Far out!
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019
Welcome to our Bistro!
We hope you will enjoy
the menu Ira has prepared.
We’ve spared no expense…
Aw, who are we kidding?
Ira’s just learning to cook.
Her soups are like spackle
it makes Mrs. Wilton cackle.
There she is staring
at the coffee pot on the counter.
12 hours old, I’m told.
But our “chef” can screw up
a ham sandwich on rye.
And while you’re at it,
Do not try the BLT!
Don’t ask why, just don’t.
It won’t kill you, but it might
make your stomach rumble.
You say you’re feeling brave?
You want to know what
Ira’s Lunch looks like.
See for yourself. It’s over there,
and over there, and some
over there on Mrs. Wilton’s shoe.
Thanks for stopping anyway!
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019
I hide in the shadow
Along the moor
The way I have many times before.
I lay in wait and debate
The honesty I’m lacking.
Tracking the carriage along the trail.
I hardly ever fail,
I mostly prevail.
But my conscience does not convince me.
I am the thief in the night,
I am the charming brigand who strikes.
I am the Highwayman.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019
Quickly’s Imprompt Poetry – everyday-may-1_saturday_2/
I wasn’t a very fast lad, but I wasn’t too bad,
I had a gait that I would hate all my life.
I liked to run, but only to get places quickly.
I was built thickly as a boy and the joy I took
when I shook a leg was all I needed.
I had exceeded expectations.
There was elation.
But, reality came in this revelation. I got caught
up in aging, and staging a race to a finish line
took on a whole new view. And I would eschew
a harried pace, just in case I would fail.
No more high-tailing it. Now I mail it in.
My knees can’t take the beating. It bears repeating,
I will run no more forever.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2018
My muse was defenseless,
a senseless ramble that was
slower than half-fast, as I’ve discovered.
But it’s Friday and I’m tired, uninspired
and the desire to poem has been sold
down the river of dreams, so it seems.
I have uncovered my flaw.
It gnaws at my words.
Such challenges should be left unheard.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2018
USE FIVE OF THESE WORDS AND CHOOSE ANOTHER
FOR TWO VARIANTS OF SAME
cover
defenseless
desire
flower
over
quality
river
slower
stone
tired
My heart envisions what my eyes refuse to see. ~Poet Walter J Wojtanik
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From my muse to your eyes.
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 
Thunder, rumbling
stumbling over oppressive clouds
with loud crashes, smashes against
pavement and abode. It has turned cold.
Lightning flashes between crashes
interval intrusions, illusions
in the shadows cast. Playing hard
and fast with reality.
Children cower, as hour after hour
persists, insisting it rules the night.
Their fright steals their innocence.
Counting the seconds between
crash and flash, it is hunkered down.
The storm can do no harm
in the safety of arms that protect.
You reject the notion that bumps
in the night are frightening.
You know there is nothing in the dark
that isn’t there in the lightning.
© Walter J Wojtanik, 2019