I’ve been reminded of my music of late. I think it is time to revisit it once more. Of the many I’ve written, here are samples of five of my compositions. On the recordings, my voice isn’t what it used to be! (Whose is?)







Your stay has been completed,
you have competed with your muse
and used every word to your advantage.
You had managed to reach deep within,
within yourself and within all of us.
Your voice laced with gravel and I
would marvel at your wisdom, your heart.
Every poetic lyric spoke to me
poked my sensibilities with the ability
to express what truly lived within my chest.
Here are tears from Suzanne and I.
We cry for our loss, not for your prize.
You are the (wise) man, everybody knows.
It’s a cold and lonely Halleluja!
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016


Leonard Cohen – 1934-2016


I remember that it snowed that day. Don’t you remember?
I remember it was on a Monday night in December.
I remember I picked you up at a half past three,
     and you were waiting by that old maple tree.
I remember the wind was blowing rather strong,
     and I had you waiting out there far too long.
I remember you thought you should have stayed in bed,
     but came out with that horrible cold instead.
I remember we had some dinner, we saw a show,
     and we made some angels in the snow.
I remember I drove you straight home to get some rest
     and offered to rub some Vicks® on your chest.
I remember we finally got there a bit after nine,
     and I remember you said you had a really good time.
I remember we chatted briefly watching the snow
     and we listened to music on the radio.
I remember the announcer broke in with some bad news,
     and that shroud of sadness covered you.
I remember. Don’t you remember how you cried
     that night we heard that John Lennon had died?


© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge – Day 10: TRAGIC


Stuck between hard rock and a place
where music finds its root.
Foot tapping and the gentle rapping
against a table top never stops.
The kids are jumping, Their feet
are thumping the floor. Windows
rattling and battling the urge
to roll every dirge into Top 40.
Back beats and bass lines found their
way in their day. Hear the people sing!
Elvis is dead; Long live the King!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides – Wednesday Prompt #364: Let the Good Times Roll


I was looking for a poem I had written and was having a time locating where I had posted it. I came to this realization (basically an admission) I’ve created too many writing blogs! I have personal poetry blogs, collaboration blogs, blogs under pen names, non-poetry blogs, a journal and blogs still under construction. So to save me the angst of future searches, I am posting the URL addresses for these sites below. Feel free to explore these other sites if you wish:


My main blog is currently THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET’S HEART it began originally on blogspot at Through the Eyes of a Poet’s Heart


Another poetry blog is more thematic. Written from the viewpoint of Santa Claus, I AM SANTA CLAUS plays on the idea that we are ALL Santa Claus. It is being prepared as the manuscript for my next collection of the same name.


I has the pleasure to assemble poems with a Good friend of several blogs. Marie Elena Good and I had success with our joint personal poetry blog, ACROSS THE LAKE, EERILY, written from our shared perspective from opposite shores of the Lake Erie that separates us.

We then parlayed that into a site where our poetic friends could write to prompts and poetic form suggestions. POETIC BLOOMINGS became the poetic garden where poetry flourished. This site had to re-incarnations, as CREATIVE BLOOMINGS and PHOENIX RISING POETRY GUILDMarie has stepped aside to deal with life, and Sara McNulty has served in her stead sweetly. POETIC BLOOMINGS is still active.


During the times where I questioned my abilities, I wrote under a pen name on two occasions.  Under the guise of Joseph Phillip Walters (I am Walter Joseph Phillip Wojtanik) I carried on at ONE SHORE IN SILENCE .

Then as Chase Ephraim I wrote at WORD CHASE .


My short fiction (flash fiction) resides at WALLEGORYS AND OTHER STORIES .


IT’S JUST ANOTHER DAY  Just a blog about my every day made special.


WORDS AS MUSIC Will offer the idea of music lyrics being poetry in and of themselves.

Everything highlighted is a link to those sites. Hope you find something to please your curiosity!



Pete Best Beatles Original Drummer
Pete Best
Beatles Original Drummer Photo by Walter J. Wojtanik

He remains Best of the Beatles.
He was Best before them.
He will still be Best when he dies.

Usurped by the ringed one,
all for a back-beating drum,
while the other “Beat Brothers” strum.

The first was alway Best!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Written for: dVerse Poets Pub – Sevenling: Music – Poetry and Painting Embrace: We Can’t Forget Claudia Schoenfeld


Music is my muse; every melody fills me,
For sure the message in the lyrics thrill me.
I’d say it certainly wills me to write.

I can play your heart like a keyboard,
and I can croon your name like a song.
How could our love duet be seen as wrong?

The soundtrack of our lives plays sweetly.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Written for: dVerse Poets Pub – Sevenling: Music – Poetry and Painting Embrace: We Can’t Forget Claudia Schoenfeld



JohnLennonOnce behind a milk maid bleary,
I beard a Liddypoolian surly,
sing-song pop/rocks, yeah, yeah, yup,
with good dog Nigel, me soiled pup.
Richie-ringy, drum, drum, drum,
whilst Petey lands upon his bum,
Paulie wally doodles all day,
and Georgie puts pied pudding away.
Meanstyle, Yokie loudly bang she slaved,
a New Yorkshire in me final daze,
avant garded must too grately
amongst the scruffy beat alls lately.
Banded four we combed to stage Ed,
we was all the bloody rage, Ed.
Maniacal, the screamies fainted
as were the mused sick; badly tainted.
Writey, writey, Bob all-mighty,
pose’em, storied; all humoured slighty.
From me pen me wordies stumble,
in me own write does muzak crumble.
Go salve the Queen!

*** Scanned me copy of Lennon’s “In His Own Write” and drew me storied inspiring from without me.


glassesLyric by Walter J. Wojtanik

So you ain’t twenty-twenty,
but girl that ain’t no shame,
’cause the truth of it, Honey,
is I’ve learned to play the game.
Seeing is believing,
and girl I see it clear,
looks can be deceiving,
come and sit yourself right here…

I think you’re so damn pretty
and I love your big blue eyes,
but living in the city
has you wearing this “disguise”.
And those guys aren’t seeing
all the beauty that you do,
and the way that they’re being
you would think it might be true…

You know they say men don’t make passes
at girls wearing horn-rimmed glasses,
but maybe the masses just
don’t know what they’ve been missin’
Brothers, I’ll be kissin’ them
and steaming up their lenses,
the difference ‘tween them girls is
while yours is cleaning contact lenses
I’ll be making contact friends
with the girl, with the girl, with the girl
with the horn-rimmed glasses.

So don’t fret a thing dear
for you know they aren’t too bright,
when we’re doin’ our thing dear
they’ll be home alone at night.
Yes, seeing is believing,
and I believe I’ve won the prize,
your sighs are relieving,
seeing you with my four-eyes…

          She’ll be seeing clearer,
          the closer I get near her,
          and pretty soon I’ll hear her
          whispering my name…

You know they say men don’t make passes
at girls wearing horn-rimmed glasses,
but maybe the masses just
don’t know what they’ve been missin’
Brothers, I’ll be kissin’ them
and steaming up their lenses,
the difference ‘tween them girls is
while yours is cleaning contact lenses
I’ll be making contact friends,
with the girl, with the girl, with the girl
with the horn-rimmed glasses.

Making eyes with the girl
in the horn-rimmed glasses.


A heart is a sanctuary.
It is a destination.
It is the journey and
you’re the journey’s end.
We start off as shy glances,
a chance to alert ourselves
that although the shelves
have been empty for years,
our fears were unwarranted.
We take that step. We follow
with many other steps,
distances close and it boils down
to three little words:
location, location, location!
My train will always stop at your station,
my plane with taxi on your runway.
For no matter how far apart we are,
my compass will remain true.
All roads lead to you!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

POETIC ASIDES Wednesday Prompt #348: “Where Everything Ends”