Mów do mnie jeszcze

Mów do mnie jeszcze…
Za taką rozmową tęskniłem lata…
Każde twoje słowo
w mym sercu
wywołuje dreszcze –
mów do mnie jeszcze…

Mów do mnie jeszcze…
Ludzie nas nie słyszą, słowa twe dziwnie poją
i kołyszą
jak kwiatem, każdym słowem
twym się pieszczę –
mów do mnie jeszcze…

~ Kazimierz Przerwa-Tetmajer



Keep talking…
It has been years
since I have heard these things.
Fill my heart with all your words –
they excite me.
Talk to me more…

Keep talking…
There are no other words I hear,
they all seem strange.
I am free as a flower swaying,
caressed by your every word.
Talk to me more…

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day #30: “Translation”

** My translation/interpretation of Casimer Przerwa-Tetmajer’s (Polish)
poem “Mów do mnie jeszcze” meaning roughly – Talk to me more.



They did live happily ever after. It always seemed that every happily ever after starts with once upon a time. Poets with hearts of gold live the fairy tale writing without fail to assail what lives in these hearts through their rhyme. Banners unfurled, riding to rescue muses held captive in the unreachable tower of a strangled mind, to vanquish villains of verses left undone – all battles won by the surgical strokes of his pen. O’er hill and stream, though valley and dale – poets usually prevail, leaving marks on pages all their own. A rhyming jester upon his steed, his ink bleeds across his virgin page until all sage words have wreaked havoc on its pristine papyrus. It certainly could be worse, but it is his verbal scimitar that he wields with such aplomb. His heart would in all ways find the word or phrase to fill his days with verse. In a far away land, a simple man of expressive heart and gilded tongue had begun on a quest to say with that heart all that his eyes refused to see. Once upon a time…

A hero of words
searches for beauty within.
And so it begins…

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day #28: “Backward Story”


Somewhere in darkness, hearts at rest find each other all alone at night.
 Hearts that yearn for love become the vessels we sail to land on love’s shore.
 Discoveries made invade like a conqueror, surrender your self.
 New sensations come filling your soul with wonder, under true love’s spell.
 Tell her she brings light to supplant all this darkness; her candle burns bright.
 It is that dark night that brings her brilliance to bear. She is your warm sun.
 You embrace her there, filling her with heartfelt joy. You are her bright moon!
 Soon darkness will fade. Life’s serenade plays within. Come sing life’s love song!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

**Written entirely with Monoku – one line haiku / senryu

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day #27: “Long Lines”


Love is the tender trap that snares the heart,
from eyes’ first glance the ember’s passions start.
And so to bless two souls in search of love,
who in each other’s heartbeats they do move.

The snare so baited lures her to his arms
where he becomes enraptured by her charms.
A gentle hold upon him she does reign,
to touch his very life and soul again.

He, once the hunter now becomes the prey,
the tender trap is set to save his way,
a sanctuary there within each chest;
a safety sure, procured in nurture’s nest.

Evasive hearts surrender, for ’tis true,
there is a tender trap set just for you! 

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 -Day 23: “Sonnet


A cause to celebrate the splendor and majesty
of this magnificent orb upon which we live.
It provides us what we need, but sometimes our greed
becomes a destructive tool. The more foolish
we behave, the more grave its condition.
We are surely in no position to carry on in this manner.
Let us raise the banner in its honor. Respect and celebrate
the wonder of the earth upon which we live.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day# 22: “Earth Poem”


Sancho Panza

I remain a servant to my liege,
a right hand man at his command.
My name Panza means “Belly”,
and I ride with my fat ass
astride my donkey, Dapple.
I give him an apple daily.
Wisdom of words is not mine,
but I find my narrative
gives master some direction,
misguided as he is. We crave
“adventura” and I ride
at his side. Don Quixote
is strange but he manages
to keep me interested.
I haven’t rested since
he’s defeated the giants
with the sweeping arms
and all the charms of the
tilted windmills that they are.
That was by far a great episode.
I am every man, though I do not
share my master’s delusional
visions, I remain his ever-faithful
companion, a realist,
and the clever sidekick.
Keeping his dreams alive
impossible as they may seem!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day# 21: “Write from a minor character’s point of view”


(A Kenning poem)

Bottom Feeder eater,
Real reeler,
Nibble feeler,
Worm impaler,
Trolling sailor,
Fast caster,
Bass master,
Fly tier,
Rod for hire,
length liar
One hip-wader,
Master baiter,
Net getter,
Nothing better.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day #20: “Kenning Poem”


Fill your head with words.

Big words.

Little words.

Swear words.
“Five-dollar” words.
They can rhyme.
Or not.
You’ve got to have words.
They don’t even have to be real words
or in English (or the vernacular)!
You don’t need to be so damn particular!
If it looks like a word,
and sounds like a word,
then it’s a duck!
(If the word is duck!)
Give it your own twist.
Shake your fist, get a clue.
Get the gist
of what it is you want to say.
and say that shit, anyway.
(See? You can throw in a swear word
for the shock value, if you must)
Just use you words!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day #19: “Didactic Poem”


My earliest recollection was a connection with my mother. Soft, nurturing sounds that calmed and soothed. What did I know from words? There was something there that made me think…I like this sound. Humming. Singing. A language I would come to know as Polish, spoken from my parents to her immigrant father to communicate. No translation came; all the same it seemed strange all those years ago.

The static hum of something… shrill and powerful sounding, surrounding that little room in the basement where Dad carried in wooden boards and removed the most beautiful wooden things. A carpenter by skill, I learned the thrill of his obsession by the sounds his tools emitted. I came equipped with siblings, and they came with secrets whispered and demands shouted. Tearful emissions and admissions of fear and longing, the same as I had!

There were calls of “Hey Walleee!” at the back door of the house. Neighborhood kids spending childhood running wild, every child a brother or sister. As every one was someone’s daughter or son. And every mother was mom! Each connected to the other. A father’s whistle piercing and urgent. We all went running when that alarm went off! Or when the street lamps came on! Met by the sound of an open hand cutting air when we didn’t.

Alcohol laden tirades invaded on payday. A shot –and-a-beer mentality with all the vitality of a rampant bull in the china shop that was my adolescence. We waged battles and rebellions to save my mother’s psyche and my sanity. The vanity of thinking I could save the world. And iron rails, tracks bringing from there and taking from here and clear across the country, encircled my world. The sound of some steam and much diesel was pleasing to my ear. That clackety-clack brings me back every time I hear it. It was clear I had a passion for trains.

We welcomed the clank of pots and pans when my mother began to prepare our evening fare. It was there that the issues of the day played out. We were never without that blessing until that one Christmas Eve when her self-fulfilling prophecy came true. “One of these Christmases I’m going on a long trip and I’m NOT coming back!” The house was much quieter after that.

The neighborhood was as well. I can tell you when we had all grown and gone and Dad was left behind, I find my saddest memory lingers. Swollen fingers and legs and a cancer that begged for finality came at another Christmas time. Dad would soon follow mom and from then on, silence prevailed. The sound of the tumbler the last time the door was locked is my final recollection. Home became just a noisy memory then.

we hear sounds of love
wafting through our hearts and minds,
memories of home.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day #18: “The Sounds of Home”


Weather: sunny and warm
Flora: crocuses newly formed
Architecture: Many styles,
Customs: start with warming smiles.
Mammal /fish: We love dogs; we raise fish
Childhood dream: Fran-Ceil’s soft-serve in a dish.
Found on the Street: seventeen dollars
Graffiti: A tag that reads “Holla, holla”
Conspiracy: the Al-queda six
Dress: Comfy and casual is our pick
Hometown memory: Smokes Creek Floods
Outside your window, you find: fine trimmed yards
Today’s news headline: What ever the media wants to say,
Scrap from a letter: “I’m sorry it has to be this way!”
Animal from a myth: Sasquatch’s Brother
Story read to children at night: “Are You My Mother?”
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: some money
You walk to the border and hear: “Got a looney?”
What you fear: Losing my “voice”
Picture on your city’s postcard: An old building of your choice!
Lackawanna where I was raised honored on this sixteenth day!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

NaPoWriMo 2016 – Day 16: “Almanac”