How’m I doing?
I’m glad you asked!
My lower back is killing me,
sciatica and something
internal, I think. And this
infernal pain in my right shoulder
feels like a boulder
landed on it ,
it’s giving me fits.
And my left is starting to ache,
doesn’t take much over-compensating
to relay that pain across to there.
This weight loss may not
be the result of good eating
after all. Not sure what to call it,
and hope I can stall it until
after December.
I don’t remember things like I used to,
and I could use two Aleve to relieve
what ails me. It never fails me.
Once I figure out how to relate
to my prostate’s insolence…
you know, I should cut the violins
and quit complaining.
I’m serving up too much information.
How’re you doing?
Oh, I’m glad you asked…

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides – Prompt #411: Information



I turn each page gleaning all I can
from the information at hand.
But, it has become a time clock
of late. Ticking down every minute
and second chance, a fated dance
with my mortality. The reality
becomes clearer the nearer the end
rears its head. Another birthday looms,
another Christmas passes.
Another daughter to send off with her
now and future lifetime friend
and husband. Another year at a job
that has served the family well
(but not well off by any stretch).
Here’s the catch. I look forward
to the golden years (if they are granted me).
I’ll make no demands or make
outrageous plans. Retirement may come
and hopefully before I’ve expired.
I’m starting to get tired. There’s a new
calendar in my future. I pray
there is a future in my new calendar!
I turn each page while I can.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides Prompt #403 – Useful item

** A Calendar


We’ve decided it’s time to seize the day
it could slip from our grasp so easily!
In spite of all the warnings they’ll say,
we’ve decided it’s time to seize the day.
Take life as it comes, come what may
and enjoy this moment ceaselessly.
We’ve decided it’s time to seize the day.
It could slip from our grasp so easily!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #392: Forever


It can’t be the way it was.
Everything changes.
Life rearranges and what once was
Is no more. It can’t be
that way you remember,
from January to December
things have taken a turn
and as much as you yearn
for familiarity, your clarity
has been skewed. When viewed
with discerning eyes, the whys
and wherefores matter no more.
You can see it can’t be
no matter how hard you wish,
your dish has a different flavor
and everything that was once savored
is left to decay in a way that says
your train has departed.
You have left the station hard hearted
and you have started to long
for the long ago with the so and sos
with whom you had grown accustomed.
But, it can’t be the way it was.
Everything changes!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides Prompt # 383 – “It Can’t Be”


So many places we could go
and it would go to show
that wherever we go,
there we are! We can go
by plane, go
by car, go near or far and never
tell a soul where we’ll go!
Or, we could just find a quiet place
where the only trace
of beauty would be your face
and a duty to each other.
We wouldn’t need to bother
leaving our seclusion.
The conclusion people will make
will take some doing of where
we we’re going. We could tell,
but let’s not and say we did!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides Prompt #381 – Let’s_______




There is a small window
where light and night converge.
We get this urge to ignore the transition
and take the position that day is day
and night is night; meeting twains
pass when darkness fades. In the shade
of a stone monolithic bridge there is a smidgen
of gray where the bright light is emitted.
You are committed to cross over into
the next tomorrow with joy! No sorrow
rests within its scope. You hope to bask
until dusk crossing over a bridge to daylight!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge – Day 15: Natural/Unnatural


He reverts back to where he started,
now a ghost of his former self.
A crack had developed in his resolve,
and solving cryptic word puzzles
never allowed him to free his mind
in the ways he was used to.
His poetic hand was worn and tired
and he had retired from poemic pursuits.
But the new recruits didn’t know enough
to check his myriad of work.
A once “big deal” had gotten sick of lurking
in the shadows; he thought
he ought to get back to expressing
what his heart wrongly guessed was best left unsaid!
It was better to come back from the dead!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides Prompt #368: Six Little Words (ghost, crack, free,
hand, check, know)


As a boy, fearless.
I’d hear this voice in my head
that said “nothing can hurt you”!
In the deepest, dankest, darkest
corner under the porch, I felt safest.
Hiding atop of the refrigerator,
finding refuge in the highest branch
of the tallest tree – that was me.
Somewhere along the way
I heard relatives say of how
my grandfather fell from a ladder.
From coma to death in days.
I was a bit swayed but I still stayed
brave, yet vigilant, resilient and sure.
Another grandfather in his eighties
ever the supervisor, also fell from a riser
pitched against the house. Watching his descent
without a means to save him
gave me anxiety I hold to this day.
On a ladder, my knees buckle
and I start to sway, not a way
a builder wracked with guilt
should be. I wish I weren’t afraid of heights.
I might have reached my peak much sooner!
I’m no swooner (when on solid ground.)

(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2014


In a clay bowl, a vessel shaped by love’s hands,
a flame burns brightly –
an eternal  cycle glinting in the memory of grace.
A face in brilliance; this dalliance – incarnated
in the fervor of desire; a fire shared,
not fueled by wood but awakened by the moon.
This space, this island, this planet for two, dressed
like natives exposed to one another
making life so grand. Mother would frown upon us
if she looked down upon us. But I trust that
what she’s not around to see would usually be for the best.
Your soul follows my lead, a celebratory dance; a chance
to make magic by pushing two hearts
into the border of a single space the shape of one.
This place. Our island alone.

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014





Come forward all you who have come before me.
I find you fascinating and am celebrating your being.
I’m seeing so many of you for the first time
years after your passing, I am amassing information
about location and occupation, offspring and things
that have made you exclusively you; exclusive to me.
A Great-Grandfather emerges and his DNA surges through me.
His brother is uncovered near where I grew,
I knew nothing of his existence; there was a certain
resistance to speak of the past, lest we cast aspersions
in a hearsay sort of way. A decorated veteran buried
without fanfare there under thick mossy overgrowth.
All without leaving my living room. I’m giving room for them
to congregate. I can’t wait to see who I might meet next!


(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014



POET’S NOTES: Every story about my Great-Grandfather has him identified as “Martin” which in Polish is “Marcin”. I’m finding “Maciej” being the Polish for “Matthew” (variation – as Matthias) There was a pronunciation error in Immigration and Martin was listed as the given name. As a coincidental twist, my Great-Grandfather “James” on my mother’s side also has “Maciej” engraved on his headstone. Both of my Great-Grandfather’s actually share the same name.