No one knows.
And the best kept secret remains as such.
How much is it worth to know things
that your heart can confirm,
but you can not communicate,
this declaration of fact lies hidden.
Distance spanned and water
under the bridge between then and now.
How do you live a life with this burden?
They couldn’t know; you gave no indications,
your stagnation and debilitating fear
brought you here with nary a lead.
But indeed, you have known.
You will carry it until you’ll have grown
feeble and cold, just an infarction from
the chill’s permanence; it hides in residence.
Do you declare to the world and hope the rooftops
can handle your exuberance,
your happy dance long buried?
This fact prompts you to wonder
that if under this guise you can reprise
what your heart conceals; the real feel of its mystery,
your history until now untold and you let the story unfold.
Touching secrets with probing fingers,
the memory lingers. You held the best vantage point
in the room to see all before you,
a chance at a glance always revealed.
Though you were in close proximity,
you chose to let fear dictate and seal your fate.
Never a clue did you expose. You chose to fade,
finding comfort in your invisibility. Indignantly,
you held your nerve and your secret this long.
It can’t be wrong to release your burden and breathe again.
No one knows.
You wonder if your existence evaded detection then.
You are certain that it does now.
Unseen for all these years, no one could know.
Your memories melt flowing onto a page
as you engage your feelings.
Poems written of your smitten past,
and at last you come clean.
I mean, really, it’s not as if these poems will ever be seen.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018


A quick glimpse was all it was.
A hesitation in my focus that caught me.
All I could see was what I spotted, by last chance.

A fated glance as it became
a prelude to finding out your name,
putting it all on the line in my mind. By last chance,

did you see me as well? Do tell
if familiarity breeds consent? I think what I meant
was, do you believe in things coming together by last chance?

In the great expanse of a universal truth,
what struck me in youth was a step toward eternity,
this serendipitous happenstance, a twist of fate by last chance.

You signed your signature with your smile
and it was while your teeth gleamed that it seemed
we were a destiny waiting to transpire; an inner fire. By last chance.

An extended hand, a stand closer than a wish, and a kiss;
a bold expression of a new found emotion. A building
devotion to a love long languishing enhanced by this last chance

and the feeling you get. And yet, you know when you know,
that love will grow despite the obstacles, this optical illusion,
this passionate confusion has taken root. All in a last chance.


©  Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge – Day 30: Last Chance


Roll the dice and take chances
with no backward glances; all eyes
focused on whatever prize life offers.
Never sure if we concur, but it remains
out of our hand as it stands. No one knows,
but sometimes that is how it goes.
So faith in yourself and your abilities,
places your fate on the right course.
That is of course, if you put it out there.
Cast your fate; the chance you take.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
Inspired by POETIC ASIDES Day 26 – “A “Cast(ing) Poem”


Symptoms came to the fore
knocking me to the floor. A knee
and a supplicant plea
were all that made me see the pain
wasn’t just in my brain,
but it did leave me drained and scared.
If I had only dared,
then I might have been spared this fate.
And it’s never too late
(or so they say). I wait for word,
but so far all I’ve heard’s
something a little bird told me.
Right now it’s wait and see
what this next biopsy will show.
The process is so slow
as far as these things go. Can’t wait
(I hope we’re not too late).


I had the extreme pleasure of being interviewed by Claudette Young on her webspace, CLAUDSY’S BLOG. In it we discuss life, poetry and other journeys into worded wonder. Thanks Claudette for this opportunity.

FEBRUARY 5, 1930

A daughter born; a daughter torn.
Life coming and going in an instant.
One daughter coming into the world;
my mother born into the “comfort”
of their hearth and home,
two doors down from where her grandmother
had passed away on the same day.
A sadness unparalleled, a living hell.
My mother, the infant cleaved to
my grandmother’s breast in the upper window,
watching my Great-grandmother’s funeral
process past them in silence to the church
up the street. Victory and defeat fleeting.
A daughter born; a daughter torn.
Life coming and going in an instant.


So far, my obsession has been with “Dreams” (A DREAM FOR MY HEART/YESTERDAY’S DREAMS) and now “Eyes” (OPEN MY EYES/SUNSET EYES). Something about this song rubbed certain people the wrong way and that affected my writing in a negative way for a long time. Opinions as to why are welcomed. The lyrics, as always, are listed below. The title is the audio link.


Melody and Lyrics by Walter J. Wojtanik – © 1985

Listening  to  the  sea  birds  call, and  thinking,
as  a  hint  of  nightfall  fills the  skies.
Off  on  the  horizon,  girl, I  see  you .
looking  deep  into  your  Sunset Eyes.

I can  feel  your  amber  arms  caress  me.
the smile  upon  your  face, it  soothes  and  warms.
Glowing face  of  angels,  you   possess  me,
Sunset Eyes protect  me  from  the  storm.

Your sparkling water’s flashing,
your waves are softly crashing here on the sand.
Charging, then returning back to the sea.
Your gentle hands keep falling,
your spraying softness calling, calling my name.
Sunset Eyes return your love to me.

Why is it you tease me with your wonder,
Make  me want to take you in my arms?
Unashamed, you cast this spell I’m under.
Sunset Eyes embrace me with your charms.

Your face is always changing,
expressions rearranging there on the sand.
Chameleon of colors there in the skies.
Our looks are ones of sorrow,
but we’ll be back tomorrow, standing in time.
Gazing deep into your Sunset Eyes.

Listening to the ocean’s song, and thinking,
as a hint of nightfall fills the skies.
Searching my horizon, girl, to see you.
It’s so good to see you, Sunset Eyes.
It’s so good to love you, Sunset Eyes.

I’m so glad I love you, Sunset Eyes.


The sun, not yet awake;
me, slightly more as I sit sipping.
Another morning begins like every other.
Dark. Silent. Lacking motivation, 
a sensation I share this early. 
Dressing for the job, just another slob 
in a nine-to-five hole; my soul
sold long ago for an escape from seclusion. 
The illusion of this dawning comes
with no warning necessary. 
I tarry a moment longer, bracing 
for the moment for which my heart longs. 
It is strong, this urging; this poetic purging 
of thoughts buried deep within. It is a sin
that I need reminding. But before 
the blinding sun peeks above the horizon, 
my eyes see through the morning mist.
And I think of you. In the shadows of the trees,
a silhouette lives and lingers. Fingers outstretched 
and reaching; beseeching me to return.
I yearn for these moments, long buried,
as are you. Moist and enveloping, developing
contact with every inch of skin exposed.
I am deposed and rendered immobile.
Your eyes, tear filled and vacant, had pierced me,
pleading for a last longing look before death
took your love and replaced it with 
these thoughts and memories. Your eyes,
moist and enveloping, drench my spirit
and I hear it in the rustling wind
running its cool fingers through these branches.
It enhances my morning. The sun begins to illuminate
and I wait for it to show its face.
There is a trace of you in it as well.
I can tell by the smile it brings me.
It stings me sweetly, completely
filling my day with the beauty it espouses.
It houses these feelings that languish within morning mists. 
And so I am reminded. Morning mists remind me of you.


1.)Phase One – Losing Myself
Rev up the Delorean, I’m going back. We all have that defining moment, pointed and prescient that had set our course. The forces of nature were strong and one wrong turn could have sent me reeling. I have a feeling it did.
My temerity was the social end of me, for as far as I can see, High School defined that moment in time, where I had let the ball drop.Not regret per se, but sadness now for those would have, should have, and could have moments so fleeting. Those errors of omission were well hidden in my condition from which I’ve been extricated. Celebrated now for my abilities to see things, and write things and expose things about me that without, would not be me. Debilitating was this fear to connect, rejection not something I handled well, or handled at all. So my fall from grace saved me from the disgrace of “embarrassing” myself by letting loose and living my life.
The perpetual lost boy languished in Neverland.
2.) Phase Two – Righting the Ship

Looky, looky, there goes Hooky!
The ribald Captain has been dispatched with a swift kick in his steering mechanism. A discovery, a long time in the making has taken a stand as well as command of my journey; a life’s worth of yearning for solid footing and a direction much easier to navigate than blindly following burned out novas in the cosmos of my mind. For in the stars, paths that crossed each other unnoticed have found a circuitous path to intersect once again.
Older now, more aware of selves and of this moment and what lead each to move to embrace it. In the kindling of a reborn kinship, acquaintances long removed and left unseen, find a connection that closes unsure circles, and opens the world to new adventures. Both stand, with eyes open like the wide-eyes kids we were when we began. A familiarity which neither knew, comes through to ground us as the friends we never realized we were.
The gathering of spirits once left to roam those hallowed halls has stepped back to touch base and begin anew, assuring us of the fact that yes, you can go home again.


I’ll finally be the man I’ve aspired to be,
one of these days.
Happy in my station, a perpetual situation,
one of these days.
An unconvicted, man of conviction
one of these days,
who is as adept at poetry as at fiction.
One of theses days,
my wife and I will find comfort in the nest, and
one of these days,
when my daughters find their joy, it’ll be the best.
One of these days
the aches and pains will be tolerable, less taxing
one of these days
I’ll find time for relaxing.
One of these days
I’ll walk my daughters down the aisle, and
on those days,
I’ll sport a sad tear and a smile.
One of these days,
all of the projects I’ve started will find completion, and
one of these days
I’ll finish my novel, a fine first edition.
One of these days
I’ll run out of things to do, before I run out of time.
One of these days
when people say my name, they’ll say “He was fine!”
One of these days.