Messing with my grunge.
Hard edged music has no place
surfaced in flannel.
But I love
the warmth;
the comfort,
but something’s not right!
I stay up half the night
writing songs. Is it wrong to fill
“Love songs” with bitter angst, while
plaid and staid flannel is against my skin?
How can I win?
Find nirvana?
Do I wanna?
Can Cobain be channeled
sans the flannel? I can’t tell
but it sure as hell smells like it!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

dVerse Tuesday Poetics (Scent)


Perching on my porch this morning,
things seemed to be at peace
when suddenly without warning,
sing-song sounds would not cease.

Celestial sounds filled the meadow,
no sweeter song playing.
Rings of stars look down on below,
so swell a day for this dawning.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2022

dVerse Poet’s Pub – Quadrille Monday (Morning)


He agrees to meet her at midnight
always his favorite encounter. 
He loves the way she moves, 
her breathless sighs that emanate from
deep within her. Her skin is soft,
it gives his heart a nudge.
And her smile serves to melt him, to
 Help him breathe her in, for being
With her is a gift from heaven. It is hard
To not be enraptured by her with lips pressed
Together in a loving kiss, and
In the morning mist, find himself breathless. 

 © Walter J Wojtanik – 2021

**A Golden Shovel poem taken from “KINDLING” by Paula Riggs

moves from soft nudge to being
hard pressed and breathless.


The kingdom of heaven is yours
even though your spirit is lacking,
for comfort awaits you
despite your mourning.
Accept the Earth, your inheritance,
for if you are meek, it will strengthen you.
Be satisfied as you righteously hunger and thirst,
and mercy shall be yours for as much as you show mercy.
You can be sure that only the pure of heart
will see God, and be sons of God
if you devote your life to peace.
For those of you who are wrongly persecuted
for doing what is right, will secure your heavenly place.
Should people insult you,
persecute you,
speak evil against you because you believe in the Father,
be glad in your rejoicing, you will be rewarded.
Blessed you shall be!

© Walter J Wojtanik - 2021


Prepare yourselves for He is near,
the One who I have no business 
unfastening the strap of His sandal.
No scandal does He reflect. He is perfect.
It is He that should be baptizing me,
that a lowly sinner should be a winner 
of His holy blessing. The Jordan River
flows and I quiver at His mere presence.
He is the essence of all that is Holy.
That is the way of the Lord.
Prepare yourself.
Prepare ye!

© Walter J Wojtanik - 2021


Adrift upon life’s choppy sea,
we have failed this day to score a haul.
And there walking along the shore, He calls,
“Leave your nets and follow me!”
“Follow Me!”

A vagabond? Perhaps some wayward soul
who casts his gaze across the sky?
He points to the right and takes control.
“Lower your nets there” He cries,
“Follow me!”

Our nets are over-flowing, as if He was knowing
where the fish would surely be!
Full, nearly breaking, there was no mistaking His vision.
He offers me this one decision, “Be a fisher of men!”
“Follow Me!”

“Leave your nets and follow Me,
Abandon your purse and come and see
what My Father has in store
and what’s more, live your life as He wants it to be!”
“Follow Me!”

© Walter J Wojtanik - 2021

** This is the first in a 12-part series leading up to and including Easter


I find myself sitting, wondering
how my lifelong blundering
got me to where I stand,
to blow my horn
free to wax in these poetic terms
until the worms feast (that is
as harsh a vision I could muster).
So, I rant and bluster as if
winter lived within me. I have come
prepared, to concentrate, to vanish,
to smell the varnish,
to raise a glass to the light of a new day.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2021


Were it not for you, I’d probably squeak by in this life,
Without your guiding light, I’d lose my way,
Not every day, but enough for us to notice.

Were it not for you, I’d probably be okay,
But only just okay and not the man who is made better
When your loving light shines upon him.

Were it not for you, I might find myself
alone, in a quiet home with nothing
but these four walls to talk to.

Were it not for you, I would never have known
How to truly love, and never know what it is
To be truly loved by one so true, were it not for you!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2021


Here, the light exposes me,
as black as the pit is my soul.
And no matter how odd it may be
I am an inconsolable Pole.

If I fell clutching my circumstance
or should yell “For crying out loud!”,
These blues are showing my last chance
my head is ruddy now and bowed.

There is no place for wrath filled tears
or for fears of shady horrors,
It seems my penance is quite clear,
my judge and jury feed my sorrows.

And so, I stand behind this gate,
charged with believing in truths untold.
Here, where convicted is my fate:
Things are out of my control.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2021

**A reworking of “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley