Of me!
Of Life!
Of these questions recurring;

Of the endless trains of the faithless
wondering about existence with persistence
and resolve, trying to solve the mysteries, failing;

Of myself,
mired in thoughts profound, that surround
in a confused fog, a lone dog chewing on life’s flavored bone. Alone;

Of eyes that crave the light
of each new day, of each new idea,
of every struggle, the brilliance of wisdom glowing;

Of every poor result left to fester,
of the sullied crowds plotting
allotting me to surrender without recourse;

Of the empty useless years, no rest
on this life quest when I acquiesce to this folly,
no jolly expression left unpunished, unfinished;

Of the terrible doubt
that lingers with words left to languish in these fingers
poetic verses worsen as time passes, thoughts amassed and sequestered;

Of the uncertainty of what life remains
to offer to fill the coffers of one left bankrupt of ideas,
of ideals, of the feeling of relevance and some semblance of honor;

Of day and night awash in memories lost
of doubtless apparitions holding answers to questions unasked
or pondered, wonders of the world we possess and caress with our words;

Of course, nothing comes from nothing
and should nothing become something, we will dream and fly,
an eye on future tomorrows, of joys and sorrows;

Of the visages of things that bring into focus
what hearts envision; of piercing through every heaven,
every hell and the ability to tell the difference;

Of the ugliness of men to cast aspersions one upon the other,
making sister and brother enemies of that hated state.
Return to the sacred plate of communion, a blessed union of souls;

Of me?
Of life recurring?
Of Leaves of Grass and such!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

Inspiration drawn from Walt Whitman’s works – Leaves of Grass, O Me! Oh Life!, Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances, Of the Visage of Things


Don’t they remember?
They go about their day
as if nothing was wrong,
doing the same old song
and dance, as if perchance
it was all a dream.

But you cannot sleep
through such a fright.
It keeps me up at night
sometimes. Don’t they recall
at all how it happened?
They go about their day.

It’s not to say it’s an obsession,
but this confession is true.
What did you do when the twins fell?
Where were you when five sides
became four? When verdant pastures
claimed more? Don’t you remember?

It’s an indelible stain that remains,
a blotch upon all of humanity’s souls.
Yet, some go about their days, ignoring
and imploring we all do the same.
History forgotten is soon repeated,
and we will not be defeated.

It was no dream, this evil scheme,
it seems some would just as soon forget it.
And yet, it happened eighteen years ago today.
Without a thought, they go about their day.
What is there left to say? It happened.
Don’t you remember?

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

POETIC BLOOMINGS tribute to 911


You begin this way:
this is your hand,
this is your eye…

…It begins, it has an end,
this is what you will
come back to, this is your hand.

~from Margaret Atwood’s poem “You Begin”

And so I continue!

This is my poem.
These are my words.
This is the time of night
where sleep beckons. I sit
fingers to keyboard on a silent eve.
This is my shirt; it has no sleeves.
It is as black as night,

or a chalkboard if you erase it.
Or blue if it’s really dark;
sometimes black looks like blue
when it’s really dark.
This is me and that is you and together
we are we, but never wee, for hearts in love
are so big as to hold it all.

You are as short as I am tall
and I continue to fall for you every time my rhyme
has you in it. So I begin it,
and then I continue. This is my poem.
These are my words, you are my muse.
I choose you to be, but that’s just me.
It always comes back to that!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Prompt #481 – Pick a writer


He hears the beauty of words inside his head,
and that may be all he can do.
But between me and you, he is a true poet.
Many admire his muse (he may not know it,
but it is true). Quick with a rhyme
or a reference to something that reminds him
of the words he hears inside his head.
It is said, you honor a poet by reading
another poem written by said poet.
And then another.

And brother, I will read all you serve.
I love your verve and love of life.
Even the odd limerick or two.
(And between me and you,
some are quite odd!)
But, I laud your ability to write
what your heart sees.
It frees the soul, every poet’s goal.
Hail to you, and all you do.
We wish that we could write like you!
We hear the beauty of your words inside our head.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Prompt #481 – Pick a writer


The news hits like a punch to the jaw.
Pow! Wham! Zowie!
Another icon of my youth has gone.
Adam West was the Batman I knew,
I grew up with his campy depiction.
This benediction keeps him ensconced
in my heart and mind for all time.
Godspeed and rest, Adam West!
Pow! Wham! Zowie! R.I.P.!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides – Prompt #396:  Historic Persona



Prayers for the fallen soldiers,
men and women who had dared
and had dreamed
and bled,
and were left for dead.
(They) Faced the fire of hell
in every battle and storm.
(They) Carved their fingernails into stone
and opened the doors of  freedom,
each body returning in brown boxes.
(They) Sadly, rarely made the papers.
God rest the fallen heroes!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017



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


A stone
marks your presence,
yet the essence of you
lives within me.

Memories and heart felt emotions
fill the corners of my rapturous soul.
Amidst these rows and rows of monuments,
of marble and granite.

You are both remembered
long since you departed with pieces of my heart,
buried with you, as much as pieces of your lives
live within me.

I come to celebrate you,
feting each life as a part of me,
a solid foundation
upon which I was built.
The only guilt I bear
is not being there to tell you,
“I love you” often enough.

Of granite and stone your time has been marked,
a stark reality to the soft and caring souls you were
in this life of love and wonder. Under this marker you lie;
deep within my heart you remain, an eternal blessing.

Rest comes shrouded in stone,
shadows of death left to languish,
grounded in seclusion; isolation.
Marked in granite,
planet Earth receives all that remains.
Spoils for the soil.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Poets Pub – MTB: As a Cubist Poet


James Griffn – Former Mayor of Buffalo, NY

I made the pitch,
I gave it a shot,
I was all for it,
some people were not.

A stadium build
in the heart of downtown,
they called me an ass,
they labeled me clown.

I stepped up to bat
for a game that I love,
I donned my cap,
I grabbed my glove,

I pulled some strings,
& called in favors,
all for a game,
a red hot to savor.

And in the end
we had a fine field,
a shining diamond
that would yield

community unity,
a place to be proud
for a couple of innings
raucous and loud.

And now I stand
poised to throw,
cast in bronze
here in Buffalo.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

Offered for dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics: Chisel Me A Conversation

***Mayor James D. “Jimmy” Griffin was a tireless public servant who dedicated his life to making Buffalo, N.Y. a better place. His passion for helping others, his love of this community and his unique, independent leadership has been celebrated in the many stories that have been shared all over Western New York since his death in 2008.

In 2009, the plaza outside the ballpark that Mayor Griffin championed, Coca-Cola Field , was named in his honor. A commemorative plaque was placed in the plaza at a dedication on June 30, 2009. In addition to the plaque, the above statue in Mayor Griffin’s honor was erected in James D. Griffin Plaza.


Leo Newton
Leo Newton

“Where you going, Champ?”
“What are you up to, Champ?”
“No street shoes on the court, Champ!”

He called us Champ,
and he made us feel like one,
and we were better off when he was done

teaching the finer points,
though his finger joints were mangled
and twisted, he insisted, you were a Champ!

Gray sweatshirt, rubber soled oxfords,
encouraging words for his athletes
and us Champs. Salted brush cut,

horn-rimmed specs and a heck of a set shot,
you got all you could get from the man
with the craggy chin and his whistle

clenched between his teeth. No disrespect,
but he came with the building, whether
he was building character or building

a winning team, it would always seem
he got the best from the best, and all the rest.
I guess that’s why he called us “Champs”!

~Walter J. Wojtanik

A tribute to one of the finest guys I would come to know in my life. A teacher, a mentor, a real leader. The original champ! Leo Newton, athletic director and coach at Our Lady of Victory School in Lackawanna, N.Y.