TWIGLET #183 – WE ROMANTICS

Side-by-side,
we are two loving souls.
Sharing the moment;
basking in the glow
of our combined brilliance
of loving support. An intensity
is flooding our
soulful kisses
in this little shadowbox
of our life. Our caresses
on private display,
viewed by only us.
Uninhibited embraces
of daydreams of longing;
happy in the re-discovery
of a lifetime. We romantics
are shining with the blinding
radiance of our intimacy.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2020

 

Twiglet #183 -We Romantics

THE TWIGLETS #118 – MAMA SAID

Like a box of chocolates, mama said,
that’s what life was like.
Like floating around on a breeze, mama said.

Mama said we all have a destiny,
but I don’t know about that!
You have to do the best, mama said,

with all God gave you. Do the best.
Mama said stupid is as stupid does.
I’m not a smart man.

We’ll live ‘til we die. Mama said,
dying is a part of life.
That’s all I have to say about that.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

**A Found poem from “Forrest Gump”

The Twiglets #118 – Mama Said

THE TWIGLET #116 – LIKE COLD IRON

I’d prefer a red-hot poker,
as opposed to something like cold iron.
I abhor the cold of late,
I hate it if you must know,
and the glow of red-hot has got
great appeal, a real warmth
that escapes me. Much more
of a chill will kill me,
never thrill me as it once did.
I’ve hidden my true feelings
when dealing with the cold.
As I get older, I’d as soon
taste the warmth of love’s sting,
than to stick my tongue
on something like cold iron.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Written for The Twiglets #116 – like cold iron

 

THE TWIGLETS – #115: BENEATH THE ICE

Chilled to the bone,
Houdini searches for a break,
for whatever it takes
for this illusion to mesmerize,
he tries. His eyes are blinded,
he is lucky if he can find it.
Beneath the ice he founders,
listening for sound of the astounded
rubes. He’d much prefer cubes
thrilling him that river water chilling him.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Written for The Twiglets #115: Beneath The Ice

IN THE KEY OF C

Grey shades become a blur, they stir an uneasy feeling as they’re stealing all tonal cohesion, freezing your ear in unsavory ways. It plays on your sense of composition. Your condition does not translate well and you dwell on its sound. You’ve been around these keys enough to know you can throw a klinker here and there. But that is where it rests. Stay sharp and do your best. Roses are red. Love is blue. We all live in a yellow submarine. But shades of grey rule the day as long as I play.

Nature’s symphony
playing across a grey sky
In the key of C

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

for Twiglet #112 – “In the Key of C”

 

 

TWIGLET #90 – LIKE A DRAINAGE DITCH

Boy, this dump smells like a sump,
aromas do not stink,
This place wafts like a drainage ditch,
excuse me as I rant and bitch.
I’d hold my nose to this disposal,
either way I cannot breath,
this stagnant water bears a stench,
there is no thirst that this would quench.
This boggy swamp I do not need,
let’s scat before mosquitoes breed!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

Twiglet #90

IVY DRAPED AND HIDDEN

Here, behind this wall of greenery,
the scenery never changes.
It just grows and grows.
Ivy knows which end is up
until it gets so thick and heavy
it pulls away from its mount.
You can’t count on it for long.
It’s not all that strong.
But until the wall is rid of it,
it will be obscured by its breadth.
Like any ignominious death,
ivy draped and hidden.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

Twiglet #88 – Ivy Draped

CHÂTEAUNEUF DU PAPE

All that was left from the shipwreck
was a tin of caviar and the wine.
A bottle of the grape and a can of bait.
You hated the taste of the caviar,
but the fish it had lured to your
make-shift fishing pole were a treat.
All you could eat until the can was drained.
For an ungodly reason, you kept the cork
intact for a special occasion, and today
was that day. The day you lost all hope.
The bottle popped with a resonance that was
a perfect counter point to the waves lapping the shore.
A lovely bouquet. Earthy!
You take a sip.
A swig.
A guzzle.
The label read “Châteauneuf du Pape, 1951”
That’s probably French for “Water from 1,951 Sewers”.
Your inebriate binge lasted long enough
for you to scribble something on the back of a leaf.
You stuffed it into the bottle.
Your last will and testament.
All your worldly possessions.
An empty tin can and your father’s watch.
You heave the bottle into the surf and watch it bob,
praying for death to rescue you. It started to sink.
Your coconut just stares.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

 

TWIGLET #68 – FOLLOWING FOOTSTEPS

BIG SHOES TO FILL

One after another,
on the path walked before you.
The terrain must again be traversed
as if it were reserved just for you.
Your pace is solid and sure
and your memories are pure
and your direction is true.
It is up to you, it’s your due,
following footsteps;
following through!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik

Twiglet #68 – Following Footsteps

**

A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought. A memory. If something comes to mind, write. A polished piece isn’t the goal; creativity is. Leave a link, if you’d like your work read, but comments should not be expected. Twiglets are posted on Tuesdays.

 

TWIGLET #67 – SLASH OF RAIN

A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought. A memory. If something comes to mind, write. A polished piece isn’t the goal; creativity is. Leave a link, if you’d like your work read, but comments should not be expected. Twiglets are posted on Tuesdays.

The sun flashes in bright glimpses
between misted clouds
and tendrils of barren tree branches.
The slash of rain cuts deeply,
seeping into serenity’s slumber.

WJW – 2018