Monday comes.
mess of morose,
a strong dose of reality.
A new week begins
draped in mundane banality.

Tuesday’s child
is neither wild or mild,
she wears a slightly devious smile.
It supersedes her previous smile.

Wednesday is a bump in the road,
a hump on a toad,
half the load of a full ride.
Tucked inside between
beginning and end.

Thor’s day.
Bring the hammer down.

Friday Fish Fries
a Buffalo staple,
brought to the table
with slaw, and macaroni,
fries and a slice of rye.
Oh my!

Saturday’s a happy dance,
a chance to catch up
with things left hanging.
Banging away
in the workshop shed.
Peg board hooks and hangers,
Wallbanger is no stranger
than usual.

Sunday & I slip away,
no more work,
not much play.
Looking for just a quiet day,
not waiting for Godot,
no way!
A song of praise
for the past seven days.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides – 2017 November Chapbook Challenge – Day 7: Week/Weak


You gotta want it,
You gotta mean it.
But if your heart’s not in it,
you’ll never win mine. Fine,
gloat in your self-loathing,
be obsessed in your mess.
But don’t think you can hurt me
if your heart’s not invested.
I guess I’ll just laugh and walk away.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

Suggested by POETIC ASIDES Day 23 – Love/Anti-Love


“So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do…” ~John Mayer

Blessed with beautiful blooms,
flowers that have graced my vase
from the day we first met, and yet
there is so much more beauty to bare
and time is a fleeting companion.
Two of you have grown without really knowing
you’ve helped me to grow in my heart.
And times I have known that it didn’t quite show,
I hope you two know that I have from the start.
Eight years divided and it was hard to hide it
the fact that the gap has been spackled and closed
and now you both share the love that you bear
in your hopes and your dreams
(and sometimes in each others clothes).
You have melted my heart, shaped and reformed it,
raised in the love that your mom and I gave;
no greater love than the love you both have,
and in our close circle, we all have been saved.
Daughters are certainly love!

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

Suggested by POETIC ASIDES Day 23 – Love/Anti-Love


Search your heart, feel the hunger within,
survival depends on the means to your end;
the need to extend your hand and touch
another vacant soul for the sole purpose
of conjoining hearts. It starts with hello,
and both go through stages; a game played
with ever-changing rules. A hungry heart
has all the tools to build a relation
in celebration of a wanted love. But boy,
don’t fall for the ploy called “hard to get”.
Set your sights on the target.
Your persistence can soften all resistance.
It’s big game you’re after. The game is love.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

From POETIC ASIDES – Day 9 (Hunter/Hunted Poem)


                Late summer in                  NY. A day like
                any other;  New                  Yorkers   loved
                days such as th                    ese.  The   sky
                was clear; the air                was crisp  and
                life went on as it                 usually did.Taxi
                cabs jammed in                  traffic, and some
                commuters were                too. Pedestrians
                on the pavement                heading to  their
                nine-to-5 enslave               ment. A sense of
                urgency had gone              unnoticed but that
                was business  as                  it usually was. Men
                and Women head               ed to work, or to
                drop the children               off at daycare. Today
                is September 11th              2001 and all is right
                with the world. The            sun rises, casting
                the Statue of Liberty          in  seductive  and
                glorious silhouette;             a shadowed sentinel
                set in the harbor to              greet all travelers to
                the “Land of the Free”.       Like those folks on
                that inbound jet and         others like it. It holds
  the hopes and dreams of all aboard, as it does for all below. The airplane’s
 shadow is cast ominously across the expanse of concrete, metal and glass;
a close pass to the constructed mountains above. Most unusual on this usual
day. Nothing changes on usual days. Usually, but not today late summer in NY.


Tall and proud they stood,
brothers from the same design.
One taller than the other;
he wore his hat to distinguish them.
Side-by-side, they kept watch
over the multitudes with attitudes,
near the harbor, they held no ill will
standing still while liberty had shown the way.
Until that day, their futures bright together,
their fates tied to their function.
But their compunction was well founded
when they were grounded.  Encouraging to the last,
until the fast descent caused by one’s great fall.
The other followed shortly, two swept clear.
Ten years older if they were still here. 
Tall and proud they stood,
brothers from the same design,
holding lives and dreams for all
concerned in the balance.
Under a valance of dust and rubble
there remains no trouble remembering the twins.


I keep coming back.
In spite of myself at times
penning my rhymes in the night
right up until the early hours,
hopping in for a shower
and heading off to work.
Sometimes berserk; a jerk
of outrageous fortune,
torturing my muse to
respond with something new.
Evey day in April,
every day in November.
And every day in between,
I have developed a keen
poetic sense, relieving
tension, and not to mention
expressing, in a non-oppressive way.
You would think I’d have learned.