Tribulations await and the time
and place retain their mystery.
For in the history of this life we are
curious to the point of becoming furious
whether we will be heard; will our absurd
ramblings bring solace and peace
when the end approaches. It encroaches
on our sensibilities. And the abilities of
a learned man of words will be tested.
I will soon be bested and find my rest
in the passing of these numbered days.
And I will go the way of Heaven and Earth,
but for all that it will be worth,
I pray that my words too will stay.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik -2013


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’m growing a beard.
Always wanted one; it is an afront to you.
Your fair-haired boy stands determined,
yearning to be free from the tyranny
of your iron fist. The last time we kissed
my face was clean and you leaned in
for more and more. But now, I just
let it grow. I know you hate it. I feel your burn.
I yearn for the taste of you, but I am not
through with my adventure. My beard
no longer scratches. It matches your heart,
there, but unfeeling. It never replaced the
face that was here before the hair.
Now, I care about it more than you.


Fighting a battle often lost in the darkness
of a weary mind. There is no rest there.
Cursing the single candle lit to offer
its illumination; to infiltrate this
mental stagnation. Accursed slumber
why do you wage against my will?
Will you release me like the leaves
of October’s colorful flurry, left
to scatter in the cool winds from place
to place; a migration to discover the peace
that I crave. You have found me, October.
You have extended your lifeline in fine fashion,
a saving assist for one clamoring for control
over heart and soul,
over heart and mind.
I clutch your hand as I am flung over
the edge of reason. Your season is here.
You want me near, October, where I belong.
Anything else would be just wrong.


It seems that sleep is elusive,
a sometimes thing that fights my will.
It’s disruptive and effusive;
but wide awake, the room is still.

I listen to the lack of sound,
a gentle respite all around.
The silence of the night soothes deep,
I do not hear it when I sleep.


He plays all night
working hard to get it right
one annoying note at a time.
Chirp, chirp, chirp
it does usurp
my serenity, thus this rhyme.
I hear his noise
not one of my joys,
without it I’d be fine.
I’d sleep all night
and wake up bright
and feeling quite sublime.
It’s in the house
that noisy louse,
I think that it’s a crime.
Beneath the stove?
In the alcove?
I’m about to lose my mind.
Another chirp emits,
but silence now. It’s quit!
Hooray for sleeping time.
Feeling cozy,
rather dozy,
serenity is mine!
But then, again,
I hear my friend
with its incessant whine.
He plays all night
working hard to get it right
one annoying note at a time.



There’s a flag on the play,
the way things are going
there’s a flag everyday.
One thing after another
and no end in sight. It isn’t right
to fight this battle every second,
but I reckon this is what I signed up for.
Life is not a game, the rules aren’t fair,
but they aren’t supposed to be.
It’s you and me against the world,
and I’m not so sure about you.