SMELLS LIKE TEEN FLANNEL

Soft.
Caressing.
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)

MORNING SONG

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)

BIRD IN MOTION

Notes falling in cascade,
a flow tailor-made
for days such as this.
Pure bliss in the melody given,
driven by nature’s call
and all the breath a bird
could muster for its swift flight
A bird lives to fly.
Bringing joy to this nature-boy.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2021

dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille - Swift

MASTER AND SAGE

“Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try!”
~ Jedi Master Yoda

Futile attempts are
when success comes not!
Become we do, what wish we,
but loss, arise it does, when
achievement flat on its face falls!
Satisfied be not, when accomplished
nothing is. Try not! Do
or do not. There is no try!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

TAKE A HIKE IF YOU’D LIKE

Looking down on the little people from the penthouse high above them, I love them but they are so small, a blip really. The hustle and bustle makes a din, a noise that festers within, and I can barely hear it over the construction cacophony. I’d bet money the traffic is as thick as petroleum jelly (it ties my belly in knots with rage). At this stage, country living would surely entice, it would be nice to walk across the road without dodging Dodges and Audis like I’m playing Frogger. I’m no jogger, I don’t own a bike and it’s a hike to Midtown. I wish I could lose this frown,  for urbanessence has gotten to me. Set me free, or call me a friggin’ cab!

a stroll takes its toll
so walk as brisk as you’d like
go on, take a hike

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2020

dVerse Haibun Monday – Hike

IN THE EVENING, WHEN DAY IS THROUGH

In the evening, when day is through,
the sun retreats to a place where
slumber awaits her brilliant hue.
Night is her time to seek repose.

And so, in her tired escape,
in the evening when day is through,
star-crossed lovers beneath the moon
hold each other ever so close

and share their dreams. It always seems
that it draws out a kiss or two
in the evening, when day is through.
Seductive sounds surround them so.

Yet sounds, like sunsets, seek repose
as morning approaches once more.
But to be sure, romance returns
in the evening, when day is through.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

BUM ON A LOG

Always in lost thought,
I oughta be dog-eat-dog, not
some bum on a log poet wrangling words.
No combatant in whatever war of wits
I would find myself.
my wile with words
seemed impressive. I found it excessive;
obsessive. Ogden and John Nash conjoined.
 
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

dVerse Quadrille Monday: Bum

 

ALL THE WORLD LOVES A CLOWN

The jolly joker, baggy pants and scant
patches of outrageous hair ; smiles and gags
abound. But nobody knows! Nobody knows.

And still, he’ll strap on his suspenders,
Seltzer water at the ready and a steady
Stream of laughs and guffaws, canned

And recorded for such times.
For his mind is a million miles away,
And all the pain does is slash at his heart.

His plaid jacket held together by one large button
It does not hold him tightly as he wished
He could hold his young daughter.

His tragedy feeds his comedy,
His funny side is the mask that hides
the tears of the clown. Only one wish –

that he could take his helium balloons
and allow them to float him to his little girl.
Separation takes its toll on all concerned.

The clown cajoles and entertains,
But no one ever sees his pain.
And their laughter does not heal him.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik -2020

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Clowning Around

I USE MY WORDS

I use my words to express my heart.
Words that live deep within me,
and I hope that you can clearly see
by the way my love songs always start.
So, with all the feelings I impart,
with all the thoughts there’ll ever be,
I use my words.

For love invades like Cupid’s dart,
quite sent straight to you, straight from me.
And as I proposed on bended knee
with feelings that came from deep in my heart,
I use my words.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

POETIC BLOOMINGS – Inform Poet: Rondine

SAIL

Unfurled, my canvas tightens,
taut and rigid in the strength
of a gale force wind. Beginning
and ending with the gusts
prevailing, sailing into the waters,
uncharted and unsure. It is purely
the epitome of self-sufficiency;
this proficiency so star-guided
provides me with the direction I crave.
In it, I am saved, a navigator of
life’s currents. Wave after wave,
I am coaxed toward shore, for sure
more open waters await me.
My sole journey continues undeterred.

(c) Walter J Wojtanik – 2020

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Come Sail