Machismo, Bravado and Braggadocio met for drinks.
Each one thinks he’s the bigger man.
Looks can deceive and they all believe
their charms will have the ladies in their arms.

The first one played to the women, but
was shot down in flames. It seems
they’ve heard all his lines before.
The next was a pushy lout,

an incompetent boy scout, never prepared.
he never spared them from his conquests
and adventures, but had them scared at hello.
The loud mouth was harmless, all talk

but no game. It was a shame.
Lesson learned in three spurned.
Smoke and mirrors are great devices,
but just being you, truly suffices.

You should always live within your dreams,
Things always look bigger than they seem.

© Walter J Wojtanik -2019

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Smoke and Mirrors


I had lost my way. Mired in a jungle of thought, I found myself drifting away from my base – away from my mind’s center. Words, once an ally, have taken umbrage against a senseless ramble I had assumed. There’s no counting for intent, this descent was rapid. I could not stop my fall. When it began, I don’t recall… wrong, maybe I do. I think it started when I presumed people wanted to hear what I had to say. I wrote in a poetic way, a rapid-fire muse that would refuse to rest. It had gotten tired and old. I started to hate the direction I was headed, which was no direction at all. I had lost my way. Mumbling to myself, I found this quote, “You will love again the stranger who was yourself”. I started finding myself by loving who I was.

 © Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

 Written for dVerse Poets Pub – Prosery #3: Love After Love


There it still stands,
abandoned and left
in the dust to rust and decay.
In its day, a trusty “steed”,
but it has needed much attention,
not to mention plenty of cash
to re-convert this piece of trash to the notion
that motion was once its function.
An open lot, overgrown; not mowed
in a long while. Weeds obscured
and amber waves of grain sustain
the field mice that find lodging there
dodging the elements and predators.
And thus, this bucket of rusted,
once trusted truck is stuck,
alone in a field that seems devoid
of dreams and schemes. Just a means
to dispose of a once valued ‘friend.’

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019


Excuse me, is this the rumour room?
Who told you that? That is a vicious lie.
I was told to come here to file a rumour.
You were not! That is completely false!
But that’s what it says on your door!
You assume that is my door,
but I’ve never seen it before!
It’s the only way in or out!
You’ve no idea what you’re saying,
that’s a bold-faced fallacy!
No it’s not! It says right there,
“Ministry of Silly Rumours”
That’s a complete fabrication,
you just made that up!
I did not! The directory even indicates…
I’m telling everyone that you wet the bed!
I do not, that’s a horrible rumour!
I heard that you do! Do you deny it?
Yes! Yes I deny it! Yes. No!
But it was just a wee tinkle.
That’s how rumours get spread?
You’re a silly, silly person!

(c) Walter J Wojtanik-2019

Written for Poetic Asides Prompt #493 – Rumor


Also see:



 You didn’t hear it from me,
but I hear tell that all hell will break loose
if we choose to ignore the clues.
I mean, I have a sense of humour
but rumour has it that what is coming
down the pike will spike off the charts
so we better start paying it heed.
We’re going to need a year’s supply
of snacks and goodies
(Every foodie need snacks and goodies)
toasty warm hoodies
& nice cozy footies for the coming fallout.
The chill will surely kill the vegetation
and the whole damn nation will be affected.
We’ve elected to ignore all the signs.
It will make your head spin. It does mine
anyway. One of these days it may be true,
but don’t mind me, I’m just a fool 

telling stories out of school. 

Written for Poetic Asides Prompt #493 – Rumor


Barefoot on a soft meadow tract,
grass green as seen by eyes
blue as the skies. A breath of wind
soothing my skin and keeping me
free to be the person I’ve always dreamed,
the who I’ve always seemed to
aspire to. The me that you have loved.
and above all else, no selfish wish
could hold you against your will.
My heart be still and let us
find the thrill unlike any seen, so true.
Grass green and sky blue; me and you.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019


 People think I write quite prolifically,
generating poems terrifically,
but that kind of effort specifically
is taxing and takes a bit more.
And you can be sure
it takes a toll at times
and some of my rhymes 
get tired and repetitive.
And yet, poetry is my sedative,
pleasing and not competitive,
and I’ll keep writing poems as long as I live.
When poetry begs me to write,
I can keep on going all night!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

from POETIC BLOOMINGS: Prompt #254 – Second Wind


Sun In An Empty Room, a painting by Edward Hopper

Courtesy of www.EdwardHopper.net

Her vacancy gapes,
a stagnant yawn to the afternoon.
It was once a comfortable room.
But, no drape or curtain
can hide what it lacks.
Every building has many stories
No one is there to hear how
the sun glow warms a decrepit space!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2019

dVerse – Quadrille #83: Sun


More Hopper inspired poems:

The Outskirts

Nick Has a Plan


A case of the “I can’t hold on any longer”.,
The stronger the grip is on me
I seem to be losing my own grip,
a slip of whatever I’ve in hand.
The thing can stand on whatever
surface it will occupy, but when I try
to take hold of it, it slips.
The hand that grips loosely play
loosey-goosey with possession.
It’s an obsession of mine. I’ve come to find
I am the dip that keeps on dropping!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019