Nine Minutes, by Walter J. Wojtanik

Nine Minutes
by Walter J. Wojtanik

You come and stay for hours,
amidst the psychedelic flowers
and impossible scenarios.
Running past streets and barrios
with Joses and Marios, looking
for solace in a nightful of frightful
turns and plot twists. You’ve wished you
can finish a complete thought,
but your REM cycle keeps running out of gas.
In the foggy distance, a wail. It never fails.
It seems just when you get
to the good part of your dreams you have to depart,
trying to restart every nine minutes for an hour
until your snooze alarm comes back to call.

Note: Written in response to Red Wolf Poems, Prompt 253.

Walter J. Wojtanik is a poet, composer, playwright, story teller, and carpenter. Yes, he is adept at woods and words. He had been named the Poet Laureate of the Writer’s Asides 2010 April Poem-A-Day Challenge. Somewhat of a poetic nomad, his work can be found all over this great big world wide web! His poetry collection in three parts, his Dead Poet Once Removed trilogy is his happiest achievement as of now. He continues to work at his craft with so much more to learn.

FOUR WALLS, Walter Wojtanik

Four Walls
by Walter Wojtanik

Plenty of room
in plenty of rooms,
but this place is the space,
where my writing mind feels right.
A chair, a desk, a thesaurus
and a chorus of rhymes that find
a home in a house full of rooms.
Inspired and wired to pen poems
and show them to the world
one verse at a time. Four walls
to hold a muse that refuses
to stay put but finding a space
in a place with plenty of room
in plenty of rooms.


Shack Smack in the Middle of Nowhere
by Walter Wojtanik

A lean to,
we didn’t mean to abuse it.
A gaggle of boys meant to use it
and a fortress; a hide-out and
sanctuary from the girls and the world.

It stood stoic,
a ramshackle bit of boards,
thatched roof and Lord knows
how high weeds can grow to hide it.
Inside it we found it ready to give in,

not knowing
it was lived in, it was a home
for a soul left searching for a fair shake,
it didn’t take us long to do the wrong thing.
All was lost. Everything was tossed about and out

leaving nothing
of creature comfort or pride.
the insides gutted and drained
and all that remained was guilt in a twelve year
old’s heart and mind. I’ve come to find times

where life rides rough-shod
over God’s good creatures, and
the features on this man’s face told the tale.
We had failed to consider his human condition,
that this treasured addition to God’s green earth

had been given this berth.
My father and I, carpenter and
apprentice set to get this wrong righted
To take this shack from blighted, back to the home
one man cherished, smack in the middle of nowhere.

Walter J. Wojtanik has been developing his writing style for 45 years offering words in various disciplines: lyricist, playwright, fiction writer. But his best successes were as a poet, holding the title of Poet Laureate in 2010 for Writer’s Digest/Poetic Asides. He continues to learn and grow.