POETIC BLOOMINGS

We are quickly approaching the end of one year and beginning of a new year. Our poems and stories inherently have beginnings and endings, and so there you have it. No matter what you write, you are in sync with the prompt. 😉 With that, let’s begin …

MARIE’S POEM

A PLEA TO MY GOD

It’s time to unveil
a new year. Inhale fresh air,
and care for what’s there.

Let my voice take wing
to sing in the key of peace.
May mercy increase

where now there are chains.
Where cold-heartedness remains,
may warmth fill my veins.

Let love with no caps
gush compassion, not rationed
in morsels or scraps.

Make me teachable
and easily reachable
when You wish to speak.

Please help me seek You.
In new ways through this new year,
help me feel You near.


© Marie Elena Good, 2021

My apology for sharing an older poem.

WALT’S POEM

SMOLDERING EMBERS ENDING

Lifting into the sky,
a string of flickering light.
A random path to the stars,
as each pop and crackle
augments every pinprick
in the evening darkness.
The lake is still, reflecting
each fleck of every spark presented.
All sent heavenward
until the campfire finally dies.

© Walter J Wojtanik

Everything has a spirit, a basis for its being. Using the title “The Spirit of ___” find the spirit and write your poem.

MARIE’S POEM

“But when he had thought this over, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit.’” ~ Matthew 1:20

“ … an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream. “Get up,” he said, “take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him.”So he got up, took the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt, where he stayed until the death of Herod. And so was fulfilled what the Lord had said through the prophet: “Out of Egypt I called my son.” ~ Matthew 2:13-15

POSSIBLE PONDERINGS OF A CARPENTER NAMED JOSEPH

God gifted me a mind to work with wood,
which business customers respect, it seems.
I’ve taught my son my craft since his boyhood,
but never spoke about my angel dreams.

The default mind of carpentry is ruled.
It’s symmetry. It’s slated, and exact.
A carpenter is practiced, skilled, and schooled.
I see in my own son much more than that.

I cannot count the multitude of times
these angels’ words return to haunt my mind.
My years have not played out in paradigms —
my anchor-bolted views left far behind.

I cannot say I’ve understood the role
as asked of me by Mary, or by God.
I’ve questioned in my heart and in my soul,
if Mary’s story was a mere façade.

Though some advised me, “Have her put away,”
I knew the horrid fate she would have faced.
I could not stand the thought that they may slay
the one whose love and life I have embraced.

But, truth-be-told, it’s turned me inside-out,
accepting what the angels showed to me.
I sometimes wish I’d chosen my own route,
but then I look around me and I see:

The pureness of a son we can’t explain.
His understanding of the ancient scrolls.
An innate wisdom he could never feign.
We’re wholly humbled to accept our roles.

© Marie Elena Good 2025

(Sorry I didn’t follow the title rule.)

WALT’S SPIRIT:

THE SPIRIT OF MY FATHER

I hear it in the darkness of a dream filled sleep, my Father’s voice. 
Reassuring. Comforting.
Directing my every step in choreographed
mimicry of his own journey. 
I feel a hand
placed lovingly on a shoulder slouched
and weary from the burdens life provides.
It is an affirmation that my direction
is right and forward moving, all learned in the spirit of his nearness. 
Nestled in this son’s heart,
respect and reverence are his, burnished
with love and temperament that his example set.
No regret comes with my genealogy.
I am my Father’s son. I will carry his torch.

(c) Walter J Wojtanik – 2025

Ponder “I am _____ .” Poem your ponderings.

MARIE’S POEM

I Am Not There

I am not there, where you are. 
I try to understand through your eyes. 
Through your heart. 
But I am not there, where you are.

Sometimes I think, perhaps, maybe
we are experiencing life
in multiverse. 

I am not convinced it even exists.

But
I am not there, where you are.
I look at what you look at,
but I don’t see what you see.
I listen to what you listen to,
but I don’t hear what you hear.

And you are not here, where I am.
You look at what I look at,
but you don’t see what I see.
You listen to what I listen to,
but you don’t hear what I hear.
You are not here, where I am.

And I am not there.

© Marie Elena Good 2025

WALT’S POEM

I AM SANTA CLAUS

I am an enigma; a legend,
insistent that the season becomes
the most important thing.
It is for the children that I work,
and it seemed that they came
to appreciate this generosity,
which was rather rare.
Up in my spacious
hamlet I plan, amidst the hustle
and bustle (and time to rustle a sugar cookie
or two) with my diminutive minions
to charge through more rapid than eagles.
Rather happy, rarely sappy, I continue to hurl
myself into this chore clenched fist and more until I think I will burst.
And when I laugh my belly shakes,
a right jolly old spasm! Bridging the chasm
of disbelief, for a dedicated cause.
There is no mystery here. I am Santa Claus.

(C) Walter JWojtanik

Poet Joyce Kilmer wrote the famous poem “TREES” and in it he states, “only God can make a tree.” We can’t make trees, but we can write trees. That’s our charge for today. Write a poem inspired by trees.

MARIE’S TREE:

“The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit.” ~ Nelson Henderson

heart of selfless life
holds hope for those who follow
in time and footprint

© Marie Elena Good 2025

WALT’S TREE:

OUT ON A LIMB

You’re on my branch.
You had the chance to land
here where I stand.
The view is sweet,
tweet, tweet. Tweet, tweet!
We seem to be a diverse lot,
I see across the open plot
of land where groups of us
are segregated. There’s sparrows
underneath the tree,
and robins in the clearing,
some cardinals held aloft,
softly singing their song,
that is the sound we’re hearing.
The talk of hawks does circulate
as they circle high above,
we need to keep the small ones safe,
it’s the tasty ones they love.
There goes “Johnny one note”,
 his chirp is so annoying.
 It is invasive to this place;
and the peace we’ve been enjoying.
The sun, it warms before the storm,
but  we’ll soon be moving on
as seasons change. And one by one
they’ll take to wing, some will remain
to bask and sing, and I will sit
a wee bit more here on my branch –
a chance to just exist; to be.
To see the world from high in this tree.

(c) Walter J Wojtanik -2025

Walt and Marie are both dealing with the consequences of high winds, water, and ice this week. Consider how these (or other) forces shape our world, affect our lives, and inspire your poem. Via our poems this week, let the elements speak.

MARIE'S POEM

Erie's Gale

Wind gusts at fifty
wreaked havoc on her for hours.
So she said, “Enough,”

and she up and left,
carrying all she calls hers
to Buffalo’s banks.

Her now-vacated
western shore gets foot traffic,
sans ruby slippers.

© Marie Elena Good 

WALT'S WORDS

EERIE GALE

oh, how the winds do blow,
sometimes rain, 
sometimes snow,
battling the elements 
raging like elephants,
tremendously trumpeting
with winter’s fury.
Every flurry overblown,
pachyderm monarch
rides nature’s throne!

(c) Walter J Wojtanik - 2025

The night is a special time, holding many mysteries. Personal or communal, we all have a connection to the spark that nighttime offers. Write a poem about the night.

MARIE’S FAVORITE NIGHT:

holy night

weary woman
unwavering man
essential census
compulsory journey
night falls
tired feet
aching back
labor pains
town’s inns, full
feeding trough (it will do)
dead of night
a scream pierces the silence
The Light dispels the darkness

© Marie Elena Good 2025

WALT IN THE DARK:

IT'S THAT TIME

It’s that time of night 
When the stars whisper
Loudly, proclaiming
Their domain over
The evening sky.

All is silent and still,
Save for the railroad
Noise that toys with
My sleep patterns.
It is that time of night.

It might seem trivial,
But night is a big deal,
A real time to unwind,
To recline and slumber 
and sometimes lumber

In the darkened night,
Going bump to stubbing toes
in the nightlight glow.
Now, moving slow
I allow that time to find me.

At that time of night,
Thoughts of past loves faces
Grace my dreams. But it seems
none but one has stayed a reality,
A loving solidarity under the stars.

At this stage of life,
My night time,
My moment of truth, 
recalling lost days of my youth,
In that time of night.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik - 2025

We have written about sunrise and sunset. Highlighted the moon and stars. Everything beautiful inspires. What about mud, slush, fallen leaves … everything that is a nuisance could also inspire. Write a poem with that in mind. Muck and mire qualify.

MARIE’S POEM

‘sno fib

snow
falls
blankets
silent white
‘neath a moonlit night
sparkling, mesmerizing quiet
snow plow’s grating rasp
car exhaust
gray slush
muck
mush

© Marie Elena Good 2025

WALT’S POEM

LIVING WITH FOG

thoughts congeal,
once fluid
they become a barrier.
the scarier thing
is those thoughts flow 
less freely. it is really 
a shame and it’s 
clear what’s to blame.

(c) Walter J Wojtanik - 2025

Music hath charms. Our lives are accented by music. Choose an instrument you play, would like to play, or you just love the sound of. Incorporate it into your poem.

MARIE’S HARMONY:

“Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.

O, Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love; For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; it is in dying that we are born again to eternal life.” ~ Anonymous (attributed to St. Francis of Assisi)

Sonnet to Lord, Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace

Of many writings I wish were my own,
this certainly resides among the best.
And while this poet’s name remains unknown,
their heart’s benevolence is manifest.

And oh to be an instrument of peace
And oh to harmonize with God’s great grace
No dissonance released from my mouthpiece
No notes omitted, wrestled, or misplaced

God likens clanging cymbals and loud gongs
to those who harbor hate within their soul.
I want to spill His love where there are wrongs –
the love that brings us peace and makes us whole.

Don’t want to be a cymbal or a gong –
Just long to harmonize with Him in song.

© Marie Elena Good 2025

WALT MUSIC: 

THE KEYS TO LIFE

It seems to me
that everything 
is black and white.
Through all the sharps
and flats. Eighty-eight 
keys unlocks one tune, 
a song to sing each day.
In its way an anthem
for a life neatly composed.
An insane refrain to bridge
every note in a melodic way.

(c) Walter J Wojtanik- 2025

This weekend, times change. Incorporate the change into your poem. Fall back and write on!

MARIES TIME:

and here is sixty seven

in my heart and head, 
i am perhaps in my mid-forties.
but there is evidence
to the contrary.

the calendar.
the mirror’s tales.
wiry whites.
the body’s limits. 
the body’s size.
sensible shoes.
invisibility.

fewer cares of 
what the calendar says.
the mirror’s tales.
shiny dark hair.
treacherous hikes.
size six jeans.
cute shoes.
second glances.

time moves forward
and with it, 
changes
and with it,
contentment.

© Marie Elena Good 2025
 or maybe I am just trying to convince myself ... 

WALTS CHANGE:

TIME CHANGES 

Turn back the clock,
Turn back the page
to another time,
to another age.
Time is fleeting 
waiting for no one,
under the moon
over the sun.
No matter the reason, 
no matter the season,
minute by minute,
hour by hour,
second by second
we have no power 
To manage time.
Let’s face it, as it stands
its out of our hands.

© Walter J Wojtanik - 2025

Rain, rein, reign and if you’re playful rayon will cut it, but only by the yard. Let’s drop those poems and let ’em pour.

MARIE’S RAIN

The Mighty Maumee

A rare lack of rain drained her.
This drawn-out drought has brought about
a strange change:
Never-seen-before bared river floor
lets us walk as we gawk
at the bed we can tread.

© Marie Elena Good 2025


WALT’S REIGN

RAIN OF TERROR

Rumble, tumble,
flash and rain 
Wakes my grandson
 up in pain.
Finding comfort in my arms
until he falls asleep again.

(c) Walter J Wojtanik - 2025 

BTW… it’s a great day for a birthday, right Marie? Happy Birthday !🎂