POETIC BLOOMINGS

Choose a local landmark with which you are familiar. Use it as your vantage point, and take us there with you.

MARIE’S MARKER


Connecting Neighbor with Neighbour

Completed in 1929, the remarkable Ambassador Bridge over the Detroit River is about a one-and-a-half-mile suspension bridge that connects the U.S.A.’s Detroit, Michigan with Canada’s Windsor, Ontario. Being likely the most unobservant person you’ve ever (or maybe never) met, it amazes me that I’ve never found myself unintentionally on the entrance ramp. I’d have approximately 7500 feet to contemplate how to handle my situation upon arrival.  My chances of being prepared, dignified, and self-assured are nearly nada.

“Hi!  Give me a hug!
Finally, we meet! And me,
without my passport.”

© Marie Elena Good 2026
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Walt with love:

Something is missing.
There’s always something grand, here.
Holding space for you.

Marie


To our Bloomers with love:

Walt is very sorry he can’t make it to be with us at this time.  He spent time in the E.R., but is (thankfully!) back home, resting.  This space sure does look empty without him.  He will try to write when he can.  We will all look forward to that!  In the meantime, I know prayers are appreciated.  ❤

Miriam Webster describes cause and effect as “the direct relationship between an action or event and its consequence or result.” Though MW does not specifically mention Poetic Bloomings, your hosts are quite certain we all would be considered a delightful example of cause and effect: You ponder our prompts, then pen your brilliant poems. Ta-da!

MARIE’S RESPONSE

Welcome, then Watch

Women who are new to our country, culture, and language enter Miss Tatyana’s classroom for their first day of school.  For many, it is their first day of school ever.  They enter a clean, well-lit, lovely room. They are greeted with warm, smiling eyes, and an offer of tea.  They see words they can’t read, written on a large whiteboard, “I didn’t come here to teach you. I came here to love you.  Love will teach you.”  These words, from ancient Indian scripture, speak the heart of their new teacher.  She translates the words to their own language, and watches as their nerves visibly ease.  They hug, love in return, and begin to learn.

When welcomed inside
and planted in prepared soil,
non-native plants thrive.

© Marie Elena Good 2026


WALT’S EFFECT

SHAKEN, NOT STIRRED

Start with a soda,
shaken, not stirred.
Release the pressure, 
expect the absurd.
Spritzing and spraying
all over the walls,
up to the ceiling, 
to the floor it falls.
Off to the kitchen 
to toss in the sink,
soda, soda everywhere 
and not a drop of pop to drink.

© Walter J Wojtanik - 2026

The Olympics are winding down and most medal have been awarded. Write a poem that plays on any one of the awards. Make your poem gold, silver or bronze.

MARIE’S FIND

Alysa Liu

Proud daughter of a
political refugee,
gold wasn’t her goal.

Those who’d see her worth
only through a gold medal,
wouldn’t see her worth.

© Marie Elena Good 2026

WALTS AWARD

SPINNING GOLD FROM STRAW

A fairy tale.
Frail princesses have a penchant
for apple merchants and peasant
witches. Life is not a Disney show.
And you know in the end princes
and their mates are relegated
to dust all the same. Must we always try
making silk purses only to leave deaf
sows in our wake? Spinning gold
from moldy straw can get old.
Your best bet is to get your donkey
in gear and move to where
you make your own dreams come true.
Then, it’s your fault if the vault is bare.

(c) Walter J Wojtanik – 2026

It’s Valentines weekend. Hearts abound. So we’ll continue in that direction and write heart poems!

MARIE HAS HEART

May we learn by heart
that live is three quarters love
and one quarter “I.”

(c) Marie Elena Good 2017

WALT IS RARELY HEARTLESS

MUSIC OF YOUR HEART

Hearts beat in rhythm,
a song of true love’s making,
never forsaking
the message it gives.
It lives to keep us dancing
for hearts are that way.

We chose how we step,
a waltz of passion’s fire.
What we desire
keeps moving our feet.
It’s the music of your heart
in this life’s slow dance.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2026

There’s no mistaking, it’s cold. With the high winds and accompanying snow, it seems magnified. Today we’re writing things related to the cold. From the frigid sensation to frostbite, comfort food to a blazing fire, write something cold. Keep warm and share it through your words.

MARIE WARMS THE HEART

Five Hygge

Trust sweater weather
for steamy mug of tea
and warm conversation.


Affecting music
even with no lyrics, moves
the coldest of hearts.


Winter Olympics,
please bring earnest empathy
nation-to-nation.


Mittens are better
for keeping fingers warm,
for they get to cuddle.


Each winter, our birds
follow suet meals with a
preheated bird bath.

(c) Marie Elena Good 2026


WALT IS FROZEN

CRISP AND CLEAR

The sun shines,
an anomaly in the frigidity
the February skies offer.
Snow, blanketed and pristine,
untouched by any muddy thaw.
The winds are brisk
still clearly as biting,
still inviting a dance
in winter’s wild waltz.
Days from now her return
will be vile and virulent;
hell bent on reminding
that winter leaves
when it damn well wants to.
Looks are deceiving;
the sun shines!

(c) Walter J Wojtanik – 2026

Yesterday is history. Today is current. There is no promise of tomorrow. We’re projecting into the future. But, let’s not put off ’til “Tomorrow” what we can write today. Write your tomorrow.

MARIE’S TOMORROW

Todays and Tomorrows are Made of Moments

I hail tomorrow
as if this day I have is
not nearly enough.

Or dread tomorrow
as if this day I am in
is all that matters.

Lord help me embrace
the moments and hours of now,
before time slips by.

Help me spend my time
in ways that venerate You.
Not frivolously.

Not indifferently.
Kindly.  Considerately.
In lockstep with You.

© Marie Elena Good 2026

#seventeenintwentysix

WALT’S TOMORROW

THE CASE FOR TOMORROW

Sleep awaits, and there’s no guarantee
that you’ll awaken from your slumber.
But you rest anyway, hoping the day ends
and the new one picks up the pace.
It would be a slap in the face
if you don’t make it until morning.
It happens without warning,
so be prepared (and don’t be scared)
what tomorrow may be giving.
For as long as you are living,
each new tomorrow is a gift.
So lift yourself daily and gaily proclaim,
“Each day from here after,
I’ll have another just the same.”

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2026

We are presented with a choice. Do we have plenty or do we not have enough? Find your poem in the fullness of either choice.

WALT’S POEM

SORRY DOESN’T SEEM ENOUGH

It was a note of sort,
a post card maybe that said
all that was in her heart.

She had left home years ago,
a chance to break away and cut her teeth,
out from beneath her family’s reign.

The manipulation had left a stain,
that caused her much consternation.
Her situation was precarious,

and her angst was a serious breech
of the sanity she hoped to find on her own.
But memories were stifling, the weight bearing walls

in her room for one. And now, scrawled across
a dogeared swatch of paper, all that was in her heart.
It said, “I’m sorry!” and nothing more.

©Walter J Wojtanik – 2026

Walt, this is an incredibly moving poem.  I'm sorry I won't be joining you and our wonderful poet family this morning, but hope to be able to soon.  ❤ 

Marie

Time is tight according to the old Booker T song title. Seems like time is more than fleeting. It’s like we have no time. We’re writing a “no time” poem.

MARIE’S POEM

“We have only today.  Let us begin.”  ~ Mother Teresa

You know the saying: “There aren’t enough hours in a day.” For me, it seems true. Whether I’m swamped or have a relatively clear schedule, tasks sit languidly. Then there’s, “God gave them more than 24 hours in a day.” This isn’t a saying. It is simply what my husband and I tell each other regarding a few people we intimately know.  These are people whose eyes appear to focus on the manifold good God seems to ask of them.  Their hands and feet don’t falter. They accomplish more in one day than I do in perhaps a month.  Evidently time is of no concern when motivated hearts are in sync with God’s own.

“She would have helped
had she just found the time,”
the saddest stone cries.

© Marie Elena Good 2026

WALT’S POEM

NO LONGER ON TIME

Thoughts keep rattling in my brain
in a flow of unconsciousness kind of way.
I feel the schnook, with page after page
of irrelevant rhyme padding my pyre.
Words flee in an escape toward clear through,
breaking the block that every writer fears
from time to time. It keeps me sane,
(at least for show) and I look for the window
that offers a way out. I can’t see how holding me
here serves a purpose. It mocks me.
What I gain in solitude, I lose when I throw
it out the gape, neither rook nor pawn,
just a tool to be worn and discarded.
Yet, poems are key to my survival.
And my muse is on the clock!

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2026

Life is a mystery! And the first order of business is solving the mystery of how you will respond to the prompt. Let’s go!

Marie’s Ambiguous Message

The Mystery of Trade

ring for hand
watch for red herrings

© Marie Elena Good 2026

Walt’s Wowing Words

THE MYSTERY OF POETICS

Sir Edmund Hillary had it pegged. I scale my mountain of poetry because it is there. I write poetry because I can. I write poetry because I can’t sing or dance. I had given my voice a chance to entrance and entice others to emotion. I reach into my heart and write how it feels. It is as real as breathing. I am seething with the life force of words.

Who brought me to rhyme is a mystery. My history with words stemmed from a debilitating shyness in my youth. The truth is I would stammer and stutter, but my words seemed to flutter on the page. At that stage, it was my saving grace. I’d never lose face unless my words failed me. From romantic to farce to fantasy, I would fancy expressing my soul with words. Neruda thrilled me. Langston Hughes was my soul. McKuen and Lennon spoke in emotions I could only imagine. They were mentors all.

Poets whisper in sweet song
long after nightfall,
Mountain of verse slumbering

(c) Walter J Wojtanik – 2026

Is there a single day you are spending time and energy planning? A day you’d give just about anything to return to? Perhaps one day you wish to ______ ? Contemplate the essence of just one day in your life (or the life of another living thing), and creatively share it with us.

Also, it’s been a long while since we’ve had the pleasure of conversing with one of our own, giving us all the opportunity to get to know them better. Please stop by to give Nolcha Fox (aka crazy4yarn2) a warm welcome! Here is the link: POET INTERVIEW – NOLCHA FOX – POETIC BLOOMINGS

MARIE’S POEM

Two Doors Down

Mom and Dad used to live
two doors down from us.
Some mornings
Dad would walk over,
sit down for a cup of coffee
and a few laughs.

Eventually, coffee became
an excuse for a talk.
For questions.

One day his question was,
“Will you keep this in a safe place for me?”
He opened a tiny matchbox-sized box,
pulled out a piece of paper that was
folded, and folded, and folded, and 
he read it to me.
It was a poem.  The first he’d ever written.
He was a young boy, and it was to his dad
who had unexpectedly passed.
I watched him fold and fold and fold
and carefully put it back in the box
while I pondered why suddenly,
after close to 7 decades,
did he need me to keep it safe for him?

One day his question was
from his doctor:
“Do you have a plan in place for if
she becomes violent?”

One day his question was,
“Do you think I need to worry
about her beginning to wander?”

One day his question was,
“What will I do
the day we wake up
and she doesn’t know me?”

Two doors down from us,
Mom and Dad used to live.

© Marie Elena Good 2026

Mom passed February 9, 2018. Dad passed 35 days later. They were interred together on September 8, 2018 — the anniversary of their wedding. 

WALT’S ONE DAY

ONE DAY

We live a beautiful life.
 From birth, our achievements 
mark our time. The people 
who adorn our existence
are the crowing jewels. 
Maybe we were blessed
with loving parents,
caring siblings,
a cherished spouse 
and children and grandchildren 
making for an extraordinary life.

But one day…

One day my penchant for words will escape me.
One day I will breathe my very last.
One day my name will be forgotten. 
One day you’ll look up from your phone and I’ll be gone.
One day my voice will be silenced and you’ll yearn for its sound.
One day will be the last time I laugh and play with and hold my grandchildren.
One day all the skillls I’ve acquire will sit dormant.
One day the love my heart holds will be unrequited.
One day life as we know it will cease.

We will not know the day or time, but it will be one day.

(c) Walter J Wojtanik / 2026