Wednesday, June 1, 2016




and yet dead silence
sometimes modest moans
of withered leaves
rotten park bench
grows hot roots
into the soil
exposed to nature
to acts begotten
of human reactions
and random impulses
a witness and a participant
of biological acts
simultaneously spiritual

on the bench
with the bench
under the bench

artistic confession
ad populum
transgressing rules
of one's weaknesses
a meeting not With
but Against
a result of delusions
self sacrifice
apotheosis of blood
of alcohol in the river of tears
transcendence of voices
of the five senses
the smell of chemical reactions
lingers long
after the audience departure

on the bench
with the bench
under the bench

“ Under The Dead Dog “ Bar - a reflection, 29th January 2015 Toruń

words like birds
have their nests everywhere
some of them only sometimes
leave their home domains
some of them settled, hoot dully
uncertain of their local roamings
Autumn they change the shades of meanings
Winter chased away by storms of metaphors
they hide themselves on frosty cliffs
to arrange themselves in a brief poem...

words, similar to birds
bear yet unfledged thoughts
sometimes they merely roost
nest in early Spring
like birds of passage
they stay only for a while
others glide in allegories
all forage all year long
in the fields sown with meanings...

XIV International Unesco Poetry Day
2nd April 2014, Warsaw


when I touch
the stage space of coherence
of voice and body
of movement and stillness
of the logic of a scream
of silence and a whisper
subconsciously I discover
the truth of emotions
of my acts...
the smallest untruth
of physical reactions
brings out the immense untruth
of the range of my emotions
of my thoughts
of my imagination...

In life I miss
the realization of
the logic of events
the stage opens
this space for me
the limited stage time
activates alertness
concentration and perception...

to animate the inanimate
to be able to listen
to pass on
one's visions
without visions in my art
I am as
a cut flower...

Musical Theatre, Torun 28 January 2015


on our island
pearl stones dance
as we
on the night as clear
as Your eyes

on a sleepless night
a spring night...

the archipelago of friendly heights
gazes in Your direction
to give You
the atolls of coral
and the virgin
turquoise lagoons
on a sleepless night
a spring night...

under the canopy
of silver clouds
cool Your hands
moisten your lips
with eternal greenery
smooth your glance
with the arms of lianas
mark their presence

on a sleepless night
a spring night...

for You I create
the archipelago of islands
I sow the forests
I call the birds
with a fragile whisper
I turn into
the Polynesian
God Tangaloe
I talk to the wind
near a dream...

on a sleepless night
a spring night...

27th May 2014, Torun

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