Monday, April 1, 2019




Drops of rain fall
on a cold window sill,
someone will say it's raining again
it is not worth leaving the house.

The poet will close his eyes,
listened to the rhythm,
will flow music -
will start to write a poem.

Far from sadness
although the sky is crying -
sob, which often
accompanies the rains.

From the words collected
will arrange a poem -
about the smell of meadows
swayed by the wind.
Jadwiga Bujak-Pisarek


From today even closer to you,
I'm afraid and my thoughts are looking for excuses.
I am going on a forty-day journey -
stared, boundlessly trusting.

I'm taking nothing but a poor life,
a soul who is afraid of the future
I know mountains and deserts in front of me -
a slice of bread, a sip of water is enough.

You told me that you will be our way
It is a pity that few have heard these words -
maybe the wind drowned them, the rustling of grasses,
or maybe they just stood too far.
Jadwiga Bujak-Pisarek


Your voices will not be silent than moans of dying,
nor crime will be buried under the heaviest boulders.
When a repetitive lie wants to shout the truth
the land groans, flows in blood and red colors.

In mocking glances, the sold cowards,
which the criminal has decorated with the traitor uniforms -
hungry for power, applause, smile of a sycophila,
with a gun, torture, little like a flea.

Heroes are quiet, in inhuman suffering
they behaved as they should be faithful to their homeland.
Polish nobody threatens you with their ranks
soldiers like Oni - the most faithful of the faithful.
Jadwiga Bujak-Pisarek


they are waiting for return,
there are traces left on the handle
wet hands.

No, it's not water but tears -
companion of farewells,
left empty.

And though your words
they smell of wind,
the sun adds
warm tales.

Half-opened waiting for
like a slice of bread, honey and
warm milk in a mug.
Jadwiga Bujak-Pisarek


You're still beautiful,
my soul is silent -
he does not answer
for your good morning.

The cat mumbles sleepily
on a warm sack,
takes over the lead
over the lightness of thoughts.

It's nothing that you dress the sky
in bright golden colors,
and in the sun
you are moving further,

they are submerged in dew,
on the branches przysiądą -
birds warm with the wrapper
before the morning singing.

She is silent.


JADWIGA BUJAK-PISAREK Ur. May 22, 1957 In Świebodzice. A clothing technician by education. Editorial secretary Laureate of many poetry competitions. The Poet of the Year 2015 honored with Statuettes by the editors of Dziennik E-Literaci for the overall activity in the field of literature in the last five years 2010-2015 and the 100th anniversary of Niepodległości for long-term cooperation. A member of the Literary Association 'Witryna' in Stalowa Wola. A member of the International Literary Group "Kwadrat" in Krakow. A member of the Association of Polish Authors in Warsaw. She has published four volumes and is a co-author of six literary issues. thirteen anthologies, including one religious and three international. Her poems are translated into English. They are published in the international monthly: "OUR POETRY ONLINE ONLINE ARCHIVES, MONTH OF POETRY". For several years, he has been publishing on the website, where he gained many regular readers. Participant of Festivals, literary workshops and meetings: Festival of Song and Patriotic Poetry in Lubaczów - 3rd place in the poem "Even today"; The first, second and fourth festival "Lubaczów Poetic Autumn" in Lubaczów, where her two poems were available for the Museum of the Borderlands; • Participant of the 15th "Jurassic Poetic Autumn" in Zloty Potok and the "Festival of Slavic Poetry" Cieszyn 2015. Participant of the project titled. "ACTIVE SENIOR" Founder of the independent Saffo Poet group, in GBP in Zebrzydowice and organizer of cyclical meetings in poetry in Zebrzydowice.

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