Saturday, April 1, 2023





It soaks into the palette of metaphysical colors,

it gains momentum before it turns into a word.

He tears the canvases of secrets, though he is silent

the night is still dark and ready to fly.


Drills tunnels among the network of neurons,

penetrates through locked doors,

kills others. One among millions

sleep washes away from the eyelids too early, in the morning.


Language cannot keep up with thought,

when it is born in the soul or in the head

and no speech will tame her,

for the word of spirit will not speak.


Sometimes it pours on the paper in a trickle,

dripping with rows of simple sentences.

Through a sieve in the heart, he catches another thought,

turns into seed so that crops may grow.


Carbon Monoxide


They melted into each other in the warmth of the fireplace

like dew drops on a wonderful meadow.

The blood in the veins hardens,

soaked up the taste of wine.


The world got lost somewhere in unreal fog,

which rises from fire to oxygen.

Hot bodies like two lanterns

spark wildly.


I rest my head on a nearby shoulder

and I hear the rhythmic throbbing in your soul.

You hypnotize with your hands in partial shade,

I melt in them.


Envious ashes from the depths of the hearth

it settles with pollen on shiny skin.

And we're tired when the morning comes

we sleep longer.


Avenue Of Stars


in dark puddles they drown their sorrows

rain-washed umbrellas

in mini skirts

they started to feed

city prostitutes


like moths attracted by the glow of street lamps

the misty alley serves as a catwalk

a day full of dreams

dreamed a career

the night without customers is long


in the symmetry of life as in the mirror of the eyes

from right to left

along opposite

same houses and same colors

two ladies in one

called "whore"


white boots so identical

stained with shameful mud

monotonic waiting

when the night is finally over

a stream of tears washes away the sin of street maidens

with dyed blonde hair

red dresses

bottomless pockets

only in them



in the dark blue of a wonderful night

driven by their own choice of fate

puddle only their mirror

blank reflection

they desire in vain

enchant the world




EWA KIEC: Ewa lives in Tarnów, Poland. She collaborates with the literary internet group Enchanted with words, images and melodies and took part in three anthologies of this group: Where Christmas is praying, Enchanted with the endless summer meadows, and A palette of autumn colors. The second Anthology about the war in Ukraine is in the process of being printed, both with her participation, Without Losing Hope' ', and the charity Anthology,, Bringing Help' '. She is a laureate of the Association of Polish Authors in the One Poem Competition under the slogan "Iskra" - 2nd place, "Hope" - distinction. Her poems were published in the literary magazine "Bezkres". She has been officially posting for a short time, many in online groups, but her content has received a warm reception and support. She dreams of publishing a few of her own volumes. She collaborates with the literary groups "Słowa closed wersach" and "Klub Poetów Niepokornych". She likes contrasting, expressive comparisons, appreciates the beauty of nature, human emotions and thoughts on existence.

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