When windows become doors and doors windows, when every next bus stop is a rushed page away, and a kachina doll collection takes on such importance continue reading
Tag: poem
One day
I thought if I moved on, one day I would have a decent bed, lined with satin strokes and a longing “once upon a time,” with Chet’s Almost Blue and merrily misplaced cufflinks continue reading
Hope against hope
I remember when “for ever” simply complemented “are we there yet?”, only to turn into “for as long as it is humanly possible” over time. But as The Freewheelin’ has stopped spinning over the winter months continue reading
The inheritance
Sometimes I take pictures of genre scenes with half-empty bottles. I hoard them in rolls of undeveloped film lying around in the drawer continue reading
My deathbed bride
When I close my eyes, will they shine once you trade my touch piece for the waterway toll? You know, there is no room for us both, continue reading
The anatomy lesson
I remember you asking me, what if the only autobiography is a few stains on the shower curtain and an online shopping history? Would I regret it? As we stand on the crowded bus, my fingertips brush against the spine continue reading
Nothing left but small talk
When there is nothing left but small talk, like a sip of water, the silence goes smoothly along with a bag of scorned books and a bundle continue reading
Sunday morning
It’s Sunday morning. Someone on the telly mentions Wordsworth. You know him vaguely, akin to one of those random Latin proverbs you try to impress others with while pretending not to notice labels dangling from your wrists. It’s Sunday morning. continue reading
The tower
My name is Rapunzel. I live in the tower. Nothing fancy, but no point in complaining. After all, who is to notice that the cheap wallpaper has long since stopped pretending continue reading
What can’t I see?
When I was young, I used to read novels. I read a lot. And then I stopped. Probably because I wished for something more, something better, something real.continue reading
All the trinkets of the day
Waking up hurts. A glass of buttermilk and a handful of vitamins as a breakfast substitute and a momentary dedication to oral hygiene measure the effort needed... continue reading
Only the fear and tears
I didn’t sleep well last night. Already disheartened, I spent the usual eight hours in front of the computer. ... continue reading
All it takes
It takes a comedian to stand firm on a besieged stage where every day is a deadly rehearsal for a tragedy written and directed by an amateur historian. It takes ... continue reading
He is playing the cursed card!
And suddenly, it went quiet for a moment of disbelief. He is playing the cursed card, only it has long ceased to be just another ... continue reading
Putin, go fuck yourself
It would seem that everything was going according to plan. The weather was good, the protesters came in decent numbers, there were flags, banners full of angry slogans, candles. ... continue reading
Kyiv, not Kiev
My word processor struggles with the name Kyiv. For some baffling reason, it suggests that I mean Vicky. At least it does not mind a psychopath, a thug, terror, war, ... continue reading
No time for regrets
A bully gets bolder over time, taking advantage of the passivity of decent people. So now, as we wring our hands over Kiev, ... continue reading
Why die for Kiev?
Do you remember these words? To fight alongside our Polish friends for the common defence ... continue reading
A pain in the…
Well-mannered people mince their words, presumably so as not to hurt the feelings of others. But when one casually mentions ... continue reading
People like us
Nobody loves people like us. Endearingly naive and possibly just as self-centred, we crave ... continue reading
The cadence of her steps
First, there was the ancient lyrical cadence of handclapping, which scared the gulls and attracted the eyes of rare passers-by. ... continue reading
Is there any coffee left, Dad?
“Let’s talk about Friday night.” “You know, it’s only Tuesday morning?” “That’s exactly my point.” ... continue reading
The day after yesterday
Solitude requires concentration. It all starts the day before, in the evening, with the effort of setting the alarm clock, until “effort” and “time” stop being synonyms. The vocabulary soon expands to include a new definition... continue reading
Necessities
“Your dinner is in the microwave.” He stared at an old plastic container with a misshapen lid, filled with a random mix of vegetables, some fresh and some canned, and water with a dash of olive oil. Dinner has always... continue reading
Nothing but silence
His greatest ambition had always been to be uneven, somewhat passé in every step he took, as he denied himself too much sense ... continue reading
The misery of the poet’s life
The poet was cursing the misery of his life. The small hermitage in the centre of a large city that he now shared with Mr. Nothing and Platocrates witnessed many of his misfortunes. Once conceived ... continue reading
To invent the fly
As he wandered through the shouting streets of Friday night, Mr. Nothing wondered if it was worth trading his tinnitus for the promise of fun at McNasty’s, as the name itself was ... continue reading
On the eve of returning to the office
Upset Mr. Nothing tried to remember the last time he had tied the Windsor knot. The blue shirts hung neatly in the wardrobe, waiting for the moment he would return to his previous routine. ... continue reading
Xin nian kuai le / San nin fai lok
There were words that had been uttered with great emphasis in the rush of youth that had misunderstood a disillusioned old man, ... continue reading
The usual glass of cognac
Hearing the moped passing down the street, Mr. Nothing thought about that morning when, instead of the usual glass of cognac, ... continue reading
Two years ahead
“In a week, you will be forty-seven.” As he listened to the first gusts of Storm Malik, the poet wondered where their names might have come from, but at these words, ... continue reading
That long glance
He was probably a little more articulated than most of his peers, and at that point, too deprived of any further illusions to stand the excess of their attention without even a single bitter note. ... continue reading
After summer comes spring
Undercooked yellow split peas taste exactly like undercooked yellow split peas. There is nothing surprising about it, and you know it beforehand, ... continue reading
On the waiting list
As lofty as it might sound, the prolonged wait to meet destiny made Mr. Nothing sometimes forget the taint in his chest. But then a twinge or a waiting list reminder brings him to heel. ... continue reading
Just like the first time
The old business card used as a bookmark told Mr. Nothing the last time he had attempted to read the sesquipedalian first-fruits of the poet, ... continue reading
The one who asks the question
There were words that Mr. Nothing did not trust the dictionary to provide an adequate definition for. For instance, what was he supposed to say ... continue reading
Just another man
Mr. Nothing watched the poet tinkering with a typewriter and Platocrates weighing white and black pebbles in his hands while looking thoughtfully at a large clay jar standing in front ... continue reading
You were carrying the cup
The poet came to the conclusion that he lacked a good biography. He was not a war hero, not even a child of war. ... continue reading
Deceptive meadow
The poet would likely find better words, but Mr. Nothing only ventured to repeat after a song, as tormented by the myriads ... continue reading
A fallen eyelash
A glass of water at Old Blackfriars caught Mr. Nothing's thoughts, while the poet's playful banter charmed a jasmine gaze on the other side of the table. It was the taste of the water, somewhat salty with some sip, ... continue reading
As real as an act
Like all great inventions, love is an act of fiction. And while you may tend to focus on the “fiction” part, I would suggest paying ... continue reading
Untouchably close
They sat next to each other. He tried to rewrite her name in his untrained jiǎntǐzì. She amusedly tilted her head at the sound of his tongue twisters. Their doors were closed, ... continue reading
For the poem’s sake
“Nobody reads poetry these days.” Mr. Nothing shifted a questioning glance from the pages of Britannia Depicta ... continue reading
A reflection
One sunny afternoon, the poet expressed some concern that there was nothing in his life but a popularity contest. And then Platocrates burst out laughing, although it was ... continue reading
Who knows
A genius or a madman, the poet really knew how to touch a nerve at times. Even the simple-minded Platocrates, in the depths of despair, on occasion insisted that there was a reason why poets, although treated with respect, ... continue reading
Facing the fool
Nobody listens to Platocrates in Castlegate any more. Even the seagulls were more interested in the scraps of bread than in his tortuous arguments. The thing is, nowadays, the agora has moved into different realms, ... continue reading
Always trying
He had always wanted to be able to play the piano or the violin, for that matter, but at this point, Mr. Nothing, although reluctantly, admitted that he could actually be ... continue reading
A stroller
Mr. Nothing knew many things, but nothing of much importance. On warm afternoons, on his way to a walk along the promenade, he liked to stop at Castlegate and listen to the old drunk Platocrates ... continue reading
Alter egos
Mr. Nothing looked at the man he had become, the man he had once wanted to be, and the man he had a chance to grow up into, ... continue reading
A bookworm
It was a beautiful winter morning, so I finally decided to go for a walk. I changed, washed my teeth, polished my shoes, checked all the socket switches and water taps, and, making sure everything was fine, left. ... continue reading
Undefined
I never really knew what was expected as me, what part I was supposed to play, and there was always something rough ... continue reading
In case of fire
Rain is just water. It does not hurt to watch the drops trickle down the glass. I still remember when, out of disposable moments, ... continue reading
A resolution
So, here we are, another year, another pile of unfulfillable goals and wishful thinking. But this time, ... continue reading
The source of footnotes by my bed
I always have a book on my bedside table. The same book, ... continue reading
The penultimate day
As eleven degrees Celsius attracts awakened flies and anti-vaccine rallies, the crowded promenade, filled with the barking of dogs and the cries of gulls ... continue reading
You who enter here
So you finally made it through the winter's allegro non molto. Now, lying on the shore of the Channel ... continue reading
Legends
A little girl watched an armada of biremes hurtling to the north-east with the Lacedaemonian army and their proud king, her father. ... continue reading
All that matters
The winners write history textbooks, the others cover plain fields. There is nothing revealing about it. One could say, a simple fact of life. And it worked out just fine for millennia. At least for the winners. ... continue reading
well then?
i should have just stayed invisible. with a body that hurts in so many ways, my voice finally leaked all over the bed ... continue reading
the heelot’s prey
i was a teen when i first heard the colonel mention them, the heelots, that they had got a stranglehold on me, and filled with dread, i added, before i was even born. ... continue reading
a lesson in logic
if the dumbest of creatures are always the happiest, then my miserable disposition inevitably leads to the conclusion that i must be particularly bright, ... continue reading
the good book
there is something appalling about the idea of a secular bible, as if we were that poor relative from the provinces, skilfully imitating metropolitan customs yet somehow not quite right. ... continue reading
a brew
i must be alive, since i am writing this stanza after i walked you home and said goodnight, even though it was morning. i must be alive. ... continue reading
a napkin
as charming as he may be, a poet is not a husband-material, because sooner or later he will turn your life into a cadence of words scattered randomly across the page. so you better ... continue reading
a jolly picture
the shadows belong to the nooks and crannies, so when one dares to step out into the brightness without a veil of delight, one will get slapped ... continue reading
only twenty years late
should we embrace the word finally or just allow ourselves one more moment of self-pity? when there is not much left ... continue reading
the missed vigil supper
there were supposed to be twelve traditional dishes and carols for a family celebration, but why bother with all that when there is no family to celebrate? ... continue reading
in faery lands forlorn
cast adrift in provisional scenery, like sleepwalkers, we move along the grooves of a vinyl record ... continue reading
and join the chorus
i do not like christmas carols in december. i really like them in july, when it confuses people ... continue reading
a forsaken word dweller
my name is not important, but if you would like to hear it, listen to the rain in december. my age does not matter, but if you must know how old i am, look at the granite road paving remains at the gallowgate, ... continue reading
the pillar of shame
i still remember when my father brought home our first vhs player. it was a rarity in communist poland. ... continue reading
otherwise-wise
sometimes it crosses my mind that i have probably had exorbitant expectations. otherwise, what a problem it was to find someone ... continue reading
laughing hysterically to get noticed
when i read the diary of my favourite thinker in english, knowing the polish original, i was a bit disappointed. on the other hand, ... continue reading
you were the only person i knew
i think we should buy a copy of casablanca or maybe when harry met sally would suffice (oh my goodness, i love that pecan pie!, ... continue reading
a little more to live
i guess i just like to sound a little melodramatic as while nibbling a carrot, ... continue reading
the poet’s life
what does it mean if, when your ex uses you, your daughter does not even acknowledge your existence, and you fall for your friend ... continue reading
a word of sudden hope
it was four shillings' worth of words, moved gently once across millennia and given with a thoughtful line to soothe the nights of chilling blackouts. i found it hidden on a shelf ... continue reading
the one we missed
tell me, whose fault was it that we tried to escape the autumn scent, naively believing in the linden blossoms collected that summer? you taught me to follow your inattentive gaze into shady alleys. ... continue reading
as time goes by
it was supposed to be magic, except that she had never heard of as time goes by, and magic has been in short supply lately. so, as i walked her home, i let myself draw an imaginary line ... continue reading
all is calm, all is bright
a homeless couple hidden from the rain under the mercat cross play carols on flutes to remind strangers what a decent life is, ... continue reading
to the brothers anti-vaxxers
i am feverish, so i might rave… kidding, these are just mild flu symptoms. but my arm hurts ... continue reading
all i need
the last piece of flatbread ruthlessly reminds me of all the insatiabilities i scrupulously note down every time i check the pantry cabinet, the fridge, ... continue reading
i did say yes back then
politics is for grown-ups, not for a poor poetaster immersed in the juvenile world of mr. magorium's wonder emporium, who is fairly disappointed that he cannot breath in and out ... continue reading
enjoy your wedding!
a woman in a wedding dress expects anything but disappointment. and she should, because, frankly speaking, otherwise, what is the point? ... continue reading
all is vanity
today i learned a new expression: the bureaucracy of death. i heard it from the custodian of peace of mind, ... continue reading
elusive reasons for concern
as i slowly begin to forget the names of people and places, and the titles of once-favourite songs say less and less, the evening nap suddenly becomes ... continue reading
it was just another task
when i was half my age, i saw a dead body directly in front of my face, lying on the hood of a van. it was a driver who was thrown out ... continue reading
the motivations behind
if i were writing about the indigenous peoples of america, canada, and australia being second-class citizens in their ancestral lands; or if i were writing about palestinians ... continue reading
but life goes on as usual
nights with the prince of cool, dim street lights outside the window, a glass of water enough to accidentally blur a crooked handwritten note ... continue reading
the definition of a home
back at home… a phrase that, even after over a year, i still feel uneasy saying. and i am not bothered by the penny plain furnishings, as long as the bookshelves ... continue reading
true desires
i am not looking for a woman to die for, but one that i would like to live for. i could take her to the lake, ... continue reading
to be a man
i am a man. but what does it mean? to be clear, it is not about my flat chest and what is in my pants. it is not even ... continue reading
the moment before i get up
it is five in the morning and my maltese friend just woke me up to let me know how much he appreciates my stanzas. i am cold. the temperature dropped below zero, so i moved my mattress ... continue reading
lost on the run
i do not remember if i was young for long, if i had a teddy bear, or if i was afraid of the monsters under the bed. ... continue reading
a shrug or whatever it is
people find me funny when i am angry because i am angry, although usually just sad and otherwise unremarkable. ... continue reading
the symbols of fear
many years have passed since i learned the greek alphabet. the first cause was, as always, the blind bard from ionia, followed by the three tragedians and the father of comedy. ... continue reading
farewell
lapped with gusts of wind, the longing sound of violins sinks into the rapids of pavement, flooding the rainy day with pachelbel’s canon. ... continue reading
inappropriate questions
every time i die, word by word, breaking through the stanzas, i reveal my anointed embarrassment resting on the paper catafalque. every little slip, ... continue reading
the toll of the night
you do not have to be particularly unhappy; sometimes all you need is to not be happy enough. then you get your gaiety booster ... continue reading
falling leaves caress shadows
maybe i listened to too much dylan and read too many romantic poets, but who could blame me for feeling disappointed when, while searching for the path ... continue reading
hidden pilcrow 