What Helps A Tight Chest From A Cold

DŁUGOSZ

(b. 1941) - poet, singer, composer, actor, columnist, author of radio and television. In the period 1965-1978 related to the Cellar Under the Rams. He has published several books of poetry, including "Lessons rhythm" (1973), "Light Afternoon" (1989), "Guest Rooms of Music" (1992), "From what is" (1996), as well as several albums. He lives in Krakow.

Prayer for Them

God give strength to let believe
That quarter of a second, and less still
Earlier though, and the slightest glimpse of where he managed

Your merciful angel messenger
overshadowed them his wing, pulled
He raised and before he embraced
runęli
I did not die here on Earth
Spirit fair, Will
of pure love for this faith
give power to Mr
That there fell in the Katyn Forest
Matter shattered only
A former abductees
The Ark of Thy Mercy
- These are the survivors
creature of man on earth
Lepianko poor ... you believe it?
- I believe Mr

April 2010

first edition: leszekdlugosz.pl

Steve Prefontaine Talent

WOJCIECH Banach

(b. 1953) - poet. He has published books of poetry: "Instantaneous picture of the world," "Field of Destruction" (1978), "Slalom" (1980), "Symultana" (1981), "Black Box" (1991), "There were a few" (1997), " Crossing "(1998)," Common Points "(2000)," A selection of poems "(2004)," screened by the cases' (2008), "Not only the angels" (2009), "A man from a neighboring cage "(2010). Lives in Bydgoszcz.

Fitted

difficult

close the list and leave the forest behind the altar



thousands of crosses at the altar
96 empty chairs

fog again

and again you have to tell the truth


first edition: Wojciech Banach, "A man from a neighboring cage", Bydgoszcz 2010

How To Straighten A Leather Belt

ROMAN

(b. 1964) - poet, editor of the "Vicinity of New Poets." He has published volumes of poetry: "/ / point used / s / for / cze.pien.ia / /" (2003), "Pork tongues" (2005), "Cam_era obscura" (2009). Prize Laureate. Kazimiera Iłłakowiczówna awarded for the best book debut of the year. Publish on the site, "Polis. The city of Mr. Cogito."

II Katyn

dedicated to John Pospieszalskiemu

letters carved in stone
smoothed eye
soft drink rain water



from paragraph breaks away the last shred of air



scream and silence Long shots


coming from a lake as a foreign word

movers slowly in the gathering air


high wall ahead of them cloudy

Wailing Wall when they reach the individual drops as they hear
opens with a creak


steel tunnel runs deep into the eye of the skull

in search of light

swaying branches under water


waving forests or somewhere so that you can slot

go to the root path infested pine trunks rough

intact claw

lurks something like a salamander
screaming spots on the turf just
echo corresponds to the questions


they are no longer of this time


over them unbuttoned white dragonfly wings
guillotine

letters turn into sand
clepsydras
crying in the trunk of the birch

with charred bones

slowly emerges
unadulterated sense


21/04/2010

subsided when the lights went out terror

remaining forest dump


commemorates people in a very strange poses
broken chairs
murdered body
the red and white checkered

play dice with shreds of red cloth flapping

here and there on the branches of the tin cup

teeth fall out

jagged pieces of sheet metal strip
hide them łopoczących
sleeves Moscow archivists
clean up
selects
convincing evidence We just give
was sdiełat '
all quietly waiting for the arrival of

bulldozers

07/28/2010

panorama

skewed
cross the mossy forest

quietly steaming earth
broken wings, the trees

burning bush wall
leafless forest

mad
otrząsający with mud


frosted steel cross with ashes

ballast

plane plunged into the ground


08/10/2010

over mymi feet

mymi feet above the creaking rafter
sky
trapped in a steel cocoon

through the cracks
look at the inverted landscape

flutters before the eyes of the pine twig

flashes her charred wood from which protrude

black rib
fog flows like a shroud


10/04/2010

fragment of the

rub your eyes / Jerusalem / because you zarosną cataract / Can not you see that your / your troops are broken / and the enemy is no longer beyond the walls of thee / but in the middle of the city / if you do not see it winning totems / can not hear you laughing łupiących soldiers / destroying it / you / loot is not possible / Can not you see that Your daughters are slow slaves / joyfully kręcącymi silk cords on their own necks / wake up Jerusalem / Blow Your Trumpet / because of you did at no / even a stone / a stone / a plow with your sons will be a foreign land / stwardniałymi fingers from the pain / 03.10. 2010

each of us has ever sold / says call-girl / prostitute exclusive / http://www.tvp.info/magazyn/po-godzinach/kazdy-z-nas-sie-kiedys-sprzedal/2595748 / or the Sales adds / volunteer / from the La Strada Foundation / he says it with great conviction / this business sucks / why it should be viewed as a boundary / A limit / repeat her / some / 05.09.2010

I do not trust what I see / false perspective / filmed / from the mobile platform / viewpoints assembled / images / superimposed on the image / long I do not believe in what you hear / I look good every word / the light / fruit tree of the knowledge / are poisoned / contaminated sources / 01.09.2010

это была простая ошибка / самолёт с польским президентом / Landed near the airfield / smolensk-North / tenth of April / two thousand and ten / year in the morning at ten o'clock / fifty-six minutes / error / ten hours thirty-eight minutes in the morning / before an unsuccessful landing made four test landing / error / landing only once, any of the pilots did not know Russian language / error / they are well spoken in Russian / during landing / three people injured / perevozitsya them to the hospital / error / the whole crew cpazu ybit / it was простая ошибка / 05.08.2010

in heavy fog / the creaking bones / the smell of white mud / air shed skin and from the gibberish / thick like a moth to / from the water of death of a gloss metallic coat / emerge mangled leather bags / in a well-cut suits / on the edge of the language / only one / word / short as rattle / body through the head / 23.07.2010

who

who follow clues
blurs the wrong versions of destroying evidence multiplies
lying podle looking straight in the eye poking
once again to our troubled

who dissected belt of truth
who dips his fingers in this dirty
who draws the stars to forgery
stage

media institutions who guides us false
ether fills it again clears
shattered lies
naked truth of the hatred whipped

who gag bitter
we assume that the cry of the opposition effectively suppress
who day and night we attacked
impairing the senses of the mind will

who kindles in us the wrath of hell
or companion or enemy is the one who cleaves
common language
szczując against each other

08/06/2010

first editions of all rows: Polis. City Mr. Cogito and the good-nowiny.pl

read the entire volume of Smolensk on the blog author

Can Coconut Oil Replace Butter In Cooking

Misiewicz Matthew STACHOWSKI

(b. 1974) - Franciscan friar, poet, singer and guitarist Taukers. Winner of a Literary Foundation Elblag. The year 2010 will be the debut volume of his poems "Insomnia." Full of pastoral ministry in Gdynia.

Memorial President Lech Kaczynski and all victims of this tragedy in a plane crash in the forests of Smolensk

is to provide God count
and pity for them
but how are resurrected body
sticky when they are part of the land

Zbigniew Herbert, Buttons

Then you will know them, good Lord,
When the time has come to appear before you? Flames licked
exactly their faces, new forests of Smolensk
harassing mourning.

again will be providing the copper buttons, for the Homeland
That gave their breath in the dust
I turned up as promised
Each of living, it will be saved.

So how do you recognize them, dear Father in heaven,
When runęli down on the wings of Icarus,
Leaving the emptiness in which you see, trust is
real and true faith?

You will know them by the courage, you will know the hope
Which shone in their souls like a torch,
And now the inscrutable fate
turn lead us to the desert once led a column of fire.

will recognize them by heart, which is not dead, because in his chest
Homeland consecutive beats. Although
ourselves and our times
black veil shrouds the mortal sadness.

You will know them, O Lord, though the flame rubbed their faces,
And death stopped them, undermining the future tense.
And we remember the suffering of the fire;
will preserve their history and language.

April 10, 2010 at 15.oo Gniezno

first edition: franciszkanie.gdansk.pl

Daemon Tools Age Of Empires 3

MIROSŁAW WOZNIAK

(b. 1957) - poet. He has published volumes of poetry: "Bone and an apple "(1998)," Exit "(1999)," Building a house "(2002). Publishes in" Frondzie "and" Arcanach.

Triptych Katyn

first vigil

If anyone was watching, the devil, if anyone watches
, God.
blood rises again, which long ago sank into the Katyn
down.
wrapped up, goes upward,
earth in a jar rozpęka,
to welcome visitors from the west,
welcome them in Smolensk.
Behind them was a small country,
stripped from the former size.
I do not know who's playing at the top
with us in the marked cards. Airplane
draws circles around
a milky fog. Big
zwarły forces.
Smolensk forest walks.

II. Something

something happened sometime between Gibraltar and
Katyn
something happened now

Smolensk took place to fulfill

closed circle
was something like I understand
not understand than in the tooth

III. Las

came to me tonight

Smolensk forest silently pine and birch, and that time


the circle of skulls przestrzelone
- what do you want from us, O Lord?
odmówiłyśmy
treason to deny the rosary

wanted to escape to escape
but I will not have the strength
too generous gifts are your
of grave national

Trap

It's such a place on earth
between someone and someone
so-so passers-by,
it a plane, which flies in the pious, of course, intentions,
resistance to the invaders, and
love peace and quiet,
who does not know the price, then the action
"Storm" or share "Picasso" or
room with the pigeon in its beak,
anyway trap
which the locks, the cat is saturated
prey,
the cat or the other, probably both
be satisfied with the time.
God himself, after all pledged to trap,
to defend us from ourselves
.

Airport

This is the Russian land, our airport, your airplane may
hardly comes close,
no one here was not invited, no one is waiting for you, let
białopolak Smolensk passes away.
so hard to understand you Simple things for us?
cichły birds will again doorstep
spring and will go into the world a warning from the Slavic brothers
wanted to Katyn? Well, you Katyn.

Testament

am lost as I lived,
on the road to Katyn,
did not want to die, I just wanted
,
letting others know where they come

and where they are going

those who say goodbye to me, say that
died for a legend, without which the nation

wanderer is like a stray in Fog

not know
I know that it is shapeless as mist forest,
when he wakes up to life at dawn, and the graves


now I'm back on the road,
humanly speaking, the last one,
those who say goodbye to me They say
that this road leads to the Wawel Castle, where the heart beats
legend says
glory dead, live together
calling

DZIADOWSKA / BEGGARS song about the tragedy

When Kaczynski was lost
swayed, swaying trees
,
ułożyły up the cradle
trees in the Katyn Forest

When Kaczynski was lost
heart trembled, and then ran ahead

crazy like a flame before it goes out. How
flame
as an aircraft wing detached


When Kaczynski was lost
God looked, the devil is enjoyed.
thoughts ran ahead and died insane

in the dark as the grave

forest was lost when President Kaczynski
ground trembled for a moment, then
around silence as night fell.
Trees in Russia as the cradle of fog
woven
hands devil

Up

until the column of Zygmunt
freakish snake
pozakręcany
do not know where to stand
if I continue. And they stand

tomorrow will be going

want to survive. Candles
sea of \u200b\u200blights
flowers garden colors

dry eyes cry as always - on time of season.

May Soon chants and then Pentecost.
Eternal rest. Daily
mess.

on 04/10/2010

not closed the airport did not close their mouths

grow on Polish soil
new Katyn oaks
Let us flowers as with the Slavs
drop of blood rosary

first edition of each poem: "Arcana" 2010 No. 4

Cats Swollen Anus And Clear Mucus

HENRY Krzyzanowski

- English teacher, lecturer at the Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznan, the author of textbooks. interned in the years 1981-1982.

President goes to the Wawel
- sad song

the rings requiem bell cloche,
Salonowcy - stop all this uproar.
sad musings about time, please, when the President goes
Wawel Castle.

Who leads the funeral ceremony? Some
shadows, bloody uniforms,
you in the pits of Katyn arose, the President
go to Wawel.

They go slowly, but even step, because they march
sounded grave.
inscrutable God
sentence with the President pulled the Wawel castle.

pass the threshold when the royal rooms,
short call - time to give an account of the mission,
then sleep - the first night had among their
with the President, which he brought them to the Wawel Castle.

Ciiiiiicho! But I can sleep ... wake
their fate in us what is pure and right? Let
reconciliation - and the political parties and people
day when they arrived at the Wawel Castle.

April 14, 2010

first edition: Heinrich Krzyzanowski Blog at fronda.pl

What Is De La Ghetto Hairstyle Called

Jarosław Marek Rymkiewicz

(b. 1935) - one of the greatest Polish poet, essayist, playwright, translator, literary historian. Professor at the Institute of Literary Research, Polish Academy of Sciences. The most famous book: "What is Classicism" (1967), "Thema Regium" (1978), "Julius Slovak asks about an hour" (1982), "Street Mandelstam (1983), "Conversations Polish summer of 1983" (1984), "Żmut" (1987), "Umschlag" (1988), "Baket" (1989), "My work post-mortem" (1993), "Leśmian. Encyclopedia "(2001)," Sunset in Milanowek "(2002)," Slovak. Encyclopedia "(2004)," Hanging "(2007)," Kinderszenen "(2008)," Samuel Zborowski "(2010). Laureate Awards Foundation, among others. Koscielski, Prize. Stanisław Vincenz, winners in each category Solidarity ", the prize of the Paris" Kultura "s Award Foundation Awards, Prizes and Prize Nike. Józef Mackiewicz. He lives in Milanowek.

to Jaroslaw Kaczynski

homeland is in need - that is to say: Villains
again took to his eternal work here
Poland - say - and yes, even the nice
forward But let apologize to those who were harmed
Poland - they say - great but you have a little
civilize her - let him kneel on peas
Let wiser to change their habits may
Because of these moherami it can not live
And again, there are two Polish - are the two faces
James Jasinski, rising from a book Mickiewicz
Poland did not ask whether it is willing to die
And he knew - this was not permitted to select two Polish
- that they knew all the prophets
And this takes you into the arms of midnight car
Two Polish - one wants to be liked in the world
And the other - that we were going to the carriage
This in our blood as a royal banner
wore our most sacred of ancestors mystery They will say that the wound
the pathos - pathos
here you have here, I'm talking about the eternal fate of
What do you do? - Ask us now
ancestors, and no one on this question for us not reply
What we split up - it will not mend
can not give into the hands of the Polish
thieves who want us to steal it and sell the world
Jaroslaw! You still owe something to Brother!
Where are you going? The Polish what will happen?
That's us now ask a burned body
I is such that you need to do something on this
Let the Lord hold - Dear Mr. Jaroslaw

Milanówek, 19 April 2010

first edition: Rzeczpospolita 21 April 2010

Reduction Of Labia Majora Uk

CHRISTOPHER KOEHLER

(b. 1963) - one of the most important poets of the tribe "bruLion", a literary critic, essayist, historian literature. Professor and lecturer at the University of Cardinal Stefan Wyszynski University in Warsaw. He has published books of poetry: "Poems" (1990), "Failed pilgrimage" (1993), "Partisan Truth (1996)," The third part "(2003)," Abduction of Europe "(2008). Author of scripts for documentary films and television shows (including "Sarmacja, namely Poland," "You have your poet!", "Song of the holy post from the old Polish poets gathered"). In 2006-2009 director of TVP Kultura. He lives in Krakow.

Answer

shoes, red laces, sneakers
Rozczłapane with Carrefour,
step by step, Turkish jeans, rolled up under his arm
blankets (because the queue
camped at night) and commercials, sweaty bodies,
ai man with a child in her arms,
on crutches, as he tried to kneel, and even the venerable old man
, AK-sheep?
Did you see?
seen a nation?
I saw the flag stands
In łopocie on Market Square in Krakow,
How intones a song, until the windows are shaking,
as looking for a place that, in the Blessed Sacrament przykucu
somewhere
At the other end of the square, inside, erected
hands of Cardinal
adore.
I saw, I saw, I saw.
lit candles and whole bunches of flowers
passed from hand to Hand
as amok,
busy, from place to place, with an eye camera
the sky,
How ants
an eye Staring at the ground.
not see the ground, pick up at the sky
head!
not see the ground? How not to look

the ground, since I'm from the land?
these wypoconych blankets,
This utytłany standing, sooty
Knotkiem feeble candle
Since stretches out from the crowd, I see little
because he hides,
Bothers, climb up on your toes, and large video screen
But I do not even see it. Neither
heads or shoulders, lower back,
breathe, sing, cry.
I look in the sky?
And what I see?
Yes, his head in the window: the glass
flashes in the gilded
frame: Collective
coverage of elation and the National
account of conscience: this is
Count injury and injustice, aesthetic
Disorder and pathetic pathos,
Collection degeneration.
"He woke up the demon,
risen corpse,
woke up the demon,
risen corpse
I poisons, poisons, kazi,
filtered, raving
Nacjonalnym slang people.
Pah! "
sky and white clouds on it and invisible

Paw dust, which embraces us, presses,
closes, leaving the square. Same
.
So you better the computer screen, hundreds of times
This
same film siren
I shot in the misty woods, to the
attached to them, solutions,
Decisions, a presumption
"I do not understand or do not want
scared, understand?"
My Lord, the wayward in your children
crowd.
blind, seen
Attracting,
Lost,
tainted recovered, cleaned
burned, crushed, smashed
, distributed
the dust, gunpowder, the steam
the crunch.
squads
Companies honor
and cannon volleys,
and piercing shriek.

I mutter through tears: Oh, do not forget
About me: do not forget
About me: do not forget
About me, remember me
behind us to pray.
How could I have forgotten about you,
If you forget, or forget,
never forget how to forget hear
remember I am.
In the heart of me.
I stayed longer.
I will not open grave
Bo and did not close the tomb.
opened the gates of the heaviest
We are in Poland now.
In Poland we are again.

1910-1922 April 2010

first edition: "Rzeczpospolita" ("Plus Minus") April 30 - May 3, 2010

Live In Indiana Work In Michigan

WOJCIECH Wencel

(b. 1972) - poet, essayist and columnist. He has published books of poetry: "Poems" (1995), "Ode on St. Valentine's Day. Cecilia" (1997), "Ode sick soul" (2000), "Holy Land" (2002), "collected poems" (2003), "Imago mundi. Poem "(2005)," Underground Butterflies "(2010)," De profundis "(2010), collections of essays," Accommodation is in the Cathedral "(1999) and" A recipe for a masterpiece "(2003) and a selection of essays," Heaven in my mouth "(2010). Is the winner of the Award Foundation. Koscielski, Poetry Competition them. x. Joseph Baki, Prize. Kazimiera Iłłakowiczówna, Prize. Fr. Janusz St. Stepson and Awards Artus. Columnist weekly "Guest Sunday." A member of the magazine "44 / Forty and Four." Works with dwumiesięcznikiem "Arcana" and the vintage "Political Theology." He lives in Gdansk Matarnia.

In hora mortis

Poland will not die until we perish
while our older brothers migrate to the land where the secret

beat source streams gush forth therein
death falls to his knees before the eternal existence

killed instantly in the dark forest, pray for us
insurgents there to Middle-earth channels go

path leads through the grave of the Lord - there is no way you have to wrap
in a shroud white and red

they cease to toughen us a shot in the poll
planes will fall behind or front of the airport

cold wind from the eastern provinces are still blowing us in the back
reed bends infraction candle flame flickering

and the more nonsensical your death seems
the fold so that the hotter you are a native nation

only the winner with his God
a kiss of death has labeled the head

April 10, 2010

first edition: "Guest Sunday" 2010 No. 15

Forty-four

About old life no one remembers
burning candles before the palace of President

with a foreign mother, the blood of its former bohatery.
And his name will be forty-four.

Polish
confinement in the dark are not the Christ of nations are

Jonah in the belly of the whale
ah go go to the Nineveh

April 13, 2010

first edition: "Rzeczpospolita" ("Plus Minus") from 1924 to 1925 in April 2010

Ms. Cogito

Memory of Anna Walentynowicz,
died April 10, 2010 in Smolensk
and buried in the cemetery Gdansk
Street Srebrniki

darkened your city at midnight from the wharf
the gentle slope of a moraine in the concrete tower blocks
to put
molded from small the great goal of people long since subsided

Community
singing at the gate once and for all time confiscated leaflets
to the gallery - the business - the crowds banging
Russian tank just as he was standing next to the yard

maybe it will not be in this world can you invented
Herbert
you were faithful engaged to a dark end to
not umiałaś the showrooms to be wandering

sleep but now guarding what you Peepholes
buried in the ground on a sack of silver coins
moon shines brightly
Athenian your profile: Justice

first edition: wojciechwencel.blogspot.com

interpretation Jan Pietrzak (music Mariusz Dubrawski)

Icarus

Pieter Bruegel: Landscape with the fall of Icarus

His the mythical decline was not noticed
still traded in gold and cotton plow
waded through the black earth and the ships sailed
shepherd of your sheep przeliczywszy hundred
has turned their backs to the sea barczystymi
and dreamed of the heavenly almonds

had no feathers on the water you would think that nothing
not happen here (Daily life always wins, is more durable than
great tragedies.)
but we felt the horror of looking at the landscape
because they do not yet healed wound of the world, and the air quivered
as the body of the convict

question claws of the beast, or the sun daggers
in fact it does not matter because
dark essence is always the same
bring the height and unurzać
in the mud outside the picture frame was watching us closely
offender: sunrise or a demon Southern demon

April 10, 2011

first edition: teologiapolityczna.pl

Water Temparature Sending Unit 350 Chevy

PRZEMYSŁAW Dakowicz

(b. 1977) - poet, literary critic, literary historian, Doctor of Humanities, Assistant Professor in the Department of Literature and Tradition Romanticism University. Regular associate of the bimonthly "topos" and quarterly "shoulders." He has published collections of poems, "Süßmayr, death and love" (2002) and "Either / Or" (2006) and literary criticism book, "Helikon and surrounding areas. Notes on Contemporary Poetry" (2008). Editor of the collective volume "My Musierowicz. On the work of the author Jeżycjady "(2008). He lives in Lodz.

song of buttons

ah ah candy papers on patent leather handbags

in sticky mud, abandoned ringing cell

quiet book without eyes and shawls from the neck

detached from the blast, and shirts buttoned

oh my white buttons buttons buttons

descending into the dark earth when they fall silent screams

under a shroud of ash talks with button button

juice earth whispers corroded brass and plastic

but what I can not hear speak love so silly

screams when a tree breaks the Smolensk black coffin in the coffin

burned body covered with a face like an apple

and that a light tinge of eyelid

if you really are our brother the same things to the world

yesterday knocked us whether you know it can

is our mother, although her features

crushed into a heap of dung

śmieciska Hustler thrown

tell mother what to do who I am a face whose

looks in the mirror and that the truth kills

remains of your inherent dismembered body in the mud

members rejected let off the wound

jątrzą

my forehead it burns the back of the skull pinches

mist coming darkness falls down laughing opens

papers in which they fly and buttons buttons

descending into the dark ground when they fall silent their cries

under a shroud of ash talks with button button

juice earth whispers corroded brass with plastic

April 26, 2010

first edition: dakowicz.blogspot.com , "topos" 2010 No. 2 -3

Xanax And Acute Narrow Angle Glaucoma

SIMON BABUCHOWSKI

(b. 1977) - poet, journalist "will be on Sunday", lead singer of the band Good Spirits, Doctor of Humanities. Winner of the third edition of the Poetry Competition. x. Joseph Baki and Prize Foundation. Fr. Janusz St. Stepson. He has published volumes: "The matters of life, death matter" (2002), "Time stukających rattles" (2004), "Poems on the wind" (2008). In preparing a book of "timetables." He lives in Katowice.

Tren Smolensk

is to go in that forest - open window through which wyfruwali
from the basement into the light like a sharp whistling
ball change them as if they
angels wings grew from a single shot

the gauge shows a meadow and red poppies
Poland of which dreamed that neither eye nor ear
know - just a grain of faith here
thrown out the window once

bear fruit in this transition came now like living torches and burning
with them at a joint funeral
is a draft in those woods - blows through the window plane
nawleczony the eye of a needle

1911-1913 April 2010

first edition: free. art.pl / babuchowski , 44.org.pl