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Poems

My dears,


memorable rhymes are the best solution for spelling problems. So I invite you to read my poem "Ówka".

owka.jpg

My dears,
on a cloudy day I am sending you my poem with Ania's illustration and a very long smile.

Dachshund

Being a dachshund is difficult,
you must have a long torso,
short legs, short neck,
long ears, slender line.
That's all and that's it.

Being a dachshund is a strong thing,
you have to have character,
bark loudly, so loudly,
for all guests to hear.

Tofik, Fifek, Rudy, Rydz,
you have plenty of them here,
so choose my dachshund!

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zimowo 4.jpg

My dears,

it got so cold. That's why I'm going to share with you an untitled winter poem I wrote years ago. Today I don't even remember who I was thinking about then, but it doesn't matter... Anyway, I dedicate this poem to my old sympathies...

Winter hardened on the branches,
Clotted winter on hair, lips,
Winter hardened on the cat's fur,
Whipped by the frosty wind, it froze...
Black clouds are swirling over the city,
The sun wraps itself in a gray cloak,
Snow sticks to your eyelashes and hands,
The whole city is bathed in white...
The snow erases your tracks,
Fear creeps into my soul...
The Guardian Angel touches my hand,
Where you stood, the snow is melting,
The frozen leaf turned green...
The flower shook it before you gave it
When you entered my hall...

wiersz rekopis m.jpg

My dears,
today I'm nostalgic and reflective because I miss you so much.

Weronika Madryas


Wrocław, December 26, 2023

Conversation with Grandma

I put a candle on the grave,
where are you, my dearest?
and He, Your Beloved Husband
to eternal rest…

A thin layer of snow
she hid the letters.
The leaf is carried in November
clung to the cross.

The wind knocks down
tears from my eyelashes.
Frost salty drops
turns into ice.

I already know you're gone
and I am afraid of great loneliness.
And that without you I will forget your kindness...
...and I will lose the sweetness of my heart
in the indifference of everyday life,
How dearest to you, stranger.

I put a candle on the grave,
where are you, my dearest?
and He, Your Beloved Husband
to eternal rest…

spadajace liscie.jpg

Weronika Madryas
Wrocław, 23/08. 2016

Grandmother

In your eyes
my childhood froze...
...a time of innocence, carefreeness and dreams
that is irrevocably gone,
invoked in vain by the more audacious…

…Time is inexorable
he looks at the childish with pity
and shakes his head.
Finally, he yawns tiredly
and to the final one he says:
It happens that I extend my old age,
and I shorten my childhood. Never the other way around.
And death is what it is
"just and unfair",
as you wrote,
he just chuckles and rubs his bony hands...

These two chat and joke,
like we did when I came back from school
and I watched you cook dinner.

I see you clothed
in a long dress,
made of soft fabric…
Hair sprinkled with silver
high above the neck
you pin up…

I still see
like a pinch of salt
add to sorrel soup,
how you knead the Sunday dough,
and then you prick it with a rod,
like reading a book
you soak up the evening sun…

And when so defenseless
like a tiny and shy bird,
Look at me
pleadingly as if,
these are words of comfort
dancing on the tip of your tongue…
…that you will finally meet
Your Beloved,
...that you will lose your old age
like a worn coat...
the one who tormented your body
pain and lack of fitness…

Only my great fear
before your absence
the language is paralyzing
and tells me to be silent

In your eyes
my childhood froze...
...a time of innocence, carefreeness and dreams

dyniowa wrozka m.JPG

Moi Mili,


zapraszam Was raz jeszcze do lektury dyniowego wierszyka. W tym roku został zilustrowany przez Anię. 

Weronika Madryas

Dyniowa wróżka

Pomiędzy górą a rzeką,
podobno całkiem niedaleko,
na skraju lasu chatka stała,
co kształtem dynię przypominała.

Pomarańczowa i pękata
turlała się przez pół świata. 
Znalazła wreszcie cichy kąt
i rzekła: Nie ruszę się stąd! 

W dyniowej chatce Dyniowa wróżka, 
dyniowa kula, dyniowa różdżka. 
A tuż za chatką zakręt w lewo, 
tam gdzie wysokie rośnie drzewo. 
I jeszcze kilka kroków w bok
i każdy westchnie: Co za widok!

Jak okiem sięgnąć wstęgi grządek,
pomiędzy nimi też porządek. 
Dyniowe pole pomarańczowe, 
och, jak cudownie kolorowe!
A nad dyniami tańczą liście, 
wodzirej wiatr pędzi przez świat!

Dyniowa wróżka o dynie dba, 
komuś zapewne największą da. 
Raz już karocą dynia się stała, 
kiedy Kopciuszka poratowała. 

Dyniowa wróżka figle płata
i zajrzy w każdy zakątek świata. 
I jeśli dynię pocałuje, 
to wielki owoc zaczaruje.

Ba, to nie wszystko Mój Przyjacielu, 
dyniowe pole widziało wielu.
Niewielu jednak wie, 
co dalej dzieje się. 

Pięć kroków w lewo, 
sześć kroków w prawo.
Pięć minut wolno, 
sześć minut żwawo. 

Na końcu widzisz stoliczek mały, 
na nim talerzyk oraz specjały. 
Dyniowa zupa, dyniowy dżem, 
dyniowe ciasto, dyniowy krem. 
I jeszcze placek, i pestki dyni, 
dyniowy przysmak w kształcie cukinii. 

I nagle znika dyniowy świat, 
i nagle mama woła: wstań!
Do szkoły znowu trzeba iść, 
Mnożyć i czytać, dzielenie ćwiczyć. 

Tylko w kieszeni dziwny szmer, 
Dyniowa wróżka śmieje się. 
Masz pestek dyni całą garść, 
nic tylko gryźć, nic tylko brać. 
Dyniowa Wróżka idzie spać.

Moi Mili,


zapraszam Was do wysłuchania napisanej przeze mnie, bardzo jesiennej piosenki i zaśpiewanej przez utalentowaną pianistkę Martę Skowron.

kasztan mp3Weronika Madryas, Marta Skowron
00:00 / 02:26

My dear,
I invite you to read my poem about Newcomer from Nice Things Gallery.

Weronika Madryas
Wroclaw, on 4.05. 2023

A newcomer from the Gallery of Pretty Things

Father gave me a Guardian Angel,
writer and poet.
He found it in the Gallery of Pretty Things
and took me and Anna Marianna to my house.
No problem with an angel
I thought as I looked at the cardboard box.

The angel fell asleep on a wooden board
  in a cast iron bed.
He covered himself with a quilt in roses,
he took off his slippers and put on a nightcap.
He hung his wings on the railing just behind his head,
He did not complain of back pain or discomfort.

Round glasses with wire frames,
feather in hand and open book
waiting patiently for the end of the angel's sleep...
Asleep cats and curious mice
right next to the angel's bed they doze.

The breath of the writer and the poet is calm,
kind and gentle face.
  Guardian Angel lulled by dreams
he probably keeps awake in his sleep
over Anna Marianna and over me…

Wiersz o myszkach m.jpg

My dear,


the war in Ukraine has been going on for many months, and it is still not easy to explain to children the enormity of misery and suffering that it brings.  I decided that a rhyme could be helpful in talking to the youngest. So I invite you to read.

Weronika Madryas,
Wrocław, 31/01/2022.

Nitup

Where the golden ears of cereals are
there is a land of little mice, 
who value peace and quiet
and pleasant silence around. 
They have blue sky in the flag,
gold suns from sunflowers, 
which are everywhere. 

Their neighbor is a rat king, 
who has a great desire to fight. 
I want to take over a mouse country, 
then move on quickly  w dal
Take the mountains and valleys
and distant lands.
"World! You'll be all mine! And I will be one king!"

Warriors call him Nitup, 
unwilling, savages.  
They left early at dawn, 
to destroy the lives of mice. 
The mouse king knows well, 
that it is not easy to defend yourself. 
He looks at his country with concern, 
knows Nitup's terrible plan. 

The mice will defend themselves, 
mice won't give up!
Little mice with their mothers
and with grandmothers, old people
Need to ship overseas, 
to save their lives there. 
For squirrels, foxes, hedgehogs, 
even strange bats. 

A little mouse called Mika
she landed in the chicken coop
"Corn, corn! We've got a mouse in our henhouse!"
Ko-ko-ko, ko-ko-ko, so what? 
Need to feed her soon. 
Haunted, skinny, 
we'll starve to death here."
As they said, so they did, 
they quickly watered the mouse. 

Today under the roost a mouse hole, 
no chicken goes there. 
Mika jokes sometimes
with the hen that lays the eggs. 
Red hen, very thin
she said what she knew:
Ko-ko, ko-ko, you have a hundred cousins here!
The one from the mole, wearing glasses, 
you would be a nice couple.
Two more in hamsters, 
sometimes they roam the henhouse. 
Well, a reed vole, 
hen's afraid, he's still sobbing."

Little Mika now knows 
what's going on in the chicken coop. 
But he misses his country, 
in front of the hens it fails.
Still waiting for news, 
listens to all the stories. 
You have to believe Mika that
war will end someday. 

A nice hamster called Tomik
brought a letter from the cat, 
who lives on the border. 
"Nitupa has been lost,
rat king as the night passed. 
When he felt a knife at his throat, 
great coward, great coward!"

Mika says goodbye to the hens, 
with hamsters and moles. 
"Corn! Kukuryk!
Mention the chicken coop.
Ko-ko, ko-ko, 
you always have a second home here!”

Mika returns to her homeland, 
to help save her, 
new cities build. 
The rat king has lost the battle. 
In life, as in a fairy tale,
when evil loses, 
good wins.

My dear,

the long-awaited day has come, when we expect a visit from a very generous guest. I wish you beautiful gifts and invite you to read a poem about Santa Claus.

Weronika Madryas,

Wroclaw, 6/12/2022.

Santa Claus

In the midst of a starlit night

snow-covered sleigh rides

harnessed to reindeer.

Among the stars

the Benefactor rushes into the world.

Gray beard and purple

has the power of gifts,

for one night.

In the great sack he may find

something for: Basia and Kasia,

redhead Zuzia, little Ania,

Kuba, Janka, nice Frania.

It's not a car and it's not a doll

have great power,

only the love he gives

you on this cold night.

mikolaj m.jpg
dyniowa wrozka.jpg

My dear,
I invite you today to read a fairy-tale poem. So let the photo also be fabulous.

Weronika Madryas

Pumpkin fairy

Between the mountain and the river
apparently quite nearby,
there was a hut at the edge of the forest,
which in shape resembled a pumpkin.

Orange and squat
it rolled halfway around the world . 
She finally found a quiet corner
and said: I will not move from here!  

In the Pumpkin Hut Pumpkin Fairy,  
pumpkin ball, pumpkin wand. 
And right behind the hut, turn left,  
where the tree grows tall. 
And a few more steps to the side
and everyone will sigh: What a sight!

As far as the eye can see the ribbon of flower beds,
order between them too. 
Pumpkin Orange Field,  
oh how wonderfully colorful!
And leaves are dancing over the pumpkins,  
bellwether the wind rushes through the world!

Pumpkin fairy cares about pumpkins,  
probably someone's greatest da. 
Once the pumpkin became a coach,  
when Cinderella came to the rescue. 

A pumpkin fairy plays tricks on it
and look at every corner of the world . 
And if he kisses the pumpkin,  
the great fruit will enchant you.

Well, that's not all My Friend,  
the pumpkin field has been seen by many.
Few know, however,  
what happens next. 

 

Five steps to the left,  
six steps to the right.
Five minutes slow,  
six minutes briskly. 

At the end you see a small table,  
on it a plate and specials . 
Pumpkin Soup, Pumpkin Jam,  
Pumpkin Pie, Pumpkin Cream 
And a cake, and pumpkin seeds,  
pumpkin-shaped zucchini delicacy . 

And suddenly the pumpkin world disappears,  
and suddenly mom calls out: get up!
Go to school again,  
Multiply and read, divide practice. 

Only in my pocket a strange murmur,  
The pumpkin fairy is laughing. 
Got a handful of pumpkin seeds,  
nothing but bite, nothing but take . 
The Pumpkin Fairy goes to sleep.

Good morning dear,


Today, on such a special day, on the day of memories of our loved ones, those who are no longer with us, I would like to read you a poem from the collection "Poems of Weronika" entitled "Silent as falling leaves".

wiersz.jpg

My dear,


in the vicinity of the Fairy-tale Green Hill there is a house called "Eden". It belonged to an old lady, a painter. Today I look with tenderness at the three pictures that I received one summer afternoon, when Ania and I went to our neighbor for an apple pie. I did not suspect then that this would be our last meeting.

 

  I invite you to read the poem.

Weronika Madryas 
Wrocław, on 09/06/2022
In memory of Lidia the painter Samborska

Eden

An old lady
she left the house near the forest 
She called Eden,  
to knock on the door of paradise . 

Autumn roses, shrubs, abundant walnut
remember tired hands,  
the same that they painted on the canvas with a brush
landscapes and wildflowers ...

The old lady left her Eden for Paradise.
Only immortal images
and the fairy-tale garden remained ...

Eden 2.jpg
Eden 1.jpg

My dear,

I invite you to read the poem and see the photos with the lavender fairies.

What's going on about purple in the lavender world?

In a lavender world
lavender fairies,
lavender brooms, lavender wands ...
Violet spells, purple words,
purple dreams in lavender heads ...

In a lavender world
purple flowers,
purple birds,
wonderful fragrances ...

A shard of this world in dried flowers,
a crumb of this world is a memory of summer ...

Weronika Madryas

Wrocław, 02/05/2015

 

Mr. Year

 

The year is counted by four ma,

every time knows different.

 

When the reign begins

it rules the country in the cold.

His white advisor,

clothed in snow and frost,

as winter known in the world.

Her coming dream brings

the night lengthens and the day shortens.

The branches of the trees are huddled in the snow,

but when the mood is gloomy

the frosty wind summons

and puffy white clouds.

Frost, her humble servant,

paint the glass with a breath

and icicles sharp as steel

will hang here and there.

 

At the end of March, the snow is melting,

green hair trees,

the sun warms bolder and bolder.

Spring is walking in a flowing dress,

he wears a wreath in a storm of curls,

in which the birds nest

and chirping in the thicket of hair.

On lawns and squares

crocus, snowball and daisy.

Tulips and daffodils in the gardens,

in even beds.

And radish and parsley

and watercress and duckling,

behind her, a drake and ducklings,

chicks are hiding everywhere.

But it can be a capricious spring,

then storms and rain calls.

Then she mellows again

and the sun caresses the wet green.

 

After her, the laughing summer,

crazy, sleepy.

Brings short nights with him,

and with them singing and dancing,

kisses under the stars

and confessions under the trees,

under bridges, on benches,

in gazebos.

Summer doesn't like worries,

in his carelessness he loses his mind.

And he is reluctant to work too,

but he travels a lot.

The blue of the seas, the tops of the mountains,

desert sand, forest thicket,

he knows various paths

and wanders here and there.

 

And only misses autumn,

romantic, thoughtful,

large-brimmed hats,

the straw and felt ones,

freaks out.

Give umbrellas,

baskets, coats and rubber boots.

There is a pocket in the cape,

where are the colors of the palette,

hides brushes.

And his moods change

clear, dull, misty, rainy,

warm, cool, beautiful, gloomy.

Sometimes he dances with the wind,

then it wanders through the orchards,

Plums, apples in boxes.

And he tells you to look for nuts

in the mists, vapors, rain pouring.

Wading in golden, red leaves

Watches the keys of the birds,

and grows sad and grows,

even her dress darkens.

Still crying, still sighing

in addition, he coughs and sneezes,

especially before leaving.

 

Mr. Rok who is in power

has the nickname The Present,

when he passes by, he is called the Past

or the future, when it has not happened yet ...

My dear,


I invite you to read my poem about what saddens us most today ...

Weronick Madryas

Wrocław, 4 March 2022.

 

In Gardone Riviera

“In Rome at Campo di Fiori
Baskets of olives and lemons,
The pavement sprinkled with wine
And flower shards. "

Czesław Miłosz wrote,

poet and thinker.

 

In Gardone Riviera

sleepy ducks

the wind sways on Lake Garda.

White sails

against the cloudless sky

and olive flavor

from a nearby grove ...

In the shade of a mandarin tree

girl in a straw hat

humming a longing melody ...

 

It is there on the hill of Vittoriale degli Italiani

that is "the sanctuary of Italian victories",

where the one-eyed poet Gabriele D'Annuzio

hosted Benito Mussolini.

Although he called Hitler a "cruel clown",

he himself dreamed of resurrecting the Roman Empire.

Did they chat in the dining room

accompanied by a turtle monument,

put in honor of this

what ended up after the chocolate feast?

 

I remember Gardone Riviera

in Wrocław on a March day,

when I put the pot with primula on the balcony,

and the rays of the sun

they melt the falling snow.

 

And then I dive in

in the city of spring waiting.

And I look at the children in the squares,

worried faces of mothers

and a gentleman with a dachshund.

 

At that time, Kyiv is on fire.

On the orders of a madman

the war has started ...

In the fumes of the plague

for two years the world has been consuming

Ukraine is resisting

to the Russian invader ...

And around death, pain, tears,

fire and rubble ...

 

Easter is just around the corner ...

 

“Until everything is a legend
And then after many years
On the new Campo di Fiori
Rebellion will stir up the poet's word. "

Czesław Miłosz wrote

In Warsaw on Easter 1943.

ilustracja.jpg
topola 2.jpg

Weronika Madryas
Wrocław, February 27, 2022
 

Poplar


At a fork in the road
soaring and slender,
 
right next to the second one,
lasted for forty-three years ...

Just before the end
the trunk broke.
Hair torn by the wind
she fell at her feet
her twin sister.
 

Dry, piercing crack
wind howling
and boughs broken around.
 
It's a landscape after.  

At a fork in the road
orphaned sob
longing for the lost ...

… And then the world drowned
in the arms of a madman.
Under fire
 
in a sea of blood and tears
our brothers are leaving.
 
We look at evil.
And my heart breaks
 
like a poplar trunk.  

Dry, piercing crack 
howling sirens
and pain around.
 
It is a landscape of war. 

My dear,


Today is a good day for greed. It remains for me to wish you a tasty meal and I am sending you a rhyme.

Packages

Baked and fragrant,
sugar-coated, sugar-coated,
jam stuffed with ...

Little, big eat,
crunches are almost bursting ...
But the faces are smiling
and happy eyes ...

Lick your fingers with a little finger!
This is the fifth one, highwayman!
Donut disappears from the plate
and the crumb also disappears soon ...

paczki.jpg

My dear,


for long and dark autumn evenings, the best are: nice music, warm tea,  the gentle glow of candles and a touch of poetry. That is why I offer you a pinch of the latter in an excerpt from my poem entitled Glass Collection. Today I would rather call this fragment Longing for summer ...

(...)
There are sweet moments
what like butterflies will fly away ...
when the wind shakes the rose cup
will depart ...

I implore them by whispering:
I have a collection of glass balls
and in them sadness, joy, pain ...
I charm with words ...
(...)

kolekcja kul.jpg
zlote liscie.jpg

My dear,
Today is a special day that makes people aware of the inevitability of passing away.

I once wrote a poem Silent like falling leaves ... 
And although they left, I trust that their love remains in us ...

ksiazka.jpg
wiersz.jpg
Ania skarpetki.jpg

My dear,


After reading about the history of ten socks, we felt very sock-like, because Ania sewed, told stories and created a comic book during lessons at school.  Therefore, I am sharing with you my own literary inspiration, i.e. my poem and a photo with Ania's work.

Weronika Madryas

Wrocław, 25.X. 2021

 

Yellow socks

Gray-and-white little kitten,

known as Milka,

she drank milk very willingly

from the very morning.

 

She was playing with a ball of wool,

it rolled it, it chased it.

Until she was very wrong

and caused trouble.

 

Mother taught Ania

take care of your socks

and carefully after washing

Roll into soft balls.

 

Ania had such balls

I think eleven.

Each ball has a different pair

in polka dots, checkered, striped.

 

Ania balls for the drawer

she carefully folded it.

Only one yellow ball

she got lost somewhere.

 

Mom is looking, Ania is looking.

Find me lost - great art!

 

Milka is napping on the couch

and pretends not to know anything.

She discovered something in the corner

with which she had a little fun.

 

It just happened

to the mouse mink,

where is the mouse family

she was crunching cheese faworki.

 

- Look, Dad! We have a visitor!

The youngest mouse called.

 

And the socks stayed there

they took up residence in the mouse hole.

And they slept soundly in their socks

the two youngest white mice.

 

Sometimes fate plays tricks,

will change something, confuse something.

Have a sleeping bag from a sock?

This is not a joke. It's a mouse lucky.

jesien.jpg

Weronika Madryas            

Autumn

 

I saw her at dusk yesterday
like leaning against the balustrade of a stone bridge,
she looked into the distance ...
... thoughtful, dreamy, fabulously beautiful.

 

I saw her yesterday at dusk
for the first time since last year.

 

I've heard a lot of rumors about it.
What some people whisper
that he has several lovers ...
... carefully calculates the time for them
for long-awaited meetings,
common nights and dawns
…apparently

 

So tell you
what do they know about others
much less
… Sure

 

I admired her fiery hair
and a garment of fine cobwebs,
dark chocolate color,
embroidery of red leaves decorated with ...
An excellent tailor, an unusual spider
he made the last corrections hastily ...
... before meeting so important.

 

When the hand raised
and she whispered magic words,
they came
in the order determined by it.
Lovers of her nice, longing ...

 

First, the Lord of the Morning Mists hugged him
her slender and slender figure,
a transparent shawl of breath,
with dew diamonds weaved here and there ...

 

Then the Wind, a capricious, gusty lover,
with a gentle blast
her long, silky hair was carried away by dancing ...

 

Finally, it was raining in thin trickles
he moistened her pale cheeks,
gilded with freckles of the sun.
He kissed the charming figure,
he rolled the clever drops under his dress,
where its beginning and end,
white breasts and bare feet ...

 

And she is devoted to caresses,
she painted the leaves,
as they grew bolder ...
... her faithful lovers,
in love forever

drzewo wiersz.jpg

My dear,


Autumn is the time of trees, colorful hairs torn by the wind and falling leaves. Therefore, I invite you to read my poem entitled "Tree".

Weronika Madryas

Wrocław, 23 November 2008.

 

Tree

 

If you were a tree, my dear ...

 

What? - you ask,

intrigued and amused

my concept.

A soaring poplar? Weeping willow?

Or maybe a baobab? - you guess

smiling at me.

 

You would be an oak

- I answer seriously.

 

Strong trunk

a thick layer

pitted cortex

covered.

And the life-giving root,

reaching deep.

Your branches -

I close my eyes

indulging in dreams,

imaginations and daydreams-

branchy and strong,

bathed in green leaves,

would form a lush crown,

a ruler of a mighty worthy ...

 

-I would be the king of oaks? -

you say

still not serious.

 

-Maybe -

I nod with conviction

offended by your lack of weight ...

-And who would you be? -

you drill down on the topic,

curious about my answer.

 

-Red squirrel,

who has a shiny, fiery coat,

provocative and soft at the same time ..

Handy paws,

lithe body

promises full of ...

Black eyes,

cloudy look,

dreamy ...

 

Squirrel?-

you are amazed.

 

Yes -

I put my hand down

on your

with a soothing gesture.

 

I would live in you

Dear My ...

In your trunk

my hollow.

A quiet haven

protecting against confusion.

In the branches

my garden.

Paths labyrinth

only known to us.

In you

my world

and my refuge ...

 

Understand?

-I'm asking seriously.

Of your face

I do not see

through the morning mist.

I do not hear the answer

by the melody

played with rain.

 

Do you understand,

I'm not sure...

grzybki 3.jpg

Weronika Madryas 
Wrocław, December 16, 2007  

Rose

If the woman were a rose,
it would grow in a forest clearing,
 
in the green of lush grasses, 
a multitude of wild flowers,
among mighty trees
somewhat remote.
It would coquette tall oaks, silver beeches ...
... lonely, seemingly defenseless ...

Its chalice is its beauty 
would surpass the others
and with sweet spell he tempted
thicket of trees,
around those who are humming, torn by the wind.

If the woman were a rose, 
would smell more intense
than the flowers used to do.
And the petals would spread wider,
to show their beauty to the world
fully.
 
And she would hide her spines
under an umbrella of green leaves.
The dawn would brighten with dew,
shimmering, shining,
 
seducing unintentionally quite ...

Seemingly fragile and weak, 
among the trees moved with delight, 
strong as a bird of prey 
to be in fact ...
... a woman - a rose.

If the rose were a woman, 
it would have grown under a branch oak.
In his shadow she would seek a respite,
on hot days and storms
windy, rainy, dark.
 

It would bend its stalk towards the sun, 
and she opened the flower timidly.
And the spikes she would probably give to the defenseless
or lost by accident.
She flicked the dew drops accidentally,
 
to moisten the root with them, 
water the tree ...
... with gratitude, devotion, caring.

With the love of her only oak tree safe, 
trusting and devoted, 
defenseless like a beautiful flower,
in need of care ...
… Rose –woman.

Weronika Madryas

Wrocław, on 6.09.2021

Mushrooms

Mushrooms wear hats

small, large,

winding, bent.

They grow in moss,

among the ferns,

in the shade, warmth and humidity.

 

Mushroom picking - an interesting thing

but unfortunately you have to get up

in the morning or at dawn,

for life flourishes in the forest.

 

When you already have Dear Smyk

plenty of mushrooms in his basket,

look at the hats,

dismiss all suspects,

never seen before.

 

Among boletes and boletes,

you can hit the only one

treacherous, poisonous ...

 

He is also well known to everyone,

purple, spotted

toadstool called ...

 

This elegant gentleman

he once swore to himself secretly

destroy life with one bite.

 

The rest can be marinated,

season the sauce and boil it.

And thread them on the strings,

to smell, dry,

they delighted with their forest flavor.

Roze.jpg
snieg choinka.jpg

Weronika Madryas

Wrocław, January 14, 2021

 

January mimosa

 

Late at night

when you slept

the thing happened unheard of ...

… The world made you a snowman!

 

It fell asleep

and it got fabulous

finally…

Tree branches

wrapped in snow white,

silver frost,

they tremble in the wind ...

 

Well, yesterday morning

I received a letter from Sicily,

in which much has been written

and sunny.

There they supposedly turned golden

mimosa a bit prematurely.

I missed these leaves

dancing in the warm wind ...

... and the scent of honey,

and a wonderful view

and hot air ...

 

... although here it is winter and fabulous

My dear,
I am sad because today I am saying goodbye to Mr. Mieczysław's poem, the publisher of many of my fairy tales and several volumes of poetry.

And I only know that Krakow has irretrievably lost someone extraordinary and spiritual ...