Moose On the Loose

Nobody quite knew
how did she get there
so far from her marshlands
downstream. And yet
she stood alone in the river
on a quiet summer morning;
it took some time for bored
city-dwellers to notice her.

She bathed and splashed
between the National Stadium
and the Praga Cathedral
unaware of all the fuss going
on along both riverbanks
where drivers pulled over
trying to guess what was that
An elk, a deer, a moose’
I heard them saying, 'it
must come from the zoo’.

Tripods were put in place
all photographers lined up
waiting for the four-legged
guest to gallop on the shallow
Vistula waters: live action
straight from primeval forests;
but they had none of that as
she saw them and didn’t move.

‘They’re excellent swimmers’
said the local Cervidae expert
when asked about the odd guest
’No, not from the zoological garden
but abiding in natural reserves’.
She came to town for a change
an ordinary European elk on a
pleasure trip to the Polish capital
feasting on city-grown thickets
for a crowded Wednesday picnic.

Miss Moose taking a swim in the Vistula river in Warsaw


Modern Lovers

Paper letters won't do,
they used to be here and there
but now are due to their end;
the ink they were written with
faded out in the sun, dried out
in a pen left to its doom.                           There's an app for that too.

For it's all about screens,
if you don't have one at hand
then go and fetch it ASAP
otherwise you won't be able to
touch, see and ultimately exist:
it's the thought, not the gift.

Stamps, postcards, what for?
Both will soon join typewriters, CDs
in the ranks of old fashioned stuff;
postmodern kids rather take selfies
and store them with a million others
in the depth of vague memory vaults.

Social platforms sunk emails,
posting snapshots is incredibly easier
than writing down their description;
everyone tweets and chirps comments,
who will ever answer you properly?
You're not one of my matches.                   Why don't you ping me?


Breakfast With Leaders

- A tight fit between paper and the tip -
reads the filter for hand rolled cigarettes
someone left unpacked out of the office.
We don’t do lunches, but look at others
as they smoke their fill standing up in
silence by the entrance revolving doors.

(After you. Cheers. You’re welcome)

The security men, unarmed, displeased
with ins and outs alike check the badges
we wear around our white collared necks.
They don’t know those who work here
any given morning it’s the same old dance
flashing our price tags under their noses.

(Hello. You can go. Thanks a lot).

And yet there’s no reason to blame them,
after all we’re the ones who hit the jackpot
the chosen lot breakfasting with leaders
on casual Fridays, by request, around 9 am:
that’s the icing on the cake for us to be taken,
we sip our coffee and let bosses spill it at will.


The Clothes The Night Stood Up In

I was too young and naïve to spend the night
out and about
besides, those days Warsaw shone so far
its glitter, its zest veiled out.
Now pinpoint that light and multiply it
by a thousand signs.
Let it challenge the mighty Milky Way train
for no galaxy or constellation was as bright
as the grand Varsovian neons;
they wore fashionable shades of deep blue skies
and it took one blink of theirs to set darkness alight.

I came far too late to this town of sighs,
mute and uncouth
as I was, I kept my eyes wide open to compensate
the little I said and understood.
Pickpocketing details stolen from
nocturnal sights.
Still valiant challengers of celestial bodies
for no galaxy or constellation is as bright
as the last Varsovian neons;
even though they left their bag of ingenious tricks
in a well-chosen cloakroom for everyone to collect it. 

Those Were The Nights



One eye is good, two eyes is bad
they saw too much to make it worth
we spent twilights beyond the glow
half ghosts, perhaps, but wholesome ones.

There's us, there's them, who else
could tell what's best to map this quest?
Our porthole is a lighthouse nowhere as
treacherous as those double beacons.

Two eyes is bad, one eye is good
we've known enough to show you lies,
they took their perspective for granted,
but a pair of pupils isn't meant to look through.

Photo by Blogusz