Katarzyna Anna Koziorowska: Favorites

A red bird sits on a branch
It is winter
He is elegant
He looks proud
Looking at him is entrancing

He brightens everything
He sets the scene
Snow is whiter
Trees are greener
Winter is brighter

His feathers are perfect
On top of his head sits a crown
He has a dark black face
Surrounded by red
His beak matches his color

A bevy of them are lovely
Sitting in bushes or a tree
They look too good to be true
They are truly beautiful
Nature’s art

Red bird

Jan 15 Katarzyna Anna Koziorowska

Flames to my path

Jan 15 Katarzyna Anna Koziorowska

Katlynn Grilli

Flames to my path

Everything’s burning down around me
As I walk through this path on fire
I meet at the end a mirror
Only to find myself holding the torch
The heat feels great
The bridges finally burned
My mind at ease
For this I yearned

#flamesburntbridges

Jan 15 Katarzyna Anna Koziorowska

NO MORE HAIKUS!

Jan 15 Katarzyna Anna Koziorowska

badwords

NO MORE HAIKUS!

Dead Poet, the name.
'Anarchy', the guise of change.
'Rebel re-run'? Same...

In response to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4932312/her-breath/

How "Avant Garde" Mr. 'RA-RA-RA'... A a tired and overused and culturally appropriated, entirely arbitrary and completely limited in it's structure. When 'Boring needs to ratchet the dial up to 'THREE!" The poor sad abused and molested Haiku is number one for the poetic equivalent of having DoorDash simply deliver you a work for lack of effort to be wrought.

#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS#KILLHAIKUS

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4857198/obligatory-haiku/

Jan 15 Katarzyna Anna Koziorowska

Back at the End

Jan 15 Katarzyna Anna Koziorowska

badwords

Back at the End

To leave this small town, I would dare,
If courage found its way to me.
A wasteland's blue and brown despair,
Cogs turning, struts of industry.

For years I toiled, for years I ran,
The pace relentless, never slowed.
Yet once again, here I began,
Back at the end of the road.