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A painting is passion mixed in
Acrillic Plastic pasted upon paper.

Photographs focus found
Phenomena in plates of particular potions.

Poetry pleads rhythmic prose
Picked per perfection

Yet none of this can describe you.

A relaxing river runs a
Rivalry to you.

A surreal sunset's similarity is a
Strong contender.

Fall's festive fervor holds a
Flame to compete,

Yet all run short of describing you.

You are the shore of a beach,
The gentle capped waves lapping at your feet.

You are the kiss of sunrise peaking over the mountains promising a new day

You are the first cool breeze on a warm autumn day.

You are the smell of fall foliage and
Fresh apple pies in the oven.

There is no one way to describe you,
Just a thousand things.

Almost as beautiful as you.
For a girl who will never read this. Recovering from a girl who could read this.
Nicole 3d
He mutters that he is never okay
And the way he speaks it,
The words echo in this church
As a song
But no one even looks up from
Their praying
Or peering at the bible,
Except her.
And she wonders how his truth
Only hits the windowpane to others
When it's a downpour
To her
And all she wanted to do
Was offer a reminder
Something about rainbows
To cease his ache.
Like leaves

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/19/2018

If for the orphans of golden autumn,
Then only in a country where they dig out
From sycamores, beech trees* - among ancestors' shadows
Because these, constantly dying live.

If hands of the poor fall
Like golden leaves, without the law of gravity
- Then what must be never changes
And richer they die.

If everything ecloses itself in the space
Over the crowns with radial glow
Then nothing apart from this color will change...
They'll be reborn again in the multi-leaf tree.

Wieslaw Musialowski 9/22/2004

Beech tree is a national Polish tree often found in Polish poetry.


Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 9/23/2019

Nestled into a pillow before falling asleep
maybe you will think to yourself
I managed to get something done today
and the rest? let it happen in dreams,

when you wake up fresh in the morning,
like the grass silvered with frost,
the sun will twinkle with a ray
and everything shall be great,

at midday, you'll sit under a tree,
because it's pleasant to rest in the shade,
and to end the day successfully
you look at the tops of the mountains

and you think how wonderful and beautiful
is autumn, luckily, the forest is not burning

though beech trees as red as fire

Wieslaw Musialowski 9/2/2019

*A reference to The 2019 Siberian wildfires.
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards.
Sea 3d
You wanna heal,
Don’t you
But breaking the ingrained patterns of generations
Is hard
But you’ve grasped the idea
And now you just can’t let it go,
This notion that you could be stronger, healthier, more joyful— inviting all of life in through your senses
And just letting go
Of all the heavy burdens that have weighed you down for so long
You’ve spoken your burdens for years
But speaking never beget change
The change you ached for, the transformation you only theorized about
But what you didn’t know
Is that this idea of healing
Was a seed that was planted into your heart
And this kind of seed
Takes a long time to gestate
So even if you haven’t seen visible changes in yourself and in your life
Just know that the seed has cracked open
And is spreading deep roots,
Replacing the roots of your traumas
Your healing, when it is born and continues to grow in its visible manifestation
Will appear differently than how you imagined it
Yet you will be more overjoyed by its reality than by your limited fantasy of it
Your healing
Will be a revolution to yourself and to all those you have ties with
Some won’t understand your changes, neither will you at times
But just continue to listen to your heart, it’s simple, inviting song
And rest in all the beauty that is unfolding before you and within you.
love is a lifetime of examples of how we can overcome our fears, worries, and doubts.
It is invisible but can be seen, it is intangible but can be felt,
it is inaudible but you know it when you hear it.
at times it can seem to be extinct, and others make you as euphoric as the most powerful drug.
in the end it is only you who can choose to let it in, push it away, or accept it
Strang thing called love, none can point to it but it is all around but it is deadly as beautiful
Miranda 5d
I sit in the red rocking chair on the front porch
Back and forth
Rocking and feeling the wind move across my skin
I look out at the trees and the pond
Tinged with gold as the sun sets
I hear the windchimes
And the sound almost brings me to tears
For the moment is so beautiful
This is how it is supposed to be

I sit in the red rocking chair on the front porch
Back and forth
Rocking and feeling the wind move across my skin
I look over at my dad
Eyes sunken and body smaller than ever
I look over at my mom
Her heart pain spilling out of her eyes
I hear the windchimes
A beautiful sound that I wish would stop
For this moment isn’t beautiful

I hear the windchimes but the beauty is lost on me
All I can think about is how badly I wish I was living in a beautiful moment
Instead of this one
But that’s the thing: beauty exists regardless
The windchimes make beautiful music on a sunny day and during a storm
They don’t care what’s going on, they do what they were made to do
It’s up to me to hear them out

I held wishes on your stories
Etched between the void and the sky
And hoped that even a glimpse
Of all your vastness and beauty
Can be reflected in me
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 10/8/2019

* * * (A sad September is heading over the tops...)

A sad September is heading over the tops,
through the barren peaks suddenly turned gray.
In his heart hidden luggage of memories he carries,
and only crickets' farewell sails
quietly rustle with wind filled,
rocking to sleep dreams* unfulfilled.

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/27/2002

*moments in the original

Autumnal Hour (Shorter)

Look! - from smoke I plait this poem short:
for fogs over an autumn meadow
with heathers strewn and drowsy,
for stubbles, fields and forests - in honor - of bards!
I? - I know they're hardly rustling
the strophes of simple words... And you? - you weave sorrows!

Wieslaw Musialowski 6/19/2002
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards.
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