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Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 9/7/2019

The sun has saddened its face
with lots of gray,
and made the mountains' bed
with an abundance of colors:

For Winter - it makes the bed with whites.
For Autumn - with reds.
In the Summer - with golds.
And for Spring? - with lyrical greens.

It has adorned everything
with shades of colors
awakened but still sleepy,
spoiling with correlation
of fiery greens.

Enamored time of red
of autumn colors
will turn the forest into one big flame
with fulfillment of flirtation.

A dewdrop sobs in the morning
put to sleep by dusk,
flying away as a wreath of rainbow
it returns at dawn.

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/15/2001
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.
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.


Indeed

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.
Ave Sep 27
When I describe the air in the current season I never have the words to Articulate This feeling
Fall
Autumn
Harvest
All hallows
A Season To Be Thankful
The corn
ready to be cut
Or perhaps molded into a maze for the little ones
Pumpkins
Full of spice and flavor for you to smell
Or maybe just to be severed for your porch
The air
Is crisp, refreshing
When you say “it’s nice outside,” this is to what you refer
Is nippy, full
On the edge of Sweaters
     On days I have time I like to lay in the center of the field after practice and breathe
      The air restores my soul, my hope
If nothing else, I love
The air
Ave Oct 5
IF NOTHING ELSE I LOVE
..THE AIR
.
and maybe you:)
Extension of my last poem
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/20/2018

Look! - white petals, like the first snow,
like a holiday linen tablecloths.
I? - I remember those holidays:
warm shadows of candles, you put on the table,
and the puff of breath in disarray,
entertains with the play of colors, and from feathers... sizzles.

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.
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/15/2018

Late moon
takes the baton
- offering to the twilight
a bow in sacrifice:
with glow greeting
star aesthetes
- an orchestra of crickets
- eternal poets,
so that songs of love
inspired by the muses
- they would loudly sing
in the thickets.

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/9/2001
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.
In the autumn leaves they play
The little fairies dance all day
Tinting the trees, the ferns and fonds
Painting the fall with their wings and wands
Before the ponds turn to icy glass
Please hold this fall moment slowly past
© LadyRavenhill 2019
I'm sending winter a letter..

Dear winter today I starting viewing old pics of you..
Desiring you just a glimpse of you.
Oh How I miss you.. winter cool brew.
Send me your sister autumn
To let me know your gettin closer getting near.
Year long I wait the time your here.
Just a cool breeze, a hint, a touch..
want to warm up in ya so much.
These years I'm away from the snowy visions of mountains,
No scenes of others skiing.
In fun snowy snow ball fighting.

I'll display social profiles.
In fun cute wintery styles.
Viewing you winter brings me nice smiles.
Haven't felt your cold breath in such a long while.
I miss wearing my winter cool digs.
My cute boots
my winters suits.
Winters the closing of a year,
Signs of a new ones opening is right here.
Oh winter fun celebrations you bring.
With holiday feasting..
Families dancing and singing.
Its cold outside.
Lets cuddle up inside.
Dear winter,
I'm waiting..anticipating..
The seasons changing..
Winter oh winter be happy when you get here.
I know your getting near.
Hugs from a winter born child...
With a cool temper a soul that's mild.
Fashion for winter style.
Soulful creative lovable, huggable. now adult grown child.

Credits to [email protected] 2019
oh winter come on...
CD Oct 5
and as the weather turns sour each year
i find my body curling in on itself
like yesterday’s paper burning up
to fuel that sweet, sweet fire.
and i find my toes sticking through old knitted socks,
and i find myself kissing new faces.
oh, the sweet with the bitter,
the moths and the red wine of it all.
how i’ve come to embrace this deep, purple weather,
and all that it brings within.
My hair grows
Like patience
  drying
Baby's-breath
against my will
  behind my back
Past
yesterday's destiny
  Distanced
jungle long
in time for every
  sunrise and sunset.
I sing about blooming under the same moon. You need a full moon to bloom.
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